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Merlin knew something was wrong with him as soon as he learnt how to talk. He just really hoped it wasn't a mental affliction.
See, it was the twenty-first century. Obviously. And Merlin knew that. But his mind… didn't.
Okay. That sounded crazy. Let's backtrack.
As an example, the time he'd crossed the lake in front of his mum's cabin. Merlin was only six years old at the time, sprinting across the tangled tree roots and jagged rocks to get a glimpse of the mountains right behind their house, when he stopped dead in his tracks and collapsed onto the grass.
Grief.
There was no other word for it. Merlin had felt grief.
The reflection of clear water gaped back at his sobbing face. The beautiful, tall mountains peered down on his pathetic figure. The birds and insects gaped from afar. They all stared at the boy who was sobbing in front of the most beautiful lake he'd ever seen. The boy who was screaming and crying into his hands.
Merlin's mom, Hunith, had pulled him back home. Merlin remembers how worried she had been. How it had taken her hours to calm Merlin down, and even longer for her to let him go off the subject as to why her son was crying because of a lake.
Merlin remembered a name, then. Lancelot. A man, a friend, who he'd set off on a boat to never see again.
He didn't know anyone named Lancelot.
These kinds of things just happened. So much so that Merlin even had a journal full of them. He remembered a girl named Freya. A man named Gwaine. A woman named Morgana. False memories threatened to drown him every night.
Then one day, when he was fourteen, he met one of these false memories. He met Gwaine.
“You okay?”
Merlin shook his head, backing into the brick wall behind him. The three bullies in front of him hesitated at the new voice, shifting their attention.
“Who are you?” one of them had asked.
The new kid was nearly identical to Merlin's memories. He almost shrieked as the boy came into view. Sweeped brown hair, radiating confidence, playful eyes…
“Gwaine,” Merlin gasped.
Gwaine paused. He tilted his head at Merlin, then snapped out of it when one kid swung at his right.
“That's the best you've got?” Gwaine taunted. Then he swung back, never missing.
And nobody but them was left standing.
“Right then…” Gwaine said, grinning wide. He tossed his hair to the side. “What's your name, then?”
And Merlin just… pounced.
“Woahhhh there, mate!” the boy exclaimed, hugging back confused. “Nice to know you're grateful. But uh…”
Merlin pulled back and smiled. “Hi, Gwaine.”
“...Hi. Ah, how do you know my name?”
It took so long to explain.
Gwaine didn't even believe him at first. Still, he'd stayed and became friends with Merlin. They'd even visit each other's houses, talking leisurely and as easily as Merlin remembered. Kind of remembered. He didn't have all those memories just yet.
Merlin had once told Gwaine about Lancelot, too. His friend had waved it off again, 'humouring' him by listening to the story regardless.
And then hey, guess what? They met Lancelot.
A year later, Gwaine had burst through his door, tugging someone along with him.
“Merlin!” he called, eyes finding Merlin on the couch. “Merlin– oh you have no idea what I've just found!"
Hunith was out for groceries at the time (thank the Gods), and so Merlin had let them in. His breath caught as the person Gwaine tugged along came into view.
“Lancelot!”
Merlin was even more shocked when Lancelot simply smiled back at him, eyes wrinkling.
“Merlin, my old friend.”
Gwaine stared at the two, back and forth, before sighing.
Gwaine passed Merlin five bucks for that. He won the bet fair and square.
Anyway, that's how Merlin knew he wasn't going insane. If Lancelot remembered him, this couldn't be a mental thing, right? He wasn't crazy!
Lancelot explained to them that he had dreamt of Merlin. Weeks prior, actually. He explained a memory of a griffin, one that Merlin had jotted down in his notebook, and they went on from there.
Five years later, and they'd met more and more people. Percival through Lancelot's meeting, Leon at a school fair, Gwen by pure chance on the road, and Elyan through her.
He… never met Morgana, though. Nor Mordred. Or Freya. Or Gaius.
Merlin could only hope he'd meet them all someday.
Altogether, this was life now.
Slow enough, every single person they found had started admitting to having a dream about a situation Merlin had remembered once before. It was the weirdest phenomenon– to be greeted by a panting, wild-looking friend clutching at you and spilling out information of their past life that you already knew all about. But Merlin had grown to get used to it.
…So either they were a couple of either very mentally ill weirdos, or a bunch of reincarnated legends. Merlin didn't know which was worse.
Gwaine had actually once crawled through his windows (Merlin nearly screamed the whole country awake) and told him of their original meeting. The bar fight and everything.
And… Arthur.
Gods, he missed Arthur.
Before Merlin had even met anyone else, he knew Arthur. He had the clearest memories of them. The sharpest, most beautiful ones.
He no doubt loved Arthur. Merlin loved his soul, his fond smile, his terrible jokes. Merlin missed Arthur so badly. He missed the fleeting touches. He missed the soft glances. Merlin ached so very deeply with every fibre of his being for Arthur. Screw ache, his absence was like a forever bleeding wound in Merlin's heart. That's why–
Merlin could never forget Arthur.
Which is also why Merlin had refused to ever move from their little cabin. If Arthur truly was going to come back, he was going to come back from the lake behind him.
The lake of Avalon.
Once, Merlin had even tried to find Excalibur in it. It was a terrible idea; he nearly drowned. But who could blame hom for trying?
…Hunith. Yeah his ears had nearly fallen off that day from the amount of scolding and berating.
All of a sudden, the sound of creaking staircases echoed in his bedroom.
“Merlin?” Gwen said, opening the door. Merlin closed his journal, filled with all his true memories, and turned to face his friend.
“Yeah, Gwen?”
Gwen smiled and made her way into the room. She sat on Merlin's bed.
“The others wanted me to ask you to come,” Gwen explained. “We were going to host a picnic.”
“Oh, that's great,” Merlin said. “Where are we going?”
“...The back of your house.”
What now?
“You mean the forest?” Merlin questioned, horrified at the idea.
“No no–” Gwen laughed, “–the lake. It's quite beautiful, isn't it?”
Oh.
Merlin sighed. “Gwaine's not going to let me decline, is he?”
Gwen shook her head apologetically, although amused. Merlin put down his pen reluctantly.
“Alright. When are we going?”
Merlin's door swung open again. Leon and Gwaine stood at his door, one slightly guilty and the other completely joyful.
Gwaine announced, “Now.”
Merlin groaned as they manhandled him off the desk.
—
When Merlin wasn't busy crying at it, he had to admit that the lake was one of the most wonderful sceneries he'd ever seen. Everything there just screamed of life. Which was heavily ironic.
“Where are the others?” Merlin asked, plopping down on the sand with no grace.
“They'll be arriving soon,” Leon informed. “I will go get the chairs.”
“Make sure you hurry up, oldie!” Gwaine yelled from the other side.
Leon sighed, tossed Merlin a small smile, and left.
“I'll get all the remaining food,” Gwen added. She set a red blanket down and left to follow Leon.
“And I'll go call our slow friends!” Gwaine huffed. He put a hand on Merlin's shoulder. “Hey, Merls, can I borrow your phone?”
Merlin handed it to him before Gwaine even finished asking. His friend grinned and set off a bit deeper into the forest, no doubt about to shout at the phone and scare away all the wildlife in the forest.
Then, it was just Merlin left at the lake.
…
Like before.
Merlin inched closer to the water, taking in his own reflection.
He touched a finger into the water, and it glowed under the contact. It felt good to use magic.
Merlin sighed and leaned back, looking up at the sky. Sure, he had magic, but he was a far cry away from the greatest sorcerer to ever walk the Earth.
He was, once. Merlin had once been ruthless. After everything had ended, he'd grown in power too strong to hold. So strong that he'd grown immortal to anyone else's harm.
…Except his own.
Really, when everyone you've ever loved has died and the kingdom you've worked so hard to save has perished, you lose some sense of life. Merlin's death was a gruesome and yet needed one.
Merlin stared out into Lake Avalon in nostalgia.
…Well, considering the fact that magic no longer existed, he could technically be considered the greatest sorcerer to walk the Earth now.
Merlin was about to lay down on the sand, let his thoughts wander, when a gold glint caught his eye.
Excalibur?!
Merlin scrambled up and stepped one foot into the water. It was freezing cold, but he couldn't pay attention to that.
Arthur's sword was right there– floating in the middle of the lake. It dipped and started to sink.
“Wait!”
The waves splashed, and his foot caught on a particularly sharp rock. Merlin's ankle twisted, sending a sharp pain up his leg.
He grit his teeth and kept moving.
Who cares about one lousy ankle?! Arthur's sword is back!
Merlin swam as fast as he could, grabbing at the water frantically. He dove in, keeping his eyes open despite the chill, and his sight caught the sinking sword through the water.
He came back up, panting and wheezing. The sword was right there! He just had to-
The adrenaline clashed with pain. Merlin's ankle throbbed from the cold. His lungs burned. He couldn't ignore it anymore.
But he could. He had to.
Merlin went back under and down, hand finally touching the hilt of the sword. After all these years….
Merlin shifted and screamed. His ankle sent a sharp fire upwards and he saw blood whirl in the water.
His mouth filled with water, causing him to gasp and writhe. But he couldn't gasp on fricking water.
Merlin was going to drown.
“Help!” he tried to shout.
Why? Merlin didn't know. No one could hear him now.
Merlin's vision blackened to spots. He shut his eyes and held Excalibur near his chest. At least he'd die with a trace of Arthur. With physical proof of his existence.
Arthur Arthur Arthur Arthur….
And then the darkness consumed him.
—
.
.
.
.
.
.
“Merlin?”
.
.
.
.
.
.
“Merlin!”
Merlin jolted upright and let out a cry. He winced and fell back down. Down where?
His chest. It burned. Merlin's lungs had to be failing. Every inhale made his throat ache horribly. Every movement hurt. It was cold.
And Gods, his ankle. Oh, someone please just cut it off. Or no, maybe someone had cut it off.
Merlin opened his eyes with effort. The world blurred into blue– the sky. It was such a… sky.
And then hair. Blond hair. Spotty blackness left his eyes slowly, focusing on the person hovering over him.
It was…
No. Nuh uh.
Can't be.
Merlin shut his eyes tight again. Someone shook his shoulders, and another person pulled off his shoes.
“Merlin!” a voice yelled. “You idiot, wake up!”
Arthur!
Merlin opened his eyes and almost died all over again.
Hovering over him was Arthur. Arthur. Fucking Arthur!
Merlin stared at those panicked, beautiful blue eyes. Arthur's wet, dripping blond hair. Did he look younger? He looked around Merlin's age now. Eighteen? Nineteen?
“Oh, Merlin,” Arthur whispered. And suddenly, Arthur's arms were wrapped around Merlin, tight.
“Arthur-” he gasped, throat burning.
Merlin couldn't get anything out after that. Just sobbing. Lots, and lots of sobbing.
“You're back!” Merlin exclaimed, “You're actually back!”
His voice sounded horrendous and broken to his own ears. But Merlin really couldn't focus on anything else but the warmth wrapped around his body.
Distantly, he heard the voice of Percival and Elyan yelling at something.
And then Merlin's vision slipped again, and he passed out.
—
Merlin woke up more coherent this time. Kind of.
He was sure that there was a weight on his left foot, probably bandages or something. Merlin felt it heavy and warm. Was it on his ankle? The one he'd injured?
Actually, speaking of warmth, he wasn't freezing anymore. Wonder why-
Arthur.
Merlin whipped his head up, eyes widening as it hit someone's chin. His someone.
“Ow!” Arthur exclaimed, clutching his chin. Arthur. Oh wow.
Arthur froze, then looked down. He seemed to have just registered Merlin, awake. And in his arms. He… he was in Arthur's arms.
For a moment, they just stared at each other.
And then Merlin's eyes stung, Arthur's arms drew closer, and they were holding one another once more.
“Merlin,” Arthur whispered into his hair. “Gods, I've-... I've missed you. They told me everything- but-”
“I love you.”
Merlin shoved his head deeper into Arthur's neck after the confession. And it still wasn't close enough.
He pressed his legs closer, breathing more freely than ever before. Arthur was finally back.
Arthur's hand slipped behind Merlin's neck, firm and real. He looked up to find Arthur with his own tears dripping down his jaw, eyes wide and lips twitching upwards.
“I love you as well, Merlin.”
The hole in his heart stopped bleeding. Instead, it just exploded all together.
Merlin laughed through his broken throat and kissed Arthur, delighted when Arthur kissed back. Sweetness flooded his tongue, the taste of relief and desire. The hand at the back of Merlin's head threaded through his hair.
Merlin finally had Arthur back. This new life had finally begun.