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The problem, with grief, was that it was an unaccommodating visitor who showed up unannounced and refused to leave unless given the proper attention. Merlin knew it well. So when his chest started to ache one night, rather than putting it off until later Merlin sighed and slipped out of the side of the bed, careful not to wake Arthur as he quietly got dressed and pulled on boots. With a last glance at Arthur's peacefully sleeping figure, Merlin left the room and was down the infrequently-used servants' stairway he'd never forgotten and outside the castle onto the grounds before anyone realized that he'd gone.
Merlin wandered for a bit and then settled himself in the middle of the gardens. He ignored the bench and sat crosslegged on the damp grass, resting his hands lightly on his knees.
"Alright, then," he said, aloud. And then, in ritual honed in fire over his 1500 some-odd there-and-back-again years of life, Merlin let himself fall into his grief. It had been unintuitive, at first, to give into the feeling instead of fighting it, but Merlin was well-practiced by now. Merlin imagined the grief washing over him like the River Thames that still existed in this time but on the other side of the continent, like the waves that brushed against the Japanese coast he wondered if he'd ever see again, like the Great Lakes in the Americas that held wonders the ocean itself would never know.
The tears came easily. Merlin had spent too many years not crying over death for them not to come at his beck and call now, safe in the moments he provided them. A small part of him still, even after all the time, thought himself ridiculous for having them. After all, he was back in Camelot. He'd bargained with Time itself to return. The war had never happened, magic was welcome again, and Merlin and Arthur were as close as Merlin had ever dared to dream in all of his self-indulgent fantasies over the years. On all accounts, he had everything he'd ever wanted and more.
But grief existed separately from happiness. It did not care for such things. It did not focus on Merlin being here, in Camelot, with people who loved him and the impossible things they had accomplished. Instead, it reminded Merlin of the Indian shop on 6th where Merlin marveled every time at the availability of spices that had once caused war being just down the street to be purchased for his personal use, and the nice man who'd smiled every time like he knew Merlin was more than he'd appeared. It reminded him of the druid clan he'd come across in the late 20th century and the rejoicing that they had not gone extinct, after all. It, for some reason, kept bringing up the specific teapot in Merlin's old sitting room that he had purchased on a whim and proceeded to keep for 300 years because it was perfectly serviceable and why should he need another?
So Merlin, anchored to the earth, wrapped himself in his grief, feeding it tears and magic and space until it stopped feeling suffocating and more like a blanket on his shoulders, warm and comforting like things once loved rather than cold and aching like things lost. It didn't fix it. It didn't surgically extricate the hurt. But Merlin had long-since learned that taking grief by the hand was much preferable to shoving it in a corner and hoping it stayed without bother. And while it wasn't a particularly pleasant experience, unfortunately the world needed a mentally well sort-of-god of magic more than he needed to avoid his own feelings.
After some time- Merlin had lost track- Merlin heard steps behind him. He knew them well. They were, in a very roundabout way, why he was out here at all. Without Arthur, none of this would have happened. He'd probably be drinking his favorite Earl Grey right now out of that teapot.
"What on earth are you doing in the gardens in the middle of the night?" asked Arthur.
Merlin ran a wiped a hand over his wet cheek and turned to face Arthur, whose expression immediately turned to one of concern upon seeing Merlin's red eyes.
"Are you okay?" Arthur asked, urgent, crouching down.
Merlin nodded. "Oh yes, it's just that sometimes the court sorcerer has to cry in the garden, you know."
"I can't say I do."
"It's for official court sorcerer reasons; I wouldn't expect you to understand."
"Oh yeah?" said Arthur, offering a hand to Merlin. Merlin debating the merits of making Arthur sit on the wet ground with him, but decided to allow Arthur to pull him up and lead him to the bench.
"Court sorcerer reasons?" said Arthur, gently running his thumb under Merlin's eye to catch the wetness there.
Merlin nodded. "Very important ones," he said.
"Do you want to tell me why you really left our bed to come cry in the gardens?" asked Arthur.
"I missed my teapot."
"What?"
Merlin grinned at Arthur's bewildered face. "In the future, I bought a teapot from a merchant. It was beautiful. Early Qing dynasty, excellent craftsmanship. A dragon painted on the side. I drank tea from it almost every day for hundreds of years." Merlin gave an exaggerated sigh and shook his head mournfully. "It may very well have been my one true love, and I left without even telling it goodbye. "
"Hey," said Arthur, knocking lightly against Merlin.
Merlin put his head on Arthur's shoulder. "I just miss it sometimes."
"The future?" asked Arthur, putting his hand on Merlin's leg and rubbing his thumb back and forth on it.
Merlin nodded.
They sat for a while, Merlin in contented, contemplative silence, Arthur in a more anxious state. Merlin was not surprised when Arthur spoke again, a bit of hesitation in his usually very confident voice.
"Do you... regret coming back?"
Merlin lifted his head and turned to face his Once and Future and Only King's stupid face. He leaned in and gave Arthur a sound, sure kiss.
When they broke apart again, Merlin smiled. "Never, Arthur. Never."
Arthur relaxed with an embarrassed chuckle. "I just... yeah. Okay."
Merlin took Arthur's hand, linking their fingers together. "Arthur, I am the happiest I've ever been at this moment, in this time, with you, than I have been in my entire life."
"You're crying in my garden over a teapot," pointed out Arthur. Merlin didn't pay the argument much heed. Surely he could be the happiest he'd ever been and be crying over a teapot at the same time. After all, he was a complex individual. There was a reason he wasn't a knight.
"In my defense, it really was a beautiful teapot," mourned Merlin, dramatically.
Arthur shook his head. "1500 years, and you're still such a girl."
"And now who knows who is going to get it! Probably some idiot who doesn't know oolong from darjeeling."
"You know I don't know what those words mean."
"A tragedy, is what they mean."
"Merlin," said Arthur, with well-humored exasperation in his tone.
Merlin put his head back on Arthur's shoulder. They sat for another while, until Merlin spoke.
"Is it okay if I cry some more?" he asked Arthur. "I think I'd like too. It'll make tomorrow easier."
Arthur tensed a bit in surprise. "Er... ye- yes? If you'd like?"
Merlin laughed at Arthur's uncomfortableness. "Someday, I am going to teach you to meditate. All of you knights are hopeless at processing your feelings."
"What is 'meditate'?"
"Later," murmured Merlin, picturing his past life and letting the wave of emotion rise again. He pressed a kiss into Arthur's neck, and then stayed there as tears started to fall again. Arthur shifted, taking Merlin closer and putting an arm around him.
Merlin smiled through the tears, remembering faces like a highlight reel and an apartment that had ceased to exist the moment he stepped out of it for the last time, remembered the feelings of hopelessness that had choked him as strongly as the pollution had in those days and the gratitude of leaving that behind, hand in hand with the pain of leaving everything else. He started to shake softly, as he cried. The damn teapot kept coming to his mind, to his surprise. Even after so long it still surprised Merlin what stuck to his soul verses what didn't. It didn't seem to make much sense to be mourning a teapot more than his friends, but who was he to tell grief what it should focus on? It often surprised him like that, latching onto to seemingly insignificant things as he processed greater losses. So Merlin sobbed over a teapot and everything else it represented, in the arms of the man he'd given it all up to come back to and would do it all again if he had to.
"Merlin," murmured Arthur, concerned.
"Shh, it's good for me," said Merlin, eyes closed.
"I don't know if -"
"Clotpole," murmured Merlin. "Just hold me."
Merlin felt Arthur nod, and pull him tighter. Merlin fell asleep like that, in Arthur's arms, and only when he blinked awake against the morning sun did he realize that Arthur had held him like that for hours rather than disturb him.
When Merlin did stir, Arthur did as well, and Merlin realized immediately by Arthur's face that Arthur hadn't slept a wink.
"What - why didn't you wake me?" yawned Merlin, stretching against the dawn light. "Your arm must ache something terrible."
Arthur rotated it, grimacing, and stood and stretched. "C'mon," he said, a bit gruffly. "We've got to get back. The guards will go mental if they don't know where we went."
Merlin nodded, yawning again as he stood. As they started to walk back, Merlin slipped his hand into Arthur's.
"Thanks for coming to find me."
"You feel better?" asked Arthur.
Merlin grinned wide, feeling the swirl of magic and peace in his soul. The grief in him waved like an old friend, not having left but no longer hacking at his heart like a vengeful lumberjack- and that negative space was being filled by the default optimism Merlin had been granted at birth, lost his first time around in Camelot, and then had fought hell and Time to regain.
"Yes. Much."
"Good," grunted Arthur, and that was that.