And like the cycle of the year, we begin again

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/6092269.

Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category: M/M
Fandom: Merlin (TV)
Relationship: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon, Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin),
Merlin/Arthur
Character: Merlin (Merlin), Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Other(s)
Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Fix-It, Modern Era, Post-Season/Series 05, First
Time, Happy Ending, pg rated until later chapters, Friends to Lovers,
Slow Build, In Character, Slow Burn, Sharing a Bed, Masturbation,
Mutual Pining, Canon Related, Fluff and Smut, Arthur Returns, Sexual
Content, POV Arthur, POV Merlin, Post-Canon, Post-Series, Arthur
Pendragon Returns, First Kiss, Post-Episode: s05e13 The Diamond of
the Day, Episode: s05e13 The Diamond of the Day, Magic Love,
Merthur - Freeform, Basically The Merlin Series 6 We All Needed,
Complete
Language: English
Series: Part 1 of We Begin Again
Stats: Published: 2016-02-23 Completed: 2016-11-27 Words: 207,578
Chapters: 39/39

And like the cycle of the year, we begin again

by katherynefromphilly

Summary

Set after the Merlin Series 5 Finale "Diamond of the Day".

Canon Compliant. In Character. Arthur Pendragon Returns.
Cover art by Lao-Pendragon

------

For many long years Merlin waited.

For the other part of his soul, for the other half of his life. He was born to serve Arthur. So
that meant he was also born to wait. Even if it took a thousand years. Even if the wait
seemed never to end.

Until one day, suddenly, it did.

When Arthur stumbles from the Lake of Avalon 1,500 years after his death, he finds a
world unlike the one he knew. Faced with the loss of everyone he loved, and the threat of
impending prophecy, Arthur must learn what it means to be not just a king, but the Once
and Future King. Merlin does all he can to guide him, even as he struggles to hide his love
for his king, and his fear of losing him again.
 Story includes sass, banter, horseplay, & True Love.

Notes

Please do not repost my works elsewhere, as this removes AO3’s legal protection of them.
Answers about translation, podfic, fanbinding, and other transformative works can be found
on my Profile page.
 the world falls away

He fell into darkness surrounded by Merlin’s cries.

“Arthur! No! Arthur!”

As the strange weight crawled into his bones, Arthur had one last wistful thought:

If Death itself couldn’t force Merlin to obey, then what chance had he ever had as a mere king?

Arthur wanted to tell his friend this gibe, to turn Merlin’s desperate cries into wry laughter. But he
no longer had the strength to speak. He no longer had the strength to do anything. Certainly not to
fight this heavy weight pulling at him. Down, he sank, away from his life and his lands, from his
castle and his country, from his friends and his foes.

At his side, Merlin screamed his rage at destiny and fate and the spirits of the world, his words
charged with such power that Arthur could feel it resonating within his bones.

“I can’t lose him! He’s my friend!”

The fabric of the world rippled and surged under the force of Merlin’s pleas. But the darkness did
not loose its grip.

Arthur let it take him into its numbing embrace, relieved to leave behind all pain and loss, all
battles and betrayals. Grateful to be going to his rest at last.

And yet...

Arthur strained to focus one last time on the living world. To take one last memory with him. Just
one, to hold, while he slept.

Of his body rocking on soft waves. Of saltwater dropping upon his cheeks. Of hoarse sobs mixing
with whispered words of power.

Of a warm, tender hand pressed to his forehead.

Merlin, he thought.

And the name was a goodbye, and a thank you, and a promise, all in one.

But then the world fell away.

And all was darkness and peace.

There was no time here, where he was, and yet he could feel the years surging past him. There
was no consciousness either, and yet he somehow knew that everything he had known was now
gone.

These were simple facts, devoid of emotion. Nothing mattered here. He simply existed. That was
all.

Sometimes, though, a ripple from the living world pierced the timeless nothing, to touch him in the
dark.
Memories would flow in, intense but fleeting. Gleaming castle spires and clashing swords and
laughter and betrayal and love and friendship and a warm hand upon his forehead and blue eyes
searching his face and a hoarse voice screaming his name.

Arthur...

Darkness swept it away every time.

Beyond his timeless nothing, the world spun on and on. The sun rose and set. The generations of
man were born and died. The centuries passed, each one changing the world, turning it into
something he no longer knew.

Arthur...

Again and again the voice would come. Strong and weak. In pain and in laughter. Each time
reminding him who he was, who he had been. But only for a brief moment.

It was like that for a long time.

Until quite suddenly, it wasn't.

Arthur... Please...

This time, the voice brought a tidal flood of memories and emotions that did not recede.

Merlin, he thought.

Arthur turned from the darkness, focusing on the voice.

This time, the darkness let him go.

Arthur, called the voice.

He focused on the name with everything that he was.

And then thought again: Merlin…

 the coming of the solstice

Merlin strode down the narrow lane, his long coat whipping at his tired legs, the strap of his bag
digging painfully into his shoulder.

He adjusted it with an angry tug. “That woman,” he snapped, then spat out a mouthful of white
hair that blew into his mouth. “We shall be having words, Eleanor Mabel Godwyn!”

With a mumbled curse, he shifted the sleeping bag under his arm, then cracked his aching
knuckles. The damp weather was playing hell with his joints today. And of course the long walk
back from the Widow Abbernathy’s stables wasn’t helping.

Sick horse indeed! he thought. He should have known Eleanor was playing matchmaker again. The
only sick animal in those stables had been the Widow Abbernathy!

"Brazen old woman," Merlin grumbled. "Someone of her age, pinching my arse..."

The roar of truck engines startled him from those thoughts, urging him to the edge of the road near
the hedgerow. A large blue lorry sped past on the narrow lane, likely bringing supplies for the
Summer Solstice Festival. The trucks and chaos of preparation was always such a nuisance.
Still, the festival itself was worth it, especially because it always meant freshly made meat pies and
sweet baked apple tarts and-

‘Merlin.’

Merlin stopped walking.

For several seconds, he stood perfectly still. Head ducked. Eyes closed.

Listening.

But nothing stirred the ancient magics of the world. They were as they had been for centuries.
Silent.

Through a break in the hedgerow, Merlin watched the waters of the Lake of Avalon ripple to the
shore in greens and greys.

In their midst, upon the island, the tower ruins stood broken and deserted.

Idiot, he thought.

With a sigh, he forced his tired feet to take him home.

It wasn't long before he reached the low wall that ran between the narrow lane and his property.
More stones had fallen from it to the pavement. They'd need tending to. Along with a list of other
things.

Merlin peered up at the massive stone structure that was his home, there by the wide lawns of the
lakeside.

The North Tower needs stone work too, he thought. The seam between the rounded three story
tower and the masonry of his rectangular manor house was always giving him trouble. The South
Tower looked much better on the other end of the manor. But then, he’d built that a hundred years
later. His skills with stonework had got much better by then.
“Emrys!”

Merlin pretended not to hear the old woman who stood by the manor house front door. Instead,
he walked over to the wooden sign declaring “Avalon Café and Apothecary”, and adjusted it.
Then, to be even more contrary, he brushed imaginary dirt from the sign below, which read
“Avalon Museum” in small painted letters.

“Emrys Hunithson! I know you can hear me!”

Merlin made a few more adjustments to the sign before finally strolling through the gate and down
the walkway.

In the arched stone doorway to the manor house, a reed-thin grey-haired old woman stood
scowling at him, her arms crossed over a dress covered in an explosion of flowers. Beside her
stood two nervous young men in blue jumpsuits, clearly from the Summer Solstice Festival
vendors. The first man held a clipboard to his chest like a shield. The second man was cowering
behind the first.

“Everything under control, Eleanor?” Merlin asked sweetly.

“Are you Mr. Hunithson?” the man with the clipboard asked.

"Did I not just call him Emrys Hunithson, young man?" Eleanor told him sternly. "And I've already
told you, I handle the paperwork. Because a certain someone doesn't want to."

Merlin let the gibe pass, because she wasn't wrong. "You heard her," he told the young man.
"Eleanor manages the festival, so she should sign for whatever is that's so important that you’re
blocking the door to my business and my home.” He gestured to the customers beyond the open
double doors, and the workmen shifted to let them leave the café.

While they were distracted, Eleanor grabbed the clipboard and signed the paperwork. "There.
Now get moving and put up those tents. They need to be finished by this afternoon, before the food
vendors arrive. And don’t put a tent over the Stone Circle!” she shouted, as the men hurried away.
“It caught on fire last year!”

"I remember that," Merlin said. "It was quite the spectacle."

"It was also your fault."

“That's only because I was trying to-“ Merlin caught himself and huffed in frustration. “Never
mind that! I have a bone to pick with you, Eleanor Mabel Godwyn! About the Widow
Abbernathy!”

“I have no idea to what you are referring," Eleanor said haughtily, and retreated into the house.

Merlin followed her through the arching vestibule. “I am referring to the supposedly sick horse that
supposedly required my attention!”

“Was Mildred's horse feeling better when you got there?”

“Her horse was never sick! Which I could easily see from every angle imaginable as that brazen
old hussy chased me around the stable! Will you-! It’s not funny!”

Eleanor's laughter echoed from the stone walls of the manor hall, despite the thin hand she'd
pressed to her mouth.
"Infuriating woman," Merlin grumbled, distracted by a quick survey of the ceiling, checking for
any signs of wear.

He hadn’t intended to construct the central manor building to be a replica of Camelot’s throne
room. But somehow it had wound up that way. At one end of the room, where Arthur's dais
would be, was instead lunch counter. And at the other end, where the entrance doors would be,
was his Apothecary. If you ignored the white cafe tables and customers and signs announcing
Free WiFi, it was rather strikingly similar indeed.

Well. Except for the glass wall. And the unimpeded vista beyond. Of the Lake of Avalon.
And the island. And the tower.

“Do be sure to wash off that smell of horse manure, Emrys,” Eleanor said, from halfway across the
room.

"I do not smell like horse manure!" Merlin shouted back, ignoring the people seated nearby who
glanced up from their coffees or teas and sandwiches.

"You definitely do," Eleanor said, and grabbed a carafe of coffee to start refilling the cups of the
customers at the lunch counter.

Merlin dropped his bag to the floor and yanked his hat from his head. "Eleanor!” he said sharply,
in that tone that Gaius had always used when he had done something dangerous that had
nonetheless saved the kingdom, not that anyone was thanking him for it of course.

Eleanor turned around, carafe still in hand, and looked at him curiously. “Something wrong,
Emrys?”

“Of course there's something wrong! I am giving you The Eyebrow. Do you see it? Right here?”
Merlin pushed up the corner of his eyebrow with an arthritic finger. For fifteen centuries he’d
walked the earth, and he still couldn’t mimic that thing Gaius had done. “This,” he informed
Eleanor, “is the Eyebrow of Disapproval! Because of you! Setting me up with a village widow!
Again! Which I specifically told you not to do!"

“If the Widow Abbernathy isn’t your type, I know a few others who would be interested.”

“What? No! That is the exact opposite of what I’m saying! Are you listening?” Merlin dragged his
hand through his hair, fingers catching painfully in long coarse white strands. "I can't believe I
have never sacked you! You never do what I tell you to do!”

Eleanor tipped up her chin, defiant. “I do when it's what's best for you, Emrys."

Merlin’s reply died on his lips, as memory replaced the waking world.

“Why do I never sack you, Merlin? You never do what I tell you to do.”

“That’s because I know what’s best for you, my lord. You’d be totally lost without me.”

“Oh, is that so?”

“Absolutely. I doubt you could even find your royal backside on your own.”

“I’m sure I’d find it twice as fast.”

“If you did, it would only be on account of its massive size.”

“Shut up, Merlin.”

A touch on his arm drew Merlin from his thoughts. Eleanor was standing in front of him, indistinct
and blurry. When he blinked, he felt tears slide down his cheeks into his beard. “I need to get these
herbs to the Apothecary,” he told her in a low voice, touching his hand to his shoulderbag.

She started to speak, paused, then nodded. “When you’re done, meet me in the park. I know you’ll
want final say on where the Cornish Pasties vendor should set up. Heavens forbid that he’s too far
away.”

“They were sold out by the time I got there last year.”

“I think I may remember you mentioning that for the three solid months after last year’s festival.”

Merlin smiled as she headed off through the tables to the far end of the hall. In Camelot, the
thrones had sat along the far narrow wall, but here, there was only the lunch counter and pastry
casks, and doors to the cafe kitchens and his North Tower residence.

When Eleanor took position behind the counter, she shooed away some of his loitering staff,
then grabbed the coffee carafe and tended to the customers sitting there herself.

“Fool old woman,” Merlin muttered. He never could stay angry at Eleanor for long. She was too
good of a friend, and had been for almost forty years. He knew she was just matchmaking to give
him what she’d found herself late in life, with her second husband. Someone to care for. To be the
other side of the same coin.

Merlin’s gaze drifted to the Lake of Avalon visible through the glass wall.

‘You have no idea what I have to put up with in your absence, Arthur,’ he thought at the tower.

‘You mean fending off an old woman with eager hands?’ came the memory of Arthur’s voice, fond
but chiding.

‘I’d like to see you try and deal with her. She’s a force of nature, is what she is.’

‘Oh please. Something like that should hardly be a challenge, Merlin. Even for you.’

‘Cheeky woman left pinch marks on my backside.’

‘Is that why you hid in the empty stable? That was hysterical, honestly…’

“Oh shut up,” Merlin said, startling himself. He glanced around to see if anyone had noticed,
then heaved a heavy sigh. He really had been alone too long.

Behind him, someone cleared their throat.

Merlin pulled himself together, turning to find a young couple standing there looking nervous and a
bit red in the face. “Yes?”

“Can you- I mean-“ The girl glanced at her young man, who was biting at his lip. “We’re hoping
you can, um. That is, we saw on the internet that you sell, um. An elixir?”

“This way,” Merlin said, and led them to the opposite end of the hall, where a stone wall closed off
the south end of the building. Double glass doors were set into it, under an old wooden
“Apothecary” sign. He pushed open the doors to a large space filled with rows of shelving,
every one packed with jars of herbal remedies, bottles of spices, homemade soaps and candles, and
countless other concoctions he and his assistants made for sale.

“Wait right here,” Merlin said to the couple, heading to the sales counter stretching along the far
wall.

His assistant Danyl sat behind it near the cash register, his black hair nearly obscuring his eyes as
he hunched over his laptop. On a chair next to him sat his other assistant Heath, who constantly
looked as if he’d just walked off the rugby pitch, his blond hair mussed and his face ruddy, and- at
the moment- his dirty trainers up on the counter while he played with his mobile.

Merlin shoved his shoulderbag onto the counter into Heath’s trainers, nearly toppling him off his
chair.

“Oi!” Heath shouted.

Merlin held up the sleeping bag that he’d carried all the way from the Widow Abbernathy’s house.
“I am not your Gran’s pack horse!” he said, and threw the bundle at Heath. “If you need anything
else for Festival camping, get it yourself!”

“If I had done,” Heath said with mock concern, “then it would have left poor Danyl alone. You
know he’s completely helpless here without me.”

Danyl scoffed at his laptop. “Only if we’re talking about brainlessly lifting boxes. Then sure.
You’re definitely better at that.”

“So you’ve been watching, eh?” Heath asked, shoving up his sleeve to flex a a bicep at Danyl.

“You wish.”

Merlin noticed Danyl’s ears go red, and Heath’s gaze linger on Danyl’s profile, and rolled his eyes.
Gods above, hadn’t they gotten together yet? It was like watching the frisky stallions in the
Widow Abbernathy’s stables. “Which reminds me,” Merlin said to Heath. “The next time I get a
call about your Gran’s horse, you’re coming along with me to see if it's actually sick. Maybe that
will help your Gran keep her grabby hands off of my arse.”

Heath blanched at the groping gestures Merlin made with his long fingers. “Oh my god please
stop-”

“That’s what I kept saying to your grandmother!”

“That’s just-! Ugh! You’re like a thousand years old!”

“More than.” Merlin shoved his messenger bag at the boy. “So help an old man, and take these
herbs up to the greenhouse for drying. But first, take some Magic Love Elixr to that young couple
over there, will you?”

“More requests?” Heath asked, suddenly all interest. “Did they hear about it from my website
update?”

”Ask them yourself,” Merlin said, stepping aside to let Heath go tend to the customers. He took the
boy’s vacated chair with a grunt, his feet aching from the morning’s walk. Everything was aching
today, in fact. He felt every bit the old man he’d let himself grow to be.

Danyl shifted in his chair, leaning close to speak in a lowered voice. “I know you don’t always
want to say, Emrys... And I’m sorry to ask, but-”
”Spit it out, boy.”

”It’s just- I mean, what’s in that Magic Love Elixr stuff, anyway?”

Merlin smiled, wry. “It’s Vitamin C, Vitamin B, a little anisette for scent, and a little bit of honey,
for sweetness.”

“But... That’s not anything special. And people have been raving about it. They say that it- Well.
That it does all kinds of things.”

“In the bedroom?” Merlin asked saucily. “In matters of-“

“Yes,” Danyl said quickly, his face pinking up. “Those ingredients shouldn’t have anything to do
with- with that.”

“But they don’t know that, do they. And you’d best not tell them. Especially not Heath, eh? It
might ruin any fun you two might have together-”

“Ssshhh!”

Merlin watched Danyl glance nervously over to where Heath was just starting up the spiral stairs to
the greenhouse. “Gods above,” Merlin said loudly. “You haven’t told him yet?”

“Ssh! No! I’m waiting for the right time!”

“You’ve been pining for that boy for months!”

“It has not been months, it’s-“

“Gods’ sakes... Heath!”

Danyl grabbed his arm. “Oh my god what are you-“

”Heath Abbernathy!”

“What?” came the echoing call down the stairwell.

“Danyl would like you to go with him to the Summer Solstice Festival.” Merlin slapped at Danyl’s
hands as they pulled at his coat. “As a couple. Romantically. What do you say? Will you go with
him and put him out of his misery?”

Danyl slapped both hands to his face. “I am never telling you a secret again. You are the worst
secret keeper in the history of secret keepers!”

“Tell him I’ll go,” came Health’s voice down the stairwell. “And tell him it’s about damn time he
asked me.”

At Merlin’s side, Danyl sat up straight, astonished.

“Some secrets shouldn’t be kept,” Merlin told him. “Trust me on that.”

 to commune with all its spirits

“I told them if they don’t keep their clothes on this year, it’ll be the last time they’re welcome at
the Solstice Festival.”

Merlin stifled a laugh as he walked beside Eleanor through the park adjoining his property.
Vendor booths already dotted the walking paths, amid signs directing people to areas for camping
and music and demonstrations. Men and women were busily constructing stands and small tents
and fencing all around them, in preparation for the weekend's festival crowds.

“All that Neo Druid and Neo Wiccan and Earth Children nonsense,” Eleanor was muttering. “Just
an excuse to run around bare-arsed and pissed if you ask me.”

“Yes, well, it’s better than what they could be getting up to, isn’t it?”

“What in the world could be worse than that?”

A flash of memory: Of screams waking him from sleep; of thirty robed men gathered under the
solstice moon, of children held at swordpoint, of several small bodies already on the ground in
blood sacrifice. Rage had overwhelmed him at the sight, his magic lashing out, crushing the men
against the trees, snapping trunks in half. He could still see it... The bloody carnage of
twisted bodies. The decimation of the forest. The sight of the surviving children fleeing into the
darkness.

It had taken two days to bury all the bodies.

It had taken two years before he could bring himself to use magic again.

“Emrys?”

Merlin blinked awake from memory, realizing that he’d stopped walking, and that Eleanor now
stood facing him, surrounded by young men and women holding guitars. “Sorry? What did you
say?”

“I was asking if you have a preference where the musicians will perform.”

“Musicians. Right.” Merlin looked around at the chaos of people and activity and trees and
shrubs, then stared, blankly, at Eleanor.

Eleanor huffed at him, but with a pinch to her thin grey eyebrows. She was worried. “Do you just
want to let me decide?”

Merlin pressed a grateful hand to his chest, affecting as humble an expression as he could manage
after all these years. “Why thank you, my lady. That would be ever so lovely-“

“Oh go on with your ‘my lady’ nonsense,” she told him, and swatted him with her clipboard. “Off
with you.”

Merlin escaped as quickly as his old legs permitted, delighted to leave the responsibility of
organizing the Avalon Solstice Festival to Eleanor once again. Even after centuries, he had no love
for such administrative tasks, preferring instead to spend time in his greenhouses, or make soaps
and elixirs for his Apothecary, or write manuscripts for his library. He was good at all those
things.
And waiting.

He was very good at waiting by now.

For a while Merlin wandered the park, hands in his coat pockets, watching vendors setting up their
booths. Several wooden stands already displayed items for sale that were clearly supposed to be
magic.

They’re so innocent, Merlin thought wistfully. All of these children of the new age. All of them
longing for the old ways. But none of them with any idea of the brutality or burden. Probably for
the best none of them held even a hint of real magic.

A chilly breeze had Merlin pulling closed his coat. “We’re going to have a word about tomorrow’s
weather,” he said to the grey sky. “There’ll be none of this nonsense for the first day of summer.”

The wind brushed against his cheek in silent apology as Merlin strolled down the path to
grassy lakeside, toward the fifty foot wide circle of waist-high standing stones. Locals called it
the Stone Circle of Avalon, and hundreds of stories had sprung up over the years about their
mystical powers. Merlin knew the truth, though, which was that they were just an astronomical
calendar, built by him to mark the passage of time, because apparently his body was no help in that
regard.

Merlin pressed a wrinkled palm to the cold rock of the heelstone, squinting across the rippling lake
at the ruins of the tower on the Isle of Avalon. Two sides of the same coin, he thought. He should
have known then that there was more to it than metaphor. He should have realized that if Arthur
would endure, then he would too.

And endure they both had. Separate, and alone. At opposite ends of existence. Century after
century. Generations of people born and dying, empires rising and falling, while he lived on and
on and on, ever since that horrible day he’d placed Arthur’s body in a boat and sent him to the
Sidhe.

Right here, he thought, and dragged his fingers over the rough stone. Right here in this spot.
That’s where it had all come to an end. That’s where he had at last given up. He could still
picture his younger self kneeling on the grass, clutching at Arthur’s lifeless body, begging the
universe to give Arthur back, pleading with the ancient magics to let Arthur stay, please, please, let
Arthur stay, god, Arthur-

‘Merlin.’

Merlin’s gaze snapped to the ruined tower.

I felt that, he thought. I did! I know I did!

With a grunt Merlin dropped to his knees and toppled forward, pressing his palms to damp grass
and cold earth. “Inbringe cume mec onbregdan cume her,” he commanded, and drove the
answering magic deep into the ground, reaching past soil, past rock, into the liquid core of the
earth. But there was no trace of anything- nothing out of place- so he rose with his magic up
through sea beds and into the oceans, then beyond that, into the clouds, before spiraling back down
to earth in the rain that flowed to the rivers and into the lake to splash back upon the shore, where
his body was crumpling to the ground.

He fell hard, the breath shaking from him. “Nothing,” he wheezed into the grass. “But
that’s not… I felt something… I did…”
Someone shouted his name, and he tried to get up in response, but he couldn’t get his muscles to
cooperate. Too long, he thought. Far too long it had been since he’d connected with the ancient
magics of the earth. He’d let his body grow too old to do it.

“Your fault, Arthur,” Merlin muttered.

‘And how is this my fault?’

“You’ve been gone too long. I’ve actually turned into an idiot.”

‘You were already an idiot when we first met.’

“Better an idiot than a royal arse.”

“Some help over here!” Eleanor shouted.

Merlin pressed his forehead to the soil, drawing strength from the magics of the earth. It was
enough to get him to his aching knees, though the world still spun as he gazed up at Eleanor, where
she stood over him with several construction workers.

“Should we call Emergency Services?” one of the workers asked.

“No you should not,” Merlin snapped. “Just help an old man to his feet, will you?”

“You should see a doctor,” Eleanor informed him, as two of the men hauled Merlin to his feet.

”I am a doctor, remember?”

“Yes, with a fool for a patient.”

"I‘m fine. It’s just a bit of low blood sugar.”

“Well then you’ll have no problem with me taking you inside and making you something to eat.”

Merlin tried to shake free from her grip as the workers returned to their duties. “I can walk on my
own.”

“Oh really?” she asked, and let go.

He managed one step before nearly toppling sideways.

She sighed loudly and grabbed his arm to steady him again.

“Oh shut up,” he muttered at her.

“I wasn’t going to say a word.”

Together they hobbled through the park to the wooden side gate leading onto his property. His
legs were unsteady the whole way, and he nearly fell twice as they passed by the wide porch that
ran the length of the cafe section of his manor.

Eleanor paused with him at the door of his private entrance to the North Tower. “Do you have
your keys?”

“Why would someone like me need keys?” Merlin asked, then blinked in shock at his honest reply.
His head must be more muddled than he’d realized.
“Just because you own half the Avalon Lake Region doesn’t mean you should leave everything
unlocked,” Eleanor scolded, proving once again that people really did only hear what they
expected. “There’ll be hundreds of festival visitors here in a matter of hours to set up camp. You
need to protect your things... Well. Such as they are.”

Merlin followed her through the doorway into the downstairs of his tower residence. Though the
floorplan was open- living and dining and kitchen areas flowing into one another- it was definitely
as sparse as Eleanor suggested, with only a few token chairs, a worn sofa, and his dining set. A
few landscape paintings hung on the plaster walls, and long curtains hung beside the tall narrow
windows, but other than that, there were no real signs that someone lived there.

Which made sense, Merlin thought. Because he didn’t.

Eleanor sat him down on the sofa, then went to get him food from his kitchen. As he reclined
gratefully on the cushions, he happily listened to her lecturing him about the sad state of his
refrigerator, and his bad habit of nicking food from the café kitchens.

Ah yes, Merlin thought sleepily. She must have discovered the sandwiches. Or possibly the bag of
scones from the bakery counter. Or the flavored creams from the café. Or, come to think of it, just
about everything else in there...

“Eat this,” Eleanor said, startling him awake by shoving a plate into his hand. “Go on.”

“I’m not a child,” Merlin said, then grabbed a muffin and took a petulant bite, crumbs cascading
down into his beard and onto his coat.

Eleanor sat next to him as he ate, her arms crossed tight over her flowered disaster of a dress, her
worry etched into deep wrinkles of her narrow face, pressing her lips into a tight, thin line.

“What?” Merlin asked, finally.

“You wonder why I’m trying to find you someone. Well, this,” she gestured to his crumpled form
on the couch, “is the reason.”

“I’m fine, Eleanor-”

“You are not fine.”

“I told you, I just didn’t eat today.”

“Yes, and if you had someone to keep an eye on you, that wouldn’t have happened. I know I’ve
certainly been taking better care of myself, since I found my Frederick.”

Merlin leaned back against the sofa, struggling to fight back the aching sadness at her words. He
was just so tired. That was all. He could feel the exhaustion deep in his bones. When he felt
unwell, it always made everything so much worse.

“Emrys, please,” Eleanor said softly. “Let me at least try and find you someone special.”

Merlin closed his eyes, too tired to lie, too tired for all of it. “I already had someone special.”

“You did?”

”Yes. But he’s gone now.”

There was a long moment of silence. “He?”

“Yes.”

“All these years,” she sighed out. “All this time we’ve known each other... and you never said.”

Merlin forced his eyes open; was pained by the hurt in her expression. How many people had he
hurt with his lies over the centuries? He’d lost count. “It wasn’t like you’re thinking. Between
him and me. I didn’t even realize. Not until he was gone.”

She placed a hand on his arm. “I wish you’d told me.”

“It was a very, very long time ago.”

Silence stretched again between them.

“You know,” she said, tentative, “there are quite a few eligible older gentlemen in the village. I’m
certain at least one of them is like-minded, and would be interested in-”

“Eleanor,” Merlin laughed, and set his hand upon her arm, because honestly, she was just
relentless. “My dear, dear friend... I thank you for what you’re trying to do for me. But please.
Don’t. Because there is only one person I have ever belonged with. And no other person will do.
Believe me when I tell you that I’ve tried.”

She lowered her gaze, fighting back whatever else she wanted to say. “Promise me you’ll eat the
rest of the food?”

“Yes, my lady,” he said, in his best doddering old man tone yet.

“And get some rest for the festival,” she added, sounding more her normal self. “I’ve hung your
Merlin costume behind your bedroom door. Try not to set it on fire again this year.”

“Ah yes,” Merlin said, a genuine grin upon his face. “That’s right... Tomorrow I get to be Merlin
again. That’s always nice.”

“I don’t know why you don’t just use your own name. Emrys was Merlin's name in the legends
too, after all.”

“Yes, but no one knows that. Believe me, it’s easier to go around living as ‘Emrys’ than 'Merlin’.”

“A good thing you weren’t named after your father, then.”

Ah, that's right. He’d almost forgotten. When they’d met decades ago, he’d told her that his father
was named Merlin. He’d lived under that name during the early nineteen-hundreds. Before that, he
had been Emrys again... and then Merlin before that... On and on, always replacing his older self
with his younger self... Always telling the people of the village he was a younger relative of the
lovely old man they’d never see again... Always lying about himself to people he cared about,
watching generations of their families grow up and pass on, over and over again, until he barely
remembered who he was anymore.

“Let me have that before you drop it,” Eleanor scolded, and took the plate from him.

Merlin blinked away the pull of sleep as she walked into the kitchen. “Did you put my wizard hat
and cape with my costume?"

“Of course I did. You can’t be Merlin without a hat and cape, now, can you.”

“I never wore a hat, back then,” Merlin mused, as his eyes drifted closed. “Well. Almost never.
Only when Arthur made me. Hardly ever wore a cape, too. Shame, really. I always liked red.
Probably for the best though… Could have caught it on fire… All those visits with the dragons…”

He felt her small hand upon his forearm, reassuring. “Why don’t you just take a little nap. Then
you can eat some of those sandwiches you nicked from the café for dinner, and go to bed early.”

He meant to tell her that he would do no such thing.

Sleep took him before she’d even pulled closed the door.

When he awoke, groggy and stiff, he discovered that his single lamp barely illuminated the dark
living room. Outside the narrow windows, night had long since fallen. With a groan, he scrubbed
his hands over his face, then got to his feet, half-staggering toward his downstairs bedroom.

He didn’t bother checking if the Café or the Apothecary or even South Tower Museum were
closed and locked up. He trusted the people who worked for him. They cared for this place-
most even cared about him- so he had no doubt things would be well secured.

Once he reached his downstairs bedroom, Merlin passed the meticulously made bed, heading to a
small closet door set into the far wall. He opened it to reveal not a cupboard, but a circular stone
staircase with wrought iron candelabras mounted into the walls. Candles flickered to life as he
climbed the winding stairs, leading him to the second story of the North Tower.

Which is where he actually lived.

Merlin emerged from the stairwell into a long stone corridor that ran the length of the North
Tower, lakeside to roadside. Mounted into its walls were torches that burst aflame at his presence,
to glow brightly upon red tapestries bearing the yellow dragon of the Pendragon crest.

The corridor would have been familiar to anyone in Camelot, especially if they had ever walked
the halls between the King’s Chambers and the rooms of the Court Physician. Which is just what
Merlin had intended, when he’d built it.

With a yawn, Merlin turned left down the corridor, heading to his own room within the Court
Physician chambers. But after only a few steps, he slowed, and then stopped.

How long has it been? he wondered. How long since he’d checked on Arthur’s rooms? A few
weeks perhaps? Or- no. No, that couldn’t be it. Outside it had been snowing, hadn’t it? Yes,
that’s right. He remembered noticing the cold.

But the last snowfall had been months ago.

Merlin turned, to stare down the corridor at the closed wooden double doors.

“That can’t be,” he muttered. “It can’t have been months.”

But when Merlin ventured towards Arthur’s chambers, and pushed open the doors, the stale air that
rushed out at him told him a very different story.

It hadn’t been months since he’d tended to these rooms.

It had been years.

Merlin stared into the darkness, at shuttered windows and closed drapes and dark candles,
inhaling the rank smells of musty fireplace and dusty stone and neglect. Hugging his coat to him
against the chill, he walked into the stone anteroom, past Arthur’s dining table and chairs, and then
into the archway to Arthur’s bedroom, where the ghostly shapes of Arthur’s wooden wardrobe and
dressing screen and canopied bed sat silent and dark.

If not for the silent disuse of the place, these rooms would be identical to Arthur’s chambers in
Camelot when he had been a Crown Prince. Sometimes, Merlin let himself pretend that they
actually were. But only when things got really bad.

With a wave of his hand, Merlin sent magic to light the dozens of tall candles on their iron stands
and wall sconces. When they flickered to life, chasing away the darkness, they revealed a thick
white layer of dust everywhere. It blanketed the room like a shroud; Upon Arthur’s table- his
parchment- his bedding- Everything.

Merlin paused before the standing mirror in its wooden frame, so dusty that the glass was entirely
hidden. “Look at this,” he muttered. “I can’t even see myself...”

‘You say that like it’s a bad thing, Merlin.’

“Vanity was your specialty, Arthur, not mine.” He grabbed the sleeve of his coat and wiped away
a larger section of mirror. It revealed an ancient wrinkled face he barely recognized as his own.

‘Gods, Merlin, what happened to you?’

‘That,’ answered another voice, a younger voice, an angrier voice, ‘is a very damn good question!’

For a split second, Merlin saw in the mirror not the man he was, but the man he had been.

Young. Powerful. Furious.

‘Look at yourself!’ raged his younger self. ‘Look at what you’ve become!’

Merlin wiped the rest of the dust away until he could see his full reflection. His long white hair
was wild around his wrinkled face, his beard held bits of grass and dirt, his coat was filthy from
the trip to the stables, and his clothes looked like they’d been slept in more than once. He looked,
in fact, exactly like a mad old sorcerer who lived in the wilderness.

‘Where is the warlock who took on the Saxon Army?’ his younger self railed at him. ‘Where is the
man who stood equal to dragons? Where is the sorcerer who ran headlong into fire and danger
and death?’

“He’s dead,” Merlin choked out. “He died, on the shores of Avalon, with his king.”

Sudden rage filled him, at a fate he hadn’t wanted, at a destiny he had failed to avoid. Merlin
grabbed hold of the mirror’s wooden frame- glaring at the memory of his younger arrogant self,
the man responsible for all his misery- and his magic exploded outward, shattering the glass into
dust.

He thrust a hand into the dust cloud, then churned his fist through it, forming it into a whirlwind.

You want power? he thought furiously. I’ll show you power.

He pushed more magic into the whirlwind, expanding it until it filled the room, ripping away every
spec of dust and dirt, while leaving Arthur’s possessions untouched. When all traces of neglect
were gone, Merlin thrust his arm forward, and the curtains flew aside, the shutters and double glass
windows flying open. With a growl Merlin sent the tempest out the window, and out over the lake,
where the dust cloud exploded like a firework.

The thunderclap rattled the glass, so loud it would likely be heard even in the Village of Avalon
down the road.

Let them come, Merlin thought furiously. Let them come and let them try to take me away from
Arthur. I will call the lightning from the heavens. I will open the earth to swallow them whole.

Merlin felt dizzy as his magic flowed through him, stronger and stronger, massive torrents of bright
color and power that sang through his blood and heated his bones. He could feel the whole world
within its forces- Molecules and atoms and electrons and quarks and bits of matter so small that
men had not yet discovered them.

So easy to manipulate. So simple to tear and rend.

Merlin grabbed onto the mirror’s empty wooden frame, and with barely a thought, twisted and
warped the atoms of the air. Within the frame, existence shifted, and remade itself, until a flawless
mirror manifested itself once again.

Inches away, Merlin’s face stared back at him in perfect detail.

The entirety of his eyes had gone golden, even his skin glowing from within, and his lips were
pulled back in a sneer- a death's head grin- twisting his expression into a horrific mask of
merciless, limitless power-

Merlin gasped and jerked away in shock, stumbling backwards, until his back and head hit the
bedpost.

‘You’re as clumsy as ever, Merlin.’

“Yes,” Merlin choked out, breathless and panicking. “Clumsy and an idiot and the world’s worst
servant, yes, that’s who I am, that’s what I am, tell me Arthur, tell me who I am-”

‘Well you’re also a total cabbage head, obviously, if you can’t remember something so simple.’

Merlin nodded frantically, his eyes squeezing closed. He could always remember Arthur better
with his eyes closed. Arthur with his blue eyes and blond hair and fine clothes and jacket and
boots, his hand on the hilt of Excalibur, a fond smile on his lips. “What else,” Merlin said through
a tight throat. “Please… What else… Arthur…”

‘You’re also the most loyal and bravest man I know. And you’ve never forgotten your duty. So
don’t start now.’

The tone was so stern that Merlin’s eyes snapped open, for just a second believing that Arthur was
really there.

But only the empty candlelit room stood before him, the stale air smelling of dusty stone and
idle hearth and too many years without anyone setting foot in it.

Shakily Merlin pushed himself away from the bedpost, staggering to the open lakeside window on
legs that threatened to give out at every step. He leaned upon its stone sill heavily, fighting to
control his emotions, heaving in deep gulps of cold night air.

In the darkness of night beyond the window, the lake and its island and its tower were completely
hidden.
But Merlin knew they were there. They were always, always there.

“Please,” he whispered. “I can’t do this anymore. Not alone. Without him, I’ll…”

Memories flashed before his eyes, of sorcerers whose powers had grown unchecked, who had
twisted the world to suit their desires, who had put themselves on a higher throne than man or god.
Monsters and murderers, driven mad by the power of magic, all of them.

And none of them had ever held a fraction of the power he now possessed.

“Please,” Merlin begged, of the Sidhe, of the ancient magics of the world, of any of his magical kin
who may be listening wherever they’d gone. “Please... Give him back to me. I need him. I need
him.” He pressed his forehead to the stone. “Please...”

He stood that way a long time, until his thoughts swam and his legs almost buckled beneath him.
With the last of his strength he stumbled to Arthur’s bed, shedding his coat, kicking off his boots,
before crawling fully clothed under the blankets.

The linens smelled nothing of Camelot. Nothing of Arthur. Nothing here did anymore.

I’ll wash it all tomorrow, Merlin thought. Not with magic, but properly. With my hands. With the
soaps I make just like the ones in Camelot.

Merlin pushed long white strands of hair out of his face with trembling arthritic fingers, feeling
every single year of his long life weighing upon his body.

“I’ll do better,” he whispered. “I promise, Arthur. I’ll do better. I will. I will...”

‘All right, Merlin. All right. Just rest now.’

“I’m so sorry…”

‘I don’t want your sorrys, Merlin. I want you to sleep before you do something truly stupid.’

“There’s a list already,” Merlin whispered into the pillowcase.

‘Of that I’m certain.’’

Merlin’s thoughts slid away, into dreams of Arthur standing by the bedside, shirtless and in
sleeping breeches, blond hair mussed, blue eyes fond.

“Really, Merlin? Sleeping in my bed? Does your insolence know no bounds?”

“There’s room for you here as well,” Merlin said back, his voice young and strong.

“I should throw you in the stocks,” Arthur told him, but slid into the bed with him. Then, as if he
had done this many times before, Arthur wrapped his arms around Merlin and pulled him close.
“Now go to sleep.”

Merlin pressed his face into the warm skin of Arthur’s neck. He felt a heartbeat there, and it made
him want to cry, though he didn’t know why. “There are other things we could do instead, you
know.”

“In the morning,” Arthur said, and caressed his face. “We’ll do all those things in the morning.”

“Promise?”
“Yes. I promise. Now for once in your life, do as I say. Go to sleep. You’re exhausted. And bad
things happen to you when you’re exhausted.”

Merlin frowned against Arthur’s neck. Yes, bad things did happen, didn’t they. But he couldn’t
remember what. Something about a forest. Something about a tower. And there was a boat,
wasn’t there?

“Don’t think about it,” Arthur said.

Merlin nodded, relieved. “Yes, my lord.”

A press of lips against his forehead. A warm breath on his face. “Good night, Merlin.”

“Good night, Arthur,” Merlin said, and slid into dreamless sleep.
 the day of truth and falsehood

Merlin shoved the blankets from his face and squinted against the sunlight. Outside the open
bedside window, the sun had risen above the ruins of the tower. With a grunt of effort, he pushed
himself up to his elbows.

Arthur’s chambers, he remembered. That’s where he was.

It was odd, seeing the rooms from the bed. He half expected someone to walk through the door
and haul him to the stocks for being here without permission. Though come to think of it, that
someone probably would have been him, bursting in without knocking, to wake Arthur up.

“Let’s have you, lazy daisy,” Merlin said, and smiled to himself.

‘Now what have I told you about “let’s have you lazy daisy”?’

"That it’s better than ‘rise and shine’?”

'No, Merlin.’

“What about ‘early bird catches the worm’?”

'Merlin?'

“Yes?”

‘Shut it.’

Merlin laughed as he sat up on the edge of Arthur’s bed, his joints aching as he moved, likely from
the damp lake air that filled the room. As he stood, his knees cracked and wobbled, threatening to
sit him right back down.

This was no good, he thought. His body being so broken down like this. He had to fix it. And
right away.

Dragging a spare blanket around his shoulders, Merlin shuffled from the room and down the
corridor, to a door beyond the stairwell. Unlike the rest of the floor, the room beyond this particular
door had definitely not been a part of Camelot. Candles sprang to life in wall sconces as he moved
over the smooth ceramic tile, past a row of elegant porcelain sinks and beyond the enormous glass
encased shower and toilets, heading to the oversized claw footed tub near the window.

He drew his bath feeling unspeakably grateful for modern plumbing, his memories of hauling up
buckets still fresh in his mind. Once he stripped down, he climbed into the warm water with a
relieved groan, his eyes falling closed as he settled his aching body beneath the water.

He was too old, for certain. He’d let himself age this time around far too much. It was time to do
something about that.

With great care, Merlin reached for the elemental magics of the earth. Even at this light touch, the
magics surged into him, rebuilding his muscles and bones, removing years from his body,
wanting to do far more than that.

That’s enough, he instructed, pulling away from the dizzying sensations, before the magic could
change his appearance too noticeably.
He wasn’t ready to stop being an old man. Not just yet, anyway.

By the time Merlin left the washroom, all of his aches were gone. His stride was strong as he
walked down the corridor, his legs taking the steps down into his own chambers easily. He didn’t
even need to sit down on his bed to change into the loose black cotton clothes he would wear
beneath his costume today. Even combing his beard and hair was a simple matter, without the
usual pains in his hands and shoulders.

A good thing I have some of my strength back, he thought. Because I have chores to do.

For the next two hours, Merlin got Arthur’s rooms in order. He washed the bedding and all
the draperies, hanging them by the open windows, so the fresh lake breeze could dry them. He
drew water into an old bucket, then scrubbed at the floors, finishing only when the stones were
shining smooth beneath his fingertips. And then he put all the linens back in place, curtains hung
around the bed and blankets tucked just as Arthur liked them beneath the fresh pillows. When he
was done, he stared happily into Arthur’s sleeping chamber and adjoining room, breathing in fresh
air and the sweet vanilla scented laundry of Camelot.

Fit for a king, Merlin thought, and patted the pillows. “Right then,“ he said. “Let’s see what’s
going on with this weather.”

When Merlin moved to the stone sill of the lakeside window, he realized the Solstice Festival had
already begun. Distant music and voices carried on the breeze that stirred his hair, and the scent of
frying foods was strong enough to set his stomach growling. Though it was clearly close to
lunchtime, the air still held a damp morning chill, and up above, sad little grey clouds floated in an
overcast sky.

“I know you want to rain,” Merlin told the sky, “but just for today and tomorrow, let’s have a bit of
summer, all right? After that, you can rain all you want.”

Merlin stretched out his arm into the soft breezes- then hesitated.

A spell, he decided. Yes, that would be best. Something formal and controlled. A barrier between
him and… and what had happened, last night.

Merlin thought a moment, then whispered: “Onstyrest þu heofonwolcen, cume milde byreas,
áscínest þu sunne, þæt sumorhát dæghwæðerlic.”

He felt his magic rise slowly, like a softly cresting wave, to nudge at the sleeping magics of the
earth, stirring them to life. When the sensation faded, he let out a breath he’d apparently been
holding.

See? he thought at himself. You were just tired last night. That was all. Nothing to worry about.
Nothing at all.

Another breeze from the window brought even more delicious smells and the sounds of voices
raised in laughter.

The Solstice Festival was awaiting.

Time to be Merlin again.

After scrounging some breakfast in his downstairs kitchen, and donning his festival costume over
his clothes, Merlin stepped out onto the lawn into a sunny summer’s day.
“Much better,” he said to the sky. “Thank you.”

Merlin adjusted the long blue robes of his costume, studying the yellow stars Eleanor had added to
match his pointy wizard hat. She’d also somehow gotten rid of every wrinkle in his red cape, and
had even reinforced the stitching of the Pendragon crest on his shoulder.

With a deep breath of sweet summer air and frying foods, Merlin straightened his shoulders, and
smiled at the wonderful scene before him. The sloping lawn in front of his manor house was filled
with a people, all the way down to the lakeside. Some lay on blankets eating treats from the café,
some sat and played instruments, and some just reclined on the grass in the sun. A steady flow of
people moved all around him, visiting the manor house cafe or apothecary or museum, or walking
through his grounds to get to the adjoining park nearby.

Feeling wonderfully ridiculous in his costume, Merlin laced his hands behind his back, and began a
leisurely stroll towards the park.

Any second now, he thought. Any... second…

“It’s Merlin!” came a little boy’s shout, from amid a family sprawled on a blanket.

“Butterfly!” called a girl by his side. “Butterfly! Butterfly!”

The father tried to gently shush the eight year old, waving off her demand with an apologetic
smile. But Merlin had already changed direction to approach the group.

“You’ve heard about that trick, have you?” Merlin asked the little girl.

The child nodded, wide eyed, and thrust out her hands, one covering the other.

“Oh, I see you have.” He lowered himself to one knee. “If it’s all right with your parents?” He
caught their eager nods, and saw them lean forward themselves to get a better look at what he was
going to do. “All right,” he said to the little girl, “keep your hands closed. Just like that. Now say
some magic words.”

“Butterfly!” the girl burst out.

Merlin covered the girl’s small hands with his own, his eyes lowering and closing to hide the shine
of magic. “Gewyrc an lif,” he said, loud enough for them all to hear.

The girl squealed, and Merlin carefully opened the girl’s hands, to reveal a small blue butterfly
upon them. She squealed again as it moved on her palm, to flutter upwards, into the summer’s
breeze.

“That’s a lovely little bit of magic, isn’t it?” he said to the children’s parents, with a wink. As he
stood, both children jumped to their feet, holding out their hands to him. “Maybe later,” he told
them. “I’ll be here all day. Just look for the hat!”

Merlin was barely out of earshot before he heard the parents begin debating how he’d done it, with
the father insisting loudly that the old man clearly had a pocket full of butterflies.

A pocket full of butterflies, Merlin thought. Of all the ridiculous things. If only people had been
so blind to magic in Camelot. His life would have been much, much easier.

When he joined the crowd of people celebrating in the park, he couldn’t help smiling at all the
joyful sounds of music and voices and laughter. In one corner of the field, he even heard the
clashing of swords, as people dressed in dodgy armor play-acted a battle. A woman dressed as a
dragon pranced nearby, to the delight of children with warrior crests painted on their faces.

Every few steps, Merlin was stopped by someone who begged a photo with him. He obliged them
happily, sometimes acting out a moment with a costumed visitor, sometimes just grinning at the
camera.

After a while, he came across Eleanor in the camping area, pushing a a hand-written sign into the
ground with great enthusiasm.

“No public nudity,” Merlin read aloud.

“Apparently verbal instructions weren’t enough,” Eleanor said sternly, in the direction of several
blushing young people at a nearby campsite.

“Well, apart from that, I’d say the festival is going rather well so far.”

“I’m just happy the weather is cooperating. It was supposed to rain all day.”

“That was my doing, actually,” Merlin said, and gave the manic grin of someone who could tell the
truth once a year, and intended to do it as often as possible.

“Of course it was.” She gave him a long, thorough look. “You’re looking quite well this
morning.”

“I’m feeling quite well this morning. Although I’ll feel better once I get some of those pork pies
from… where did you say the meat pie vendor was located?”

“I put him closest one to the house, remember? On account of you nagging me? For three
months? That you-”

“Hate to interrupt you, but I’d better head over right away. On account of them being sold out last
year so quickly. Did I ever mention?”

She swatted at his arm as he darted away towards the delicious smells. After stuffing himself silly
with pork pasties and cakes and biscuits and whatever else he could nick from the vendor tables,
Merlin wandered happily back onto his property. A queue of people stood by the door of his South
Tower Museum, so he stopped and chatted with them, before stepping inside.

The circular first floor of the round tower was filled with people, all looking with great interest on
all of the odds and ends he’d collected over the years. His most valuable possessions were locked
away, of course, but the things here were still very much deserving of being on display.

Suits of armor stood all around, bearing swords and maces and javelins. Upon the walls hung
paintings and pennants and shields all bearing noble family crests. Upstairs, the second floor
displayed clothing and boots and livery items from the stables. Above that, on the third floor,
people could see examples of daily life in the lower town of Camelot, including a functioning
replica of what had passed as a kitchen.

If people only knew how authentic this all was, he thought. They’d probably beg to display it in
the major museums of the world. Bad enough that the British Museum had got wind of it
somehow. They called him begging a private viewing at least once a month.

A tug at his robes caught his attention, and he looked down to see a small girl at his side.
“Is this the real round table?” she asked, and pointed to the center of the room.

Merlin stepped over to the where a stone table was roped off from the crowds. “Actually, this is
the round table of the ancient kings, found in the ruins of their castle, where Prince Arthur took
refuge from Morgana’s armies.”

“You mean King Arthur,” the girl told him.

“Well, he was a Prince then. He became king after his father died.” Around him, several people
had stopped to listen, so he continued a bit louder. “This ancient table gave him the idea for his
own round table. A place where all his knights, whether noble or common born, could have equal
voice. Quite a radical idea at the time. The real round table in Camelot is quite a bit bigger than
this, to fit all of his knights around it.”

“Did you sit there too?” asked the girl.

“In Camelot? No. I stood nearby. To protect the King. And to fetch him his royal crusted capons
with sauce.”

“They should have let you sit at the table,” the girl insisted.

Merlin looked up at the girl’s mother. “That’s a very smart little girl you have there.”

The woman patted her daughter’s hair. “Believe me, I know.”

The rest of the day continued in much the same way. Merlin told stories to families with children,
snuck food from the vendor tables, watched musicians performing, and chatted with people he
knew from the village.

By the time the sun had set, and the bonfire at the center of the Stone Circle of Avalon had been lit,
Merlin felt very pleasantly full, very pleasantly intoxicated, and still wonderfully full of energy.

Even though night had fallen and the tower on the Isle of Avalon had melted into darkness, the
warm weather continued unabated. People strolled through the park all around him in festival
costumes or summer clothing, without any need of a jacket.

So much for Eleanor hoping for a lack of nudity, Merlin thought, and chuckled. That wasn’t likely
with the mild temperatures holding and the alcohol vendors doing brisk business.

“Merlin! Merlin!”

“What?” He spun around, nearly teetering off balance, his robes swirling around his legs. “Oh
hello!”

Three children all grabbed at different parts of his robes and cape and pulled him towards the stone
circle.

“Time to tell the story!” said a little boy.

“And do magic!” said another.

On legs made a bit unstable by that last glass of cider, Merlin let the children pull him to where a
crowd of fifty people had gathered around the bonfire and the circle of stones.

Some of the crowd sat on the ground, and some lay on the sleeping bags that covered the grass all
around the stones, marking the spots where they would watch the sun rise on solstice morning.
“Did someone here say they wanted to hear the story?” Merlin called to them.

Cheers and clapping answered him as he walked around the fire, playfully patting the heads of
small children dressed as dragons, bowing to those dressed as damsels, saluting others dressed as
knights.

“All right then.” Merlin clapped his hands together, and the people around him quieted down.
“For those of you who don’t know me, let me introduce myself. My name is Merlin, and I am the
servant, friend, and sorcerer to The Once and Future King Arthur Pendragon of Camelot!”

Merlin pulled some powder from his robe pocket and threw it onto the bonfire. The flames
exploded upwards at once, making the children squeal their joy, and the people clap their hands
and bang their drums in the flickering firelight.

“I’m sure you think you already know the story of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round
Table. Well I’m here to tell you that you do not! You only know that rubbish written by those
pompous prats Geoffrey and Malory and White.” Here came a short burst of laughter. “Only I
know the real truth! And soon you will too. Is everyone ready to hear the truth?”

Another round of applause and cheers and laughter brought a broad smile to Merlin’s lips. Though
not a single person among them was old by his measure, and not a single one believed in magic,
just the same, they were his people. They were children of Camelot. And this was their story as
much as it was his.

So Merlin stood tall, and proud, and told it to them.

At various times during the story, Merlin would grab some powder from his pocket, and throw it
onto the fire. The flames would surge upward, responding not to the powder but to the magic
dancing in his eyes, as all around him people stared right at him, and saw only what they expected
to see.

By the time Merlin finished speaking, his voice was hoarse, and he was exhausted. After several
bows, and even more weary goodbyes, he took his leave, making his way back to his house by the
lighting of the many small campfires nearby.

Instead of returning to his tower, Merlin grabbed a lounge chair that had been abandoned by his
front door, and stretched out the length of his body upon it.

The night was still warm and filled with faint music and voices lifting and falling with laughter,
even at this late hour. Merlin smiled in the direction of the tower on its lake, more tired and
content than he could remember feeling in quite some time.

“I told them,” he said, as he pulled his cape around him. “About you. About Camelot. About
everything. I think some of them will remember.”

‘They’ll certainly remember your ridiculous hat.’

Merlin pulled his hat off his head, soothing back his hair. “There’s nothing wrong with this hat,
Arthur.”

‘There is everything wrong with that hat, Merlin.’

“And your taste in hats was so wonderful, was it?” He relaxed against the chair, sliding down a
bit, his eyelids drooping. “Still haven’t forgotten about the feathers.”
‘You should have seen yourself in those feathers. You were hysterical.’

“I was not.”

‘Oh you really were.’

“Not as hysterical as donkey ears.”

‘You swore you would never speak of that again!’

“And the braying. Now that was hysterical.”

‘Arse.'

“Takes one to know one.”

‘Clotpole.’

“Still not a word,” Merlin mumbled, and fell asleep smiling to himself, his thoughts full of soaring
turrets dotted with flags, of blue eyes shining with laughter, and of finally coming home to the
place where he truly belonged.
 what dreams may come
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

‘Merlin…’

Merlin startled awake, hands gripping the armrests of his chair, blinking up at the early morning
sky.

He was outside, he realized. Outside and sprawled in a lounge chair. Which he had apparently
slept in. In his wizard robes and red cape of Camelot.

As he sat himself up, he pressed aching hands to his throbbing temples. His head felt fuzzy, half
stuck in a dream. He couldn’t get his thoughts in order. Had he really been that drunk at the
festival? Was he still drunk, even now?

Merlin blinked blearily down the hillside, past the scattering of small tents and sleeping
bags, where a thick mist shrouded the entirety of Lake Avalon. Just above it shone the sun, ghostly
through the erie haze.

I missed the Solstice sunrise, he thought, disappointed. He’d wanted to see the sun rise over the
tower, to cast the heel stone’s shadow through the stone circle’s center. With the weather like this,
though, he wondered if it had happened at all. With the thick blanket of mist obscuring the island
and its tower ruins, very possibly the rising of the sun had been totally hidden.

“We talked about this,” Merlin grumbled at the sky, then realized there wasn’t a cloud to be seen.
That was odd, wasn’t it? For the sky to be empty and the air to be dry, and yet the lake putting up
such moisture, the mist billowing in puffs of clouds onto the shoreline.

Something’s off, Merlin thought again. What was-?

“Emrys Hunithson!” came Eleanor’s shout. “Did you sleep out there all night?”

Merlin twisted in his chair and stared in a daze up at the house. Eleanor was standing on the porch,
holding open the double glass doors to the café. People stood waiting behind her, trying to leave
the cafe, but very wisely not interrupting her wrath.

“Get in here, you old fool!”

Merlin got to his feet out of reflex, staggering a bit to the side as he stood. He bent down to pick
up his hat, had to catch himself on his chair, then straightened again, shaking his head. Everything
was pressing on him, from all directions at once. It felt like people were shouting at him from
everywhere. What in the world-?

“Are you drunk?”

“I am not drunk!” Merlin yelled back, and stuffed his hat on his head.

“Sleeping outside at your age,” she huffed at him, when he climbed clumsily up the steps to the
porch. “What were you thinking?”

“I’m fine,” Merlin insisted, when she tried to grab his arm. She grumbled but followed him inside,
heading to the crowded lunch counter, where Merlin took the last empty seat. “Is it louder than
usual in here today?” he asked, over the lively voices of the Solstice crowds filling the cafe.

Eleanor handed him a breakfast plate she must have been saving for him, going on the cling film
she yanked off of it. “Exactly how much cider did you have last night, Emrys?”

“Not enough to explain this.” Merlin squinted at her, because he could see shimmering after-
images of her standing before him, layer upon layer of them, blurry and confusing. When he held
out his hand, the air felt strangely thicker. “Then again... Maybe I had more than I thought...”

“Eat something to soak up all that alcohol,” she scolded, then left him to help the staff with the
long line of waiting customers.

For once, Merlin did as she told him without protesting, eating his eggs and sausages and potatoes
without much awareness of what he was doing. It took him until he finished his tea before the
after-images finally faded. Once they did, he looked over at the young couple by his side, both of
whom were staring at his clothes and hat. “Sorry about the misty sunrise,” Merlin told them. “I
should have had a word with the lake and the clouds both.”

They both gave him a worried look, then turned away.

“Back to normal then,” Merlin muttered, and pulled off his wizard hat.

As he set it on the corner, he was jostled by two teenaged lads who rushed past. They stumbled to
a stop, laughing and breathless, by a group of their friends gathered around a café table.

“You have to come see this!” the first lad said.

“There’s this drunk guy,” said his friend. “And he’s going nuts!“

“He’s yelling in total gibberish-“

“It wasn’t gibberish, it was Welsh-“

“It sounded Dutch not Welsh-“

“Does it matter? Cor! Just come and see!”

One of the young men at the table glanced at his companions, clearly reluctant to leave the warm
café or his coffee to go back outside. “What’s the big deal? It’s just some drunk guy. There’s
loads.”

“Yeah well this one just walked out of the bloody lake, wearing chainmail and armor and a big
bright red cape, and he’s swinging a tree branch at anyone who gets near him!”

The crack of Merlin’s chair hitting the floor had heads turning.

“What did you say?!” Merlin demanded.

The young man took a startled step back as Merlin advanced on the group. “It was outside-“

“Where?” Merlin demanded. “Tell me!”

“In the middle of the stone circle! By the lake where-! Crazy old man!” he shouted at Merlin’s
retreating back.
Merlin didn’t hear, already banging open the café’s glass doors and rushing down the porch steps.

Not possible, he thought frantically. It’s not possible. It’s not!

But what he’d felt this morning- The agitation and the dizziness- The world so thick and alive and
shouting- screaming- around him- inside him- everywhere-

Not intoxication, Merlin realized, as he strode down the lawn. Not intoxication at all.

Magic.

And not just magic, but ancient magic, alive and singing all around him, everywhere, from
everything, a constant vibration in the world that he hadn't felt for centuries. He felt waves of it
rippling away still, a shockwave from what could only have been a colossal magical explosion of
power.

Merlin ran breathless and stumbling down the lawn, stomping on empty blankets and sleeping
people, his blue wizard robes and red cape flying behind him, his aching bones driving him
onward, onward, his beard whipping in the early morning breeze.

As he approached the stone circle, he found a crowd of people standing around it, their mobiles
held high, taking photos of whatever was happening near the burned out bonfire.

Merlin stretched out his arms and swept them to the sides. His magic surged forth in a wedge,
shoving everyone out of his way.

Shouted protests followed him as he stumbled into the center of the stone circle, where a man
stood by the ruins of the bonfire, his back toward him.

Merlin nearly fell as he stopped, staring at the man’s wet blond hair and dripping red cape. The
man’s body was covered in chainmail and armor, and he was brandishing a charred branch in his
gloved hands as he shouted at the crowd.

“Pwy ydysw swhi bobl?! Bedh syon diwydd yma?!”

Hearing the old language again- in that voice- had Merlin heaving in a loud wheezing breath.

The man in armor spun to face him, branch held before him.

When their eyes met, Merlin dropped to his knees.

For many timeless, dreamlike seconds, Merlin stared into the blue eyes of Arthur Pendragon.

Arthur scowled at him, wary and confused and very clearly not recognizing him.

Merlin tried to speak, but choked on a sob instead. He lifted a shaking hand to his chest. Forced
his voice to work. “Merlin.” He patted his chest, tears filling his eyes. “It’s Merlin… Gods,
Arthur…”

His king dropped the branch he held, at first just staring, then staggering forward. He swayed on
his feet, then dropped to one knee in front of where Merlin knelt trembling on the cold earth,
shaking so hard that he could barely keep from collapsing.

Arthur put a gloved hand on his shoulder, and Merlin made a horribly pathetic noise, because
Arthur was real, he was real and he was here, and if this was a dream, then it was the best dream
he had ever had in his life.
“Merlin?” Arthur asked, and Merlin drew in another wracking sob at the sound of that voice saying
his name, after centuries and centuries alone. “Merlin, a ywn schi?”

Merlin nodded his head, over and over. Yes, he thought, it’s me, Arthur, it’s me and it’s you, and
you’re here.

Arthur took hold of both of Merlin’s shoulders now, staring at him as if he were the dream. And
that was just too much, and Merlin had to grab onto Arthur’s arms so he wouldn’t fall over, and
then couldn’t help but pull Arthur into a ferocious embrace that nearly knocked them both to the
ground.

Not a dream, Merlin thought wildly, as he clung to his king. Not a hallucination. Real. He’s real
and he’s alive and he’s here, by the gods, he’s here, he’s here-

Arthur’s body was solid and soaking wet and real under his arms, under his hands, under his
fingertips. He felt Arthur’s arms go around his shoulders, lightly at first, and then holding
stronger, his hands pressing into his back. As if checking to see if Merlin were real as well.

Merlin squeezed his eyes closed, tears sliding down his face. Yes, he thought, I’m real, and you’re
real, and I could die from joy right now, Arthur… Gods... Merlin pressed his face into Arthur’s
cold, wet chain mail, and oh- oh, how he’d missed this too, the smell of wet chainmail and
coarse fabric, and nights being nearly killed by bandits, and rats for dinner, dear gods how he’d
missed it all.

Alive, he kept thinking, as he clung to Arthur, shaking himself to pieces. Alive, alive, alive…

Arthur grabbed onto onto Merlin’s shoulders and guided him abruptly away, his eyes wide and
disbelieving. “Nizh zhwi yn breuzhwetio?”

Merlin laughed, shaking his head, deliriously happy to hear the melody of Old Brittonic
in Arthur’s rich voice. “Na, nizh ythych yn breuzhwetio,” Merlin said firmly. They weren’t
dreaming, either of them. But still, he found himself pressing his palms to the sides of Arthur’s
neck, feeling for the signs of life that had not been there before. “You have a pulse,” he choked
out, feeling the heartbeat under the cold and wet skin. “Your heart is beating… You’re alive...
You’re breathing…”

Arthur blinked slowly at his words, as if he was half asleep, and Merlin felt a jolt of terror, that
somehow Arthur would be drawn back into the mists, back to the island, away from him.

A flash of light made Arthur glance sharply at the crowd. Merlin followed his gaze to discover
that yes, they were being photographed and videoed and gods knew what else.

Merlin spoke to Arthur in the old language. “Are you able to stand? Can you walk?”

Arthur nodded without commenting on the motherly tone, which was not a good sign. With
difficulty, Merlin got his shaking legs under him, then grabbed under Arthur’s arms and hauled
him to his feet. They staggered together as Merlin dragged Arthur’s arm over his shoulders,
then put his own around Arthur’s waist.

He took a staggering step forward with Arthur at his side, only to have his way blocked by the
people recording them.

“Make way for the King!” Merlin snapped at them, surprising himself, because he hadn’t meant to
say it at all. But either his tone or his words were enough to part the crowd, and they all stepped
aside to let them pass, both of them staggering, Arthur tripping over his own feet, his head barely
lifted to see where he was going.

Behind them came a round of enthusiastic applause.

Of course, Merlin thought wildly. King Arthur Pendragon in his armor emerges from the Lake of
Avalon to Merlin waiting for him on the shores.

They were going to be a damned internet sensation.

“I was dead,” Arthur said in the old language, startling Merlin from his thoughts.

“And now you’re not,” Merlin told him.

“I’m… not.”

“Yes. You’re alive. And you’re going to stay that way.”

Arthur studied Merlin’s profile. “You’re old. Why are you old?”

Tears filled Merlin’s eyes again, blurring his vision, tightening his throat. “You’ve been gone a
while.”

Arthur started to reply, then seemed to forget what he was going to say, his eyes closing halfway.
“I’m so tired.”

Merlin felt his stomach twist, and he tightened his arm around Arthur’s waist, glaring over at the
tower ruins, still shrouded in mist. “You just need to lie down, Arthur. That’s all. You’ll be fine.”

You just try it, Merlin thought at the tower. You just try to take him from me. I’ll grind your
stones to dust and tear your island to pieces and boil your lake from the face of the earth-

“Merlin?”

Merlin startled, a cold sweat breaking out on his skin at the path his thoughts had been taking.
“Your rooms are ready,” he said quickly. “I did your laundry too. By hand. Just like I used to. Or
better. Better than I used to. Much better actually.”

Arthur tripped again, and Merlin had to slow their pace as he led Arthur to his North Tower
residence door. “Ætýne hyrde,” he told it.

When the front door swung open, Merlin pulled Arthur into his flat, as he had done so many times
in his fantasies. Arthur squinted at the glowing lamps as they moved through the livingroom,
frowning at the dark television as well. He let Merlin guide him, though, through the flat and into
the bedroom, over to the closet door. When Merlin opened it, Arthur’s expression transformed,
relief and recognition sweeping over him, at the sight of familiar stone steps and smooth
winding stone walls, flickering candles mounted upon them.

“This way,” Merlin urged, and watched Arthur grab hold of the wall, to put one foot after the other
to climb the stairs. By the time they got to the top, Merlin had to pause, breathing hard, his body
still frustratingly old enough to be tired from the effort.

Arthur looked dazedly down the stone corridor, at Pendragon pennants and shields
hanging between flickering torches. “I’m definitely dreaming,” he announced.

Merlin felt Arthur’s body relax, even the tired lines of his face easing in obvious relief. To be
here, where things were familiar. To be in a place that was looked like home. “You’re not
dreaming, Arthur,” Merlin told him. ”You’re awake. You’re awake, and you’re-“ His throat closed
up, and he had to force the words out, painfully, joyfully. “You’re alive. You’re here. And you’re
alive.”

With me, Merlin thought, and dropped his head forward, eyes squeezing closed at tears that simply
would not stop. Because at last, gods, at last, Arthur…

“Merlin?”

Worry had lowered Arthur’s voice.

So Merlin coughed, and cleared his throat, and strangled back his emotion. Arthur did not need to
see him break down. Not when he was still so clearly confused. “’M all right,” he managed, and
forced a smile.

Arthur had become distracted by the corridor again. “We’re in Camelot?”

“Not exactly.”

Arthur turned an annoyed scowl his way, which brought a wild grin to Merlin’s face. He’d
forgotten the way Arthur’s eyebrows scrunched together like that, his nose wrinkling at the top,
when he’d been truly annoyed.

“You’re not making any sense,” Arthur told him.

“As usual?” Merlin asked.

“As usual,” Arthur agreed.

And Merlin felt a laugh burst from him, followed by another, and another, until he was wheezing
from it.

Arthur continued to stare at him as if he were clearly insane, another familiar expression that had
Merlin laughing even harder, even as he pulled Arthur down the corridor to his chambers.

When they entered his rooms, Arthur stepped unsteadily away from him. Lake water dripped from
his sodden cape as he moved into his sleeping chambers, looking from canopy bed to stained glass
windows to fireplace to table and then back to Merlin again.

“No, this is definitely a dream,” Arthur said. “First I was in a battle. Then I died. Then I was in a
lake. Now I’m in Camelot. And you-“ he looked Merlin up and down “-look like an old court
fool. What are you wearing?”

Merlin felt as though his face was going to crack open from the force of his grin. “At least it’s not
feathers,” he said, his voice suffused with laughter.

Arthur frowned at him. “Why would you wear feathers?”

“To look like an idiot,” Merlin said happily. Any second, he was going to die from joy. He just
knew it. Arthur was back, and he was going to die from how happy he was. Any second now.
“Come on. Let’s get you into dry clothes.”

Arthur looked down at himself as if just realizing he was sopping wet. With a vague nod, he
allowed Merlin to steer him to sit in a chair beside the table.

Merlin shook his head as he dropped to one knee to pull off Arthur’s wet boots and socks. “I never
thought I’d be happy to see these socks again.”

It was absurd, his level of bliss at seeing the man’s socks. He would happily wash Arthur’s socks
for the rest of his life if it meant Arthur would be here to wear them. There was probably
something seriously wrong with that. But he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Arthur watched as Merlin swatted his long hair out of his face. “Why are you so old?”

“Well, if I look like this, then you can’t forget I’m wiser than you are, now can you.” Merlin
struggled to his feet and undid the clasp holding Arthur’s soaking cape around his shoulders. “Up
you get.”

Arthur obeyed without argument or comment, another distressing sign. There was still a
disturbingly blank look in his eyes.

“Arthur?” Merlin asked.

“I can’t quite…” Arthur frowned at the stone floor. “I can’t… follow a thought...”

“You just need rest. That’s all. A good night’s sleep.” Merlin took hold of Arthur’s arm to pull his
glove off. Beneath it, Arthur’s fingers were ice cold, so Merlin rubbed them quickly between his
palms.

“Your eyes.”

“What’s that?”

Arthur took his hand from Merlin’s, and set it on the side of Merlin’s face.

Merlin felt his breath leave him in a rush, his eyes falling closed. When he opened them again, he
saw Arthur studying him with an intensity he’d also somehow forgotten.

Gods above and below, how had he forgotten that Arthur used to look at him like this, as if trying
to unlock all his mysteries, right down to the most hidden parts of him.

“Your eyes,” Arthur said. “They’re the same.”

Merlin pressed his palm over Arthur’s hand. “As are yours,” he choked out. “My lord.”

When Arthur didn’t lower his hand, Merlin took it again, and rubbed his fingers until they felt
warm again. Dizzy with emotion, Merlin began unfastening Arthur’s hauberk and shoulder brace.
The old clasps and ties fought at him, and it took him much longer to finally remove the metal
plating than it should have done.

“Bit out of practice,” Merlin said, and set the armor on the table.

Again Arthur made no response, instead just raising both arms straight up.

Merlin followed his lead, pulling his chainmail up and over his head, then having the entirely new
and unwelcome experience of chainmail catching in his beard. He definitely needed to get rid of it-
He needed to get rid of it all- and soon.

After throwing the chainmail over a nearby chair, he removed Arthur’s padded jacket, and turned
back to face him, now only in his soaking wet shirt and trousers.

“There’s no clothes,” Merlin blurted out it in a moment of panic. “I mean. Of course. Of course
there is. But in storage. I had to- I mean- You can’t just leave cloth sit for- Without protecting it
with-” He watched Arthur blink, clearly not following. “I’ll get you some of my clothes from
down the hall,” he said, and moved to leave.

Arthur’s hand closed around his wrist.

Merlin froze, staring, at the extremely rare sight of fear shining from Arthur’s eyes.

“Or not,” Merlin said quickly.

Arthur released him, his entire body relaxing. He nodded, then stood motionless. Waiting to be
undressed.

“I’ll just let you- and I’ll ready the bed-“ Merlin said in a panic, and hurried away. It was absurd,
just patently absurd, for him to be acting like this. Arthur being undressed in front of him was
nothing he hadn’t seen a thousand times. And yet he couldn’t look, couldn’t turn back
around. “It’s all freshly washed. This morning. By hand. Did I mention?” He pulled down the
blankets, frowning at the way he was prattling on about nothing. “I used vanilla soaps,” he
added, because apparently there was no stopping himself. “Just like I did back in- I mean. Like
always. Just like always.”

Behind him came the sound of wet clothing slapping to the stone floor. Merlin grabbed a pillow
and aggressively shook it, wincing as his hand got caught in his long white hair, but keeping at it
until Arthur stepped to his side.

As Arthur crawled under the covers naked, Merlin studied the top of the canopy bed as if it held
the secrets to the universe. Only after Arthur pulled the covers up over himself did Merlin relax
and look at him again.

Arthur lay on his side on the mattress, facing into the room where Merlin stood. “Very strange
dream,” Arthur mumbled, and pressed his face into his pillow.

Merlin watched the blankets rise and fall as Arthur heaved a deep and contented sigh.

The sight of Arthur in his bed, in his room, made Merlin feel dizzy to the point of nearly losing
consciousness.

Any second, Merlin thought. Any second I’m going to die of happiness. No one could possibly
feel this happy and be allowed to live. Especially not me.

“You can tell me all about your strange dream when you wake up,” Merlin said, in a low voice that
shook and broke and was totally beyond his control.

“Stay here,” Arthur said into the pillow, “so that I can.”

Without hesitation Merlin knelt down on the cold stone floor beside the bed, his hands clutching
the edge of the mattress as Arthur’s eyes gently closed.

He’s just sleeping, Merlin thought. That’s all. Look, he’s breathing. You can see it. His shoulder
going up and down. And you can hear it. His breaths against the pillow. He’s just sleeping,
nothing else. Sleeping.

Merlin stretched out trembling fingers, but stopped short of touching Arthur’s hand where it rested
on the blankets. Instead, he pulled his hand back, and rested it on the blankets nearby.
 Without warning, Merlin choked out a sob, and had to press a palm over his mouth, to stifle the
noise. Another ragged sob followed, and he bent forward, pressing his face into the mattress,
emotion overwhelming his control.

He did not want Arthur to hear him crying. But he couldn’t stop himself. It was too much. Seeing
Arthur there. After all this time. After lifetimes and lifetimes alone. That Arthur was back.
Arthur was here…

Upon the bed there was a gentle movement. And then a hand settled upon Merlin’s, where it
rested on the bed.

Merlin choked out another sob, his other hand covering Arthur’s, his face pressed into Arthur’s
blankets, his sobs shaking the bed. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t move away. All he could do was
kneel there beside the bed, shaking and crying, desperately clutching Arthur’s hand in both of his.

Because here, at last, was his king, his life, his everything, alive and whole and at peace, sleeping
in his bed, with Merlin at his side, just as it should be.

Merlin heaved in a deep breath of vanilla scented linens and tightened his fingers around Arthur’s
warm hand.

“Of course I’ll stay with you, Arthur,” he said hoarsely. “It’s the only place I ever belonged.”

Chapter End Notes

If you’re enjoying the read (or re-read) so far, be sure to pause a moment to hit
“kudos”.
Then you can jump into Chapter 6.
;)
 the return of the king

Merlin spent the next hour kneeling by Arthur’s bedside, holding his hand in both of his, watching
him sleep.

The cold stone floor made his knees ache, and his legs had long since fallen asleep. But he didn’t
care. All that mattered was the rise and fall of Arthur’s shoulders under the blankets as he drew
breath, again and again and again.

The sight of it filled him with a bone-deep, relentless bliss. For the first time in countless years,
Merlin felt at peace. Whole. Alive.

Time was measured by Arthur’s heartbeats, by the pulse beating in his wrist. Each one told him
that this was real. This was happening.

After fifteen hundred long years. Finally. Arthur had returned.

Merlin pressed his forehead to the knuckles of Arthur’s hand, smelling lake water and salt on his
fingers, mixing with a scent that was uniquely Arthur. A smell he had long since forgotten.

For a long, long while he stayed like that. Just breathing.

I should stand up, Merlin thought eventually. I will stand up. Any moment. I will let go of his
hand. And I will stand up.

It took him another hour to do so.

When he finally let go of Arthur’s hand and tried to get to his feet, he found it nearly impossible.
His knees didn’t want to unbend. Pain filled his legs as blood flow returned, and he had to extend
an arm and mutter a spell to bring a chair to him. He collapsed upon it, and sat for a long while,
rubbing circulation back into his sore muscles.

And then sat there for a while more, looking at his sleeping king, after that.

I’m keeping watch, Merlin told himself. Just like I used to. It’s not strange at all. Watching Arthur
sleep. Counting his breaths. Like some sort of lunatic.

Merlin relaxed back into his chair, and let that thought go. He and Arthur were well beyond
whatever the world considered normal, after all, what with Arthur having just returned from the
dead after fifteen hundred years, and Merlin having lived all that time waiting for him.

No, Merlin thought. Normal was for other people. Not for them.

For several hours, Arthur slept peacefully in his bed, with Merlin at his side, ignoring the
complaints of his body, content to be exactly where he was. Outside of the open window facing
the lake, the sun rose high in the sky, and then sank towards the western horizon.

Only when the early evening chill crept into the room did Merlin finally rise from his chair, to set a
fire in the hearth. He hung Arthur’s things to dry beside it, set out his boots on the floor, and
spread out his armor upon a chair.

With that done, he sat down at Arthur’s desk, reaching for parchment and quill. He’d been putting
this task off for too long. But it was time.

He had to tell his friends goodbye. As Emrys, anyway.

He couldn’t even remember how old he was supposed to be, now that he thought of it. Quite
possibly his identification would list him to be over a hundred. He should have said his goodbyes
years ago. It just hurt so much every time he did this, to see his friends staring at his younger face
as if he were a stranger, even if they always did accept him as the family of the old man he had
been. Still, things were never the same after that.

He had no choice anymore, though. He couldn’t be there for Arthur as the old man he was. He had
to be himself again.

Using Arthur’s quills and parchment, Merlin spent the next hour writing his goodbyes to his
friends in the village, and to his staff in the Manor House. When he had only one letter left to write,
he stared a long time at the blank paper. Pondering what to say.

In the end, he decided to do what he never did. He decided to tell the truth.

‘My dearest Eleanor,

‘You have been my closest friend and most trusted confidant for over thirty years. It is with great
regret that I tell you that I must leave immediately, without even the courtesy of a proper goodbye.
I apologize for the manner of my departure.

‘As to its cause, I can only tell you this: The one for whom I have waited my entire life has finally
come back to me. I must be with him now, at once and forever, because he is - as he has always
been - my life, my soul, and my one great love. So please do not be too angry with me for my
abrupt departure. For I am happier at this moment than I have been in all of my long life. I hope
you will be happy for me.

“I am entrusting all my properties and my duties to my nephew Merlin Hunithson. His skills are
equal to mine, and he can take over my responsibilities in full. I hope that you will be as
wonderful a friend to him as you have been to me.

“May the forces of the heavens and the earth and all the magics that bind them together grant you
long life and great happiness.

“Sincerely, Emrys Hunithson”

Every word true, Merlin thought, as he placed the letter in its envelope on the stack.

Which left him only one thing to do.

Merlin stared at the empty expanse of mattress next to Arthur. There was nothing for it, he
thought. He needed to lay down to revert to his younger self. Lying on the stone floor promised
concussion and injury if things went wrong. And he’d promised Arthur he wouldn’t leave, so his
own room was right out of the question.

With a grunt, Merlin pulled his blue wizard robes over his head, dropping them to the floor. After
brushing his beard out of the way, he tightened the string at the waist of his black cotton trousers,
and resettled his t-shirt on his shoulders.

Very carefully, he sat down upon the edge of the bed. When Arthur gave no sign of
noticing, Merlin lay down upon the covers, arms at his sides. After a deep breath, he relaxed into
the fabric of the world.

Unlike his small restorative session yesterday, today he freed himself completely from the anchors
of time and mortality. Magic surged into his body at once, restoring muscle and fat and sinew,
dancing over his skin, vibrating in his bones, growing and intensifying as it rushed up from the
earth and crashed down from the sky, flooding into him and through him and over him beyond all
efforts to control it.

His body convulsed, his back bowing on the bed, as the power grew and grew again exponentially,
until every cell pulsed with magic, until he was magic itself, overwhelming him, tearing him apart,
driving him to madness-

“Merlin!”

Merlin jolted back into the waking world with a loud rattling gasp.

Wide eyed, breathing hard, he turned his head on the pillow and saw Arthur next to him, bare
chested, blond hair a mess, propped up on one elbow, his arm drawing back high over his head.

“I’m awake!” Merlin yelped, and then put his palm over where the skin of his face stung. “You
slapped me!”

“What the hell was that?” Arthur demanded.

“Why did you slap me?!”

“You were having a fit in my bed!”

“I didn’t know I was doing it, did I!” Merlin snapped, and then realized that his voice was stronger
than he remembered. He scrubbed his palm over his cheek, and felt just a hint of morning stubble
coming in beneath smooth skin. He ran his hand over the top of his head, and felt layers of thick
hair slide through his fingers. “How do I look?” he asked Arthur abruptly.

“What do you mean, how do you look?”

“I mean if you look at me, like you are doing right this very second, how do I look?”

“You look like you! How in the world else would you look?”

“Like an old man?”

Arthur started to reply, then froze. His eyes went wide, and he abruptly he sat up.

Merlin tried to scramble off the bed, got his legs tangled in the covers, and fell to the stone floor.
He got back to his feet at once, his legs strong and sure beneath him.

Upon the bed, Arthur was sitting perfectly still, his hands resting on the sheets gathered around his
waist. He was staring across the room, his lips a tight line, his brows pulled together.

Do not talk, Merlin told himself. Do not say a word. He needs to think. Give him time to do it.

Merlin distracted himself from the words that wanted to pour out of his mouth by inspecting the
muscles of his forearms, exposed beyond the short sleeves of his shirt. He wiggled his toes on the
cold stone floor, then rubbed his hands down the sides of his legs, feeling the muscles beneath his
soft trousers.
Still Arthur sat staring into the room.

“You’re not dreaming,” Merlin told him, and then winced at his lack of self control.

“No,” Arthur said, and lifted his hands from the blankets, rubbing his fingertips together. “Not
dreaming.”

Merlin counted backwards from twenty, first in the Common Brittonic they were speaking, and
then again, in English.

“I remember dying,” Arthur said.

Merlin watched Arthur press cautious fingertips to where Mordered’s sword had pierced him.
Only a small scar remained, marring his skin. “Mordred stabbed you,” Merlin said, and some of
the old anger seeped into his voice, turning it bitter, even after all this time. “At Camlaan. I
couldn’t heal you. The blade was enchanted.”

“So I did die.”

“Yes.”

Arthur put his fingers to his neck, at his pulse point. “I don’t seem dead now.”

“The Sidhe restored you. On the Isle of Avalon.”

“I remember... you trying to take me there… But then Morgana… And the horses ran off. We
didn’t make it in time. I remember that. Being with you. Dying.”

A flash of memory, of Arthur’s face falling into death. Of Arthur lying motionless in the boat on
the water. “What…” Merlin had to clear the tightness from his throat. “What else… can you
remember?”

“It was like… falling into a dream.” Arthur’s gaze lowered to the blankets. “There was darkness.
For a long time. Just… nothing. And the feeling of motion. Of other things, moving past me.
And… voices.” His gaze lifted again to Merlin’s. “Your voice. Sometimes.”

“My voice?”

“I could hear you. Talking to me.”

Merlin felt dizzy; had to blink away tears. “You could hear me…”

“I don’t know what… I don’t remember words… But… I knew you were there. I knew I wasn’t
alone.”

“You knew I-” Merlin began, then broke off, pressing his palms into his eyes, roughly clearing his
throat. Because that was too much. All these years that he had stayed here on the shores of
Avalon. All this time, Arthur had known he was close. He had known.

When Merlin lowered his hands, he saw Arthur staring at his distress with open concern. He
forced himself to take a deep breath and get himself under control. He had to be strong for his king.

“Well,” Merlin said, and forced a laugh, “you always did say I never shut up.”

Instead of replying, Arthur turned his attention to the room, studying it. “This isn’t Camelot."
“No.”

“But it looks like Camelot.”

“That was the idea.” Merlin gave him a sad smile. “How did you know?”

Arthur pointed the patterns of light on the far wall. “The sun. It’s coming from the wrong
direction. It never cast shadows over there before.”

“I knew I’d get something wrong,” Merlin said, and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. The
sun. Of all the things to mess up.

“Is this… I mean… Did you…” Arthur looked uncomfortable for the first time since he’d
stumbled out of the water. “Is it magic? This place?”

Of course Arthur would be worried about that above all else, Merlin thought grimly. But before he
could answer, Arthur interrupted him.

“I don’t care if it is, Merlin. I just want to know where I am. How I got here. The things I
remember aren’t making sense. I need to know what’s happened.”

The firmness of Arthur’s tone was a welcome sound. It almost helped him get over the shock that
Arthur honestly didn’t care if he’d magicked an entire building into existence.

“Why don’t you look for yourself.” Merlin retrieved Arthur’s dry clothing from beside the fire and
handed it to him. “Here. Put these on.”

Merlin walked to the lakeside window as Arthur pushed back the covers and dressed himself.
Arthur accepting magic was enough of a shock. Arthur standing alive and breathing and naked by
his side would have killed him straight away.

He waited for Arthur by the opened window, looking down at the rolling green lawns that
stretched down to the lake of Avalon. The darkening eastern sky above the lake was already filled
with violet and red and orange, reflecting on the water below.

Arthur stepped beside him, his bare arm brushing his own. Merlin shuddered at the contact, and
crossed his arms over his chest. Waiting.

“Avalon,” Arthur said in a low voice.

Merlin pointed at the stone circle in the park by the lakeside. “Down there is where I sent you in a
boat to the Sidhe.”

The silence that fell went on long enough for Merlin to count to a hundred. Twice.

“How long?” Arthur asked in a low voice.

“How long?”

“Have I been dead.” Arthur’s shoulders were back, his jaw a hard line.

Merlin fiddled with the hem of his shirt. Shifted his weight to his other foot.

“It’s been years, at the very least,” Arthur said.

“How-?”
“The tower is in ruins. The lake is vastly smaller. And the castle in which we’re standing wasn’t
here before. So either there’s been an attack and a massive drought and you magicked this castle
into being, or else a great deal of time has passed. Which is it?”

“I… didn’t magic the castle into place. I built it the traditional way.”

Arthur’s body went rigid, his expression guarded. His battle stance, Merlin thought, and felt his
muscles sympathetically tense out of habit, preparing for attack.

“So a good deal of time has passed,” Arthur said.

“Yes.”

“How much time?”

“Are you sure you want to-?”

“How. Much. Time.”

The words wouldn’t come. They just wouldn’t. Merlin closed his eyes, trying to get his voice to
work.

“Merlin, tell me,” Arthur commanded.

“One thousand, five hundred, fifty three years.”

Silence.

“Six months, twenty two days, and twelve hours,” Merlin finished miserably.

More silence.

And then, in a hoarse whisper: “No.”

Merlin saw an expression on his king’s face that was far worse than the one that had followed ‘I’m
a sorcerer’. He’d thought nothing could be worse than that. But he’d been wrong. This look of
disbelief and horror and growing panic… This was so, so much worse.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin said quickly. “Arthur. I’m so sorry-”

“No,” Arthur said, and stepped away from him, almost laughing, shaking his head. “No. You’re
wrong.”

“I wish I were-“

“It’s a spell,” Arthur insisted. “Someone has enchanted us. Both of us.”

“It’s not an enchantment-“

“This place- Is a lie- Is a trap- Someone is tricking us-“

“It’s not- Arthur!”

Arthur ran to the room’s other window, pushing open the glass, frantically scanning the outside,
where Merlin knew he would see the road stretching off into the distance, the cars driving on it, the
village houses nearby. After sending Merlin a look of shock, Arthur charged towards to his
chamber doors, pulled them open, then sprinted out into the corridor.

Merlin took off after him at a full run, chasing him down the hall and down the stairwell, into his
downstairs flat. He pulled the stairwell door closed behind him, then raced out into the open
rooms beyond his bedroom door.

A scream was the only thing that let him know that Eleanor was in the kitchen, apparently fixing
him some dinner.

Eleanor gaped at him, understandably alarmed that a frantic, barefooted, black-haired twenty-
something man in black trousers and t-shirt had apparently invaded the home of her dear friend
Emrys.

“Zhwi en nai-“ he began in Common Brittonic, then swore silently, and started over in English.
“I’m the nephew of Emrys Hunithson,” he said quickly. “I’m taking over for-”

At the front of his flat, Merlin saw Arthur yank the front door open, nearly pulling it from its
hinges, then charge out onto the lawns.

“Emrys wrote you a letter, told you all about it,” Merlin said, as Eleanor gaped at him. “I’ll give
you the letter- I just have to- I mean my friend-“ He gestured wildly to the front door. “I’m sorry
Eleanor- I mean Mrs. Godwyn- I have to go!” he called, and then took off through the rooms and
out the front door.
 the end and the beginning

Arthur Pendragon had never run from anything in his life. Not in his heart.

No enemy, no army, had ever gained advantage on that battlefield.

Until now.

Arthur burst out of the door of the castle that wasn’t his castle onto the field that stretched down to
the lake. His bare feet pounded over cold grass as he sprinted forward, his only destination being
away.

Away from the false Camelot and from fever dreams of inky waters and cold death. Away from
the sound of Merlin’s voice saying words that could not be true.

“One thousand, five hundred, fifty three years…”

Arthur shoved through a crowd of people, who yelled after him in a language he couldn’t
understand. People were all over the field, their clothing colorful and strange, the men only half
dressed, the women even more scandalously so.

Only the grass beneath his feet felt familiar. Only the woods along the water felt known. He
charged towards them, jumping over people on blankets by the lakeside, rushing headlong into the
underbrush. Branches tore at his skin and clothes, twigs digging into his feet. But it was good, the
pain, because it was tangible, and undeniable, and true.

Arthur caught himself against a tree trunk at the water’s edge, then pushed away just as quickly,
staggering into the lake until the water was at his knees.

Chest heaving for air, shuddering from the icy water around his legs, Arthur stood and stared wide-
eyed at the ruins of the tower on the Isle of Avalon.

“One thousand, five hundred, fifty three years…”

A millennium, Arthur thought. That’s over a millennium.

“No,” he breathed, and shook his head again and again. “No… no…”

But he could remember it now.

He could remember.

The unending darkness. The years slipping past him. Generations of man being born and living and
dying, while he sat trapped in time. Unable to touch. Unable to feel.

Arthur’s breath rushed out of him, and he stumbled forward, nearly falling.

Dead, he thought. They’re all dead.

If it really happened. If those years passed. Then everyone I know. Everyone I love. They’re
dead. All of them. Dead.

“No,” he breathed. “No…” He saw their faces flash before him, one after the other. Gwen, Gaius,
Leon, Gwaine, Percival, on and on and on, through all of his knights, all of his court, the citadel,
the lower town, the people in the countryside, his allies in the 5 kingdoms, every face he had ever
known or ever seen in his life.

Dead. Every single one.

Arthur felt his stomach heave violently, and he bent double, hands gripping his knees, but nothing
followed. Of course, he thought wildly. Of course I can’t be sick. I’ve been dead fifteen hundred
years.

Arthur’s legs gave out at the thought, and he sank into the water. The cold of it shocked him back
up to his feet, and he stumbled forward, the water rising over his hips, the rocks digging into his
feet at the lake bottom.

He could hear his breaths, loud and ragged, over the breeze.

They sounded like sobs.

He supposed they were.

Camelot, Arthur thought, and his body jerked in anguish as if from the thrust of a sword. Camelot
must be gone as well. No kingdom, no castle, could last a thousand years. She must have fallen
into dust by now. Dust and ashes and death.

His breath rushed out of him, a growl forming at its tail, as his hands balled into fists in the water.

Everything I did, Arthur thought bitterly. Everything I fought for. Everything I died for. Taken
from me. And without anyone lifting a sword to do it.

Arthur glared at the tower upon the Isle of Avalon in sudden, blinding, rage. “What have you
done?” he yelled.

The ruins stood silent and gave no reply.

“Answer me, damn you!” Arthur roared, and grabbed a branch that lay floating in the water. With
a yell that ripped at his throat, he hurled it against a tree trunk at the shoreline, where it snapped in
half with a crack like a man’s neck breaking.

The momentum from the throw nearly sat him down in the water, and he stumbled backwards a
few steps, the water rising above his waist.

“Arthur!”

He looked back to the shore to see Merlin charging into the lake, his arms flying to the sides to
propel him forward. When he reached where Arthur stood in the water, Merlin fell upon him, his
hands clamping painfully onto his arms. “Arthur, get out of the lake!”

“I’m all right,” Arthur said, and tried to loose Merlin’s hands, but Merlin just shook his head, his
eyes frantic, and hung on tighter.

“Get out! Come on! Out of the water!” Merlin pulled at his arms, at his shirt, then grabbed the
back of his neck hard and yanked him towards the shore.

“I said I- Merlin, let go!” Arthur jerked away, staggering back into deeper waters. In a panic,
Merlin launched himself after him, his arms wrapping around his waist, lifting him off his feet.
Arthur caught an elbow to the ribs in the process, and angrily grabbed hold of Merlin, and dropped
them both under the surface of the lake.

Merlin emerged sputtering water, his black hair plastered to his head, his arms still frantically
reaching for Arthur.

Arthur grabbed hold of a flailing arm and twisted it behind Merlin’s back, turning him with it, until
Arthur could wrap an arm around Merlin’s neck from behind. Still Merlin fought and kicked at
the water, trying to force them back to shore.

Arthur yanked Merlin’s arm farther behind his back, making him arch and cry out in surprise and
pain. “Merlin!” Arthur yelled, right into his ear. “Stop this! I command it!”

The fight went out of Merlin at once. His body went limp, a heavy weight against Arthur’s chest.
“Come out of the lake, Arthur,” he choked out, his voice shaking, his fingers pulling weakly at the
arm around his neck. “Please… Don’t go… I can’t… Not again… Not alone… Come back with…
Please, please…”

Terror contorted Merlin’s face in a way that Arthur had never seen in all their years together. He
could feel Merlin’s body shaking violently against him, as he breathed the word “please” over and
over again.

“All right,” Arthur said to him. “All right, just-“ He lifted his gaze to find a stretch of grass where
they could climb to shore. But his eyes were caught instead by the building at the top of the hill.

Two massive round stone towers, each three stories high, flanked the ends of an enormous
rectangular stone structure bearing a front wall made of glass.

I built it the traditional way, Merlin had said.

Arthur felt another surge of nausea, and went breathless in his shock, as he realized what that
meant.

Fifteen hundred years, he thought, as he stared down at Merlin’s anguished face. But it couldn’t
be-

“Please, Arthur,” Merlin breathed again, between wheezing gasps.

Arthur released Merlin’s arm and caught him around the waist, pulling him against his chest.
“Come on,” he breathed, as Merlin’s head fell back against his shoulder, his face still twisted with
panic and pain. “Let’s get out of this damned lake.”

Arthur glared over at the Isle of Avalon, his arms tightening around Merlin’s chest. He stumbled
with him in the water as he pulled his friend away from the isle, away from the tower, and back to
the shore.

“Come on, Merlin,” Arthur said, “move your legs. Dammit, you’re heavy, help me. Just a few
more steps. Right over here.”

Together they staggered out of the lake and collapsed onto their backs, sprawled next to each other,
shoulder to shoulder, on the grassy shores of the Lake of Avalon.

Arthur waited until he heard Merlin’s harsh breathing grow quieter. Then waited some more until
Merlin gave a cough, and a sniff, and cleared his throat. And then waited a bit more after that.

“One thousand, five hundred, fifty three years,” Arthur said finally.
“Yes,” came a hoarse reply.

“All those years… that I was dead… you… were....”

“Alive.”

Arthur turned his head on the grass, shivering from the wind on his drenched tunic and breeches.
He studied Merlin’s sharp profile, seeking evidence of this unimaginable stretch of time, but
finding none. “You were alive. All that time.”

“Yes.” A weary sigh up at the heavens.

“You’re fifteen hundred years old,” Arthur said, because he had to say it out loud. It was beyond
all comprehension.

He watched Merlin nod up at the sky.

Impossible, Arthur thought. Unthinkable. That Merlin had lived that long. It was almost harder to
believe than the passage of time itself. Merlin, living through the centuries without him, day after
day after day for lifetimes of man.

“But how?” Arthur asked him.

“I’m not just a sorcerer,” Merlin said. “I don’t just use magic. I was born of it. I’m made of it.
The rules of man don’t apply to me.”

“But I saw you. Before. As an old man.”

Merlin wrapped his arms around his body, shivering in his wet clothes as a breeze picked up. “I
can grow old if I want to. I can be young if I want to. I can be a lot of things. And I have. Over
the centuries.”

Arthur felt grief fill him anew, at the pain in Merlin’s voice. “Over the centuries,” he said, through
a tight throat.

Another small nod, and a sniff, and this time he saw Merlin wipe at his eyes quickly with the palm
of his hand.

“You won’t ever die, then?” Arthur asked.

Merlin turned his head on the grass, for the first time meeting Arthur’s gaze. Merlin’s blue eyes
were bloodshot and weary and - yes, Arthur could see it now - his eyes also belonged to a very,
very old man.

“Everything dies, Arthur,” Merlin said softly.

Arthur thought of his wife, his friends, his people.

Yes, he thought. It does.

For a little while they lay there, side by side. When he saw Merlin give a violent shudder from the
breeze on his wet clothes, Arthur sat up, uncomfortably crossing his legs in his soaking breeches.
After a moment, Merlin sat up as well, hugging his legs to his chest.

From nearby came the sound of voices, and Arthur looked over to see two people with several
small children walk past, dressed in that brightly colored clothing. They had blankets and bags in
their hands, talking more nonsense in that language that he’d heard earlier, as they climbed the hill
to the massive stone structure at its top.

“You said you built that?” Arthur asked, nodding to the stone dwelling and its towers.

“Yes.”

“So these lands are yours?”

“Yes.”

“And you live here.”

“I do.”

Merlin’s arms were wrapped tight around his legs, pale and thin in his wet black clothing, the lines
of his face made sharper by his wet black hair sticking to his head.

He was Merlin, Arthur thought. And yet, he was not. Not as Arthur knew him. Not with this
strange economy of words. Not with the eyes of an old man in a young man’s body. Not with the
panic that had overwhelmed him in the lake.

It was a terrifying thought. That Merlin should be lost to him. Just like everything else he knew.

“How did you survive it?” Arthur asked. Because he was worried that he had not. Not with all his
insolence and bravery and idiocy intact. Not as the man he had been.

“One day after another,” Merlin said, and lowered his chin to his knees.

It was maddening, Arthur thought. These simple responses. It was utterly unlike Merlin to be
without his endless prattle, his firm reassurances, his ready smiles.

No, Arthur thought angrily. Merlin will not be lost to me as well. Not after all we’ve been
through. Not after all we’ve survived. I will not allow it.

“So, with all these extravagant lands,” Arthur said, affecting the tones of pompous royalty that had
always driven Merlin mad, “and with your grand stone manor, you must have some sort of title by
now.”

The mere suggestion of such a thing by the King of Camelot would have been a compliment to any
man of his age. The Merlin that Arthur remembered would have taken it as the greatest insult
imaginable.

Arthur felt relief sweep through him as Merlin glanced at him first in surprise and then in poorly
concealed offense. “No.”

A shorter answer than Arthur wanted. He narrowed his eyes, and tried harder. “I find that difficult
to believe,” he said, adding a bit of mockery into his tone now. “Surely, at some point, some
simpleton must have made the absolutely idiotic decision to offer you, of all people, a title.”

The corner of Merlin’s mouth twitched. “They might have done.”

Arthur felt his brows raise in genuine surprise. “They did?”

“Lord of Avalon,” Merlin muttered, and made a derisive noise.

“Lord Merlin of Avalon? That is ludicrous.”

“That’s what I told them, right before I told them to take their sodding lordship and piss off.”

A knot of tension loosed itself in Arthur’s chest at the flowing words and insolent tone. “Of course
you did.”

“It was offensive,” Merlin insisted, but he was smiling now.

“Oh yes, terribly offensive, to be offered a title.”

“It was. They wanted to make me nobility.”

“Lord Merlin,” Arthur said again, in a mocking regal tone.

“Shut up.”

“There you go again, forgetting that you can’t speak to your king that way,” Arthur said.

But then his smile fell from his face.

Because that was gone as well, wasn’t it.

His title. His crown. His rule.

Merlin must have seen something of this in his expression, because he fell silent as well. For a few
minutes they sat together on the grass without speaking, wet and cold in the early evening breeze.

Arthur stared out at the tower, the numbness he’d felt earlier returning stronger than before.

“It will be all right,” Merlin said into his thoughts. “I swear, sire.”

“I’m not a king anymore, Merlin,” Arthur said, and the words were like sand in his throat.

“Of course you’re still a king.”

“I have no kingdom. No people. No crown. I cannot be king.”

“Yes you can,” Merlin insisted.

“How’s that then?” Arthur snapped, in sudden anger. “Because the last time I checked, you had to
actually have lands, and subjects, and a kingdom, in order to actually be a king! And all of those
have been taken from me!”

Arthur watched Merlin crawl over and kneel before him, his hands gripping Arthur’s shoulders, his
long fingers curling around them. His eyes held the same dark intensity that Arthur had sometimes
glimpsed back in Camelot. Though not often. And not until near the end.

“They still speak of you, my lord,” Merlin said, his voice low and firm. “Even after fifteen
centuries, you are remembered. And even if you weren’t, you are still a king, sire. You will
always be a king. Even after all you see here is gone. Even after we are both turned to dust. You
will always be the Once and Future King Arthur Pendragon of Camelot, a king unlike any other
from the dawn of time to the end of all things!”

For one startlingly clear moment, Arthur could see within Merlin the forces of magic, bound within
his living flesh, immortal and eternal, touching the future and the past, powerful beyond measure,
yet choosing to exist in this world, in this man, as his servant, as his friend.

“Arthur?”

Arthur blinked, and the vision vanished. It was just Merlin, kneeling on the grass, with his nose
red from the cold, his blue eyes wide under raised black eyebrows, his wet hair sticking up all
around the familiar angles of his cheekbones and the round shapes of his ears.

“You sound very sure,” Arthur managed.

“I am very sure,” Merlin told him.

Before Arthur could ask why, he saw Merlin give a violent shudder. “Are you all right?”

Merlin rubbed his bare arms with his hands. “It’s not exactly swimming weather.”

“I assume you have dry clothes somewhere in that grand castle of yours,” Arthur said, and was
rewarded by a flash of irritation in Merlin’s expression.

“It’s not a castle, it’s a house.”

“It has turrets, Merlin.”

“Small turrets.”

Arthur shook his head as he got to his feet. “You are impossible,” he said, and extended a hand
down to his friend.

Merlin took his hand, and let himself be hauled to his feet. “That makes two of us.”

Arthur gave the tower one last look, thinking of the fifteen hundred years he had been dead, and the
fifteen hundred years Merlin had been alive.

“Yes,” Arthur said, in a low voice. “Yes. It does.”

 the burden of prophecy

Before entering the front tower door, Arthur followed Merlin along its round stone wall and over to
its side. After glancing around, Merlin looked up at the window Arthur had opened earlier, and
said: “Inbringe, cume mec.”

Arthur watched a flash of magic turn the blue of Merlin’s eyes into a sparkling gold. Even though
Merlin had used his magic several times in his presence, he couldn’t quite get over his amazement
at watching his friend manipulate the world in this way. Even more amazing was a rustling of
paper from above, as several sealed envelopes fluttered down from the open window.

I had never imagined such gentle magic, Arthur thought, as the envelopes stacked themselves, one
after another, upon Merlin’s waiting palm.

Merlin noticed him staring, and shrugged. “My friends inside only know me as an old man named
Emrys. These letters tell them that I’m his nephew. It should be enough to keep us from being
thrown into what passes for a dungeon these days.”

“Is magic still illegal?”

Merlin gave him look of total bafflement. “What?”

“The reason you can’t explain what’s happened. Is it because magic is still illegal?”

“No one believes magic exists anymore,” Merlin said, in a voice that spoke to Arthur of
uncountable years of life and loss and loneliness. “They haven’t for centuries.”

“How can that be possible?”

“No one is left who wields magic. Well. Except me.”

“But what about the others? The beasts, the relics… the dragons.”

“All gone.”

Arthur heard the echo of his own words in Merlin’s. All gone. His friends, his kingdom, his
world. All gone.

“Come on,” Merlin told him. “Let’s get this over with before things get out of hand.”

As it turned out, Merlin was right about their hostile reception. The moment he and Merlin
stepped through the doorway into the strangely lit rooms beyond, they were accosted by an angry
old woman and two men wearing matching clothing.

Arthur stood silently by Merlin’s side, and watched him speak to them all in that strange language.
He couldn’t understand the words, but he knew exactly what Merlin was doing. He’d seen him do
it before.

Another of Merlin’s many talents, Arthur thought, as he watched his friend smile and nod, his
voice soft, his expression apologetic, his shoulders slouched, his entire body language non-
threatening. It set the two men at ease, though not so the old woman in her flowered dress. She
continued to glare at Merlin, right up until he handed her one of the envelopes he held.
She tore it open and read the letter contained within at once. When she was finished, her eyes were
filled with tears, and a smile gentled the wrinkles of her face. She dismissed the two men at once,
then pulled Merlin into a clearly unexpected hug.

By the time Merlin was escorting her to the room’s other door, she was smiling at them both,
nattering away and waving the remaining envelopes in her hand.

“What just happened?” Arthur asked, once they were alone.

“A goodbye and a hello,” Merlin said, wistful. “We should be all right now. Eleanor will take care
of things for me. She always does.”

“Eleanor?”

“An old friend. Come on. This way.”

Arthur followed Merlin into another brightly lit room with smooth white walls. A large bed
dominated it, surrounded by odd pieces of furnishings, some supporting strange sculptures that
emitted a steady light. Arthur searched for any traces of a flame, but found none. “There’s no
magic, you said.”

“The people of this era don’t need magic anymore. They have technology.”

Arthur let that nonsensical statement pass, focusing on the bed. That, at least, he recognized. “Is
this where you sleep?”

“This is where everyone thinks I sleep.” Merlin opened a small door in the wall to reveal a
winding stone staircase. “I actually sleep upstairs.”

Arthur watched Merlin step out of his way so that he could go first. Arthur climbed the stone steps
curiously, trying to remember his first journey up this staircase, soaking wet with lake water. “You
sleep in my chambers?”

“No,” Merlin answered, in a strange tone. “I sleep in mine.”

Merlin’s chambers, Arthur discovered, were at the other end of the long corridor from his own,
past a familiar sign on the wall that said “Court Physician”. The door leading to them was an exact
replica of the door leading to Gaius’ chambers back in Camelot. As were the rooms beyond it.

Arthur stepped through the doorway, profoundly disoriented by how completely the rooms
resembled Gaius’ chambers. This could be Camelot, he thought. I could be standing in Camelot
right now. Only the sun shining through the high window at the wrong angle gave the illusion
away.

Wooden tables held stacks of glass bottles and tubes of all colors and shapes. Shelves held thick
old books stacked high upon them. Standing racks were crammed with all manner of equipment,
some familiar and some not.

At the other side of the room, Arthur even saw the cot where Gaius had slept. Its blankets were
made up and pulled back, just slightly. As if expecting Gaius to use them.

“It helps me remember,” Merlin said softly, after Arthur had stared a bit too long.

But Arthur couldn’t tear his eyes from all of the loving details of Gaius’ bed. His robes lay neatly
folded upon his pillow. Even his shoes sat upon the floor.
Another wave of grief made Arthur clench his teeth and swallow hard against sudden nausea.

We have both lost so much, he thought. Merlin as well as I. It is all gone and dead for him. Just
as it is all gone and dead for me.

“It’s probably a bit strange,” Merlin was saying in an embarrassed tone.

Arthur turned to find Merlin gazing at the lonely cot. Pain had sharpened the lines of his face, and
again Arthur could see the old man who he was now, reflected in his blue eyes. “Do you use any
of this?” Arthur asked, hoping to pull him from his thoughts.

“Yes. To make herbal remedies and other things.”

“How did it all get here?”

“A bit of labor. A bit of help. And a bit of magic.” At the last word, Arthur saw Merlin flinch, a
barely noticeable thing at the corners of his eyes. “This way,” he said, and headed towards the
door of his room.

Arthur followed Merlin into his chambers. “Well,” he said. “This is different.”

A large, soft bed had been wedged into the small room, between Merlin’s tables and desk. And
beyond that, a doorway was set into the wall, covered by a curtain.

“I had to make a few modifications,” Merlin said, as he ducked under the curtain.

Arthur followed him into an enormous room. Its high ceiling was formed by the the beams
supporting the tower’s roof, and its rounded stone walls held hundreds of shelves containing
thousands of books. Up and up they went, making Arthur crane his head painfully to see them,
squinting against the daylight streaming in through the narrow windows. “Where did you get all
this?”

“All over the place,” Merlin said. “Come on. Dry clothes are this way.”

The floor of the room was filled with high wooden shelves taller than Arthur’s head. He followed
Merlin through the maze of them, studying the stacks of objects upon them as he passed. Mostly
there were books, their titles written in languages he couldn’t understand. Quite a few of them bore
Merlin’s familiar handwriting.

“You wrote some of these,” Arthur said, his voice echoing on the stone.

“It helped pass the time.”

Arthur’s gaze lifted again to the thousands upon thousands of books. It helped pass the time, he
thought, and felt a bit dizzy, trying to comprehend just how much time that had been.

“Right here.” Merlin stepped into an open area of the room by the exterior stone wall. Dozens of
crates and trunks were stacked against it, shoulder high.

Arthur felt Merlin place a hand on his shoulder, stopping him from walking closer.

“I need to undo some…” Again Merlin hesitated. “There are some enchantments.”

Arthur made a very intentionally offhanded gesture for him to continue. Merlin turned to face the
crates, his hand slowly moving back and forth in the air, muttering low to himself, his eyes lowered
and nearly closed.
After a gentle wind passed over Arthur’s face, Merlin lowered his arm. “What did you do?”

Merlin crouched down by one of the trunks. “Clothing rots if you let it sit too long,” he said,
opening a trunk to pull out an armful of what Arthur recognized as his own clothing. “So I
preserved it with magic.” Another slight cringe, and nervous glance over at him, at the last word.

“You don’t need to flinch every time you speak of magic,” Arthur told him.

Merlin stilled for a moment, then went back to pulling clothing out of the open trunk. “Just a habit
when I’m around you, I guess.”

“After fifteen hundred years I’m surprised you still remember any of your habits around me.”
Arthur thought about those words a long moment. “I’m surprised you remember anything about
me, in fact,” he added, in wonderment.

Merlin cast a haunted look over his shoulder, then turned back to dig in another trunk nearby. He
lifted from it clothing that Arthur had seen Merlin wear back in Camelot. Pants and tunics,
kerchiefs and socks and undergarments all went into the growing pile of clothing nearby.

“How did you?” Arthur asked.

“How did I what?”

“Remember me. All those years.”

Merlin stilled completely. But only for a moment. “People wouldn’t shut up with their stories
about you,” he said, in an overly casual tone of voice that Arthur now recognized was the cover for
an enormous lie. “I couldn’t help but remember.”

Arthur had figured it out, finally, when they’d been riding together to Avalon. It was obvious, in
hindsight, how Merlin had deceived him for so many years. It had happened just like this. By
Merlin turning the truth into a joke, and by distracting him with nonsense and idiocy.

The forced smile Merlin gave him now didn’t hide any of the pain in his eyes. A big lie then,
Arthur thought. But he let it go for now. It could wait until a better time. He doubted he’d get the
truth from Merlin now anyway. Not with how far he’d withdrawn into himself.

“Stories, you say,” Arthur said.

Merlin restacked the large bundle of clothing on the floor. “Every child knows the story of King
Arthur of Camelot and the Knights of the Round Table.”

No lie this time, Arthur thought. Which was astonishing, honestly, and more than a little hard to
believe. But he smothered his questions, because this was the longest sentence he’d heard Merlin
utter in some time.

“What,” Arthur said, “there’s no mention of Merlin in these stories?”

The humor melted from Merlin’s face. “Yes,” he said. “There is.”

And then he gathered the clothing into his arms and stood, while Arthur wondered in growing
frustration what he’d said this time to make Merlin draw into himself again.

“My lord,” Merlin said into his thoughts.

Merlin was standing beside him, the large stack of clothing held away from his wet clothes. It
took Arthur a moment to realize Merlin was waiting for him to lead the way.

It should have felt reassuring, this gesture of respect. It should have made him feel comforted, and
like nobility. Instead, Merlin’s silent deference made him feel isolated, and lost, and in the
company of a stranger who only happened to look like his friend.

“Fine,” Arthur said in a low voice, and turned to leave the room.

After Merlin dropped his own clothes onto the bed of his own room, Arthur led the way back to
his chambers. As he walked through the stone corridor connecting their rooms, his gaze drifted
across pennants bearing the Pendragon crest and shields bearing the sigils of his ancestors. Just
like home, he thought. But not at all. Unlike Camelot, there were no other corridors like this one.
No knights on the training grounds. No wife beside him on the throne.

Stop, Arthur thought at himself. Those thoughts can keep for later. For now, all he wanted to do
was to rid himself of these wet clothes, to wash away the smell of the damned lake water, and to
rest, just for a little while.

He could still feel the weariness that had plagued him since stumbling out of the water. His body
ached as if he had trained hard all day. And his head hurt from what he’d learned.

It was the grief, Arthur thought. Grief and loss, catching up with him. Weighing him down.
Making him feel heavy.

It would be bad, tonight. The silence and the dark always pulled all of his pain to the surface. He
found himself wishing for a battle campaign, for a hunt, for anything that meant being in the
company of others, of lying beside his comrades in the heart of his kingdom.

All of it, lost to him now. Except for Merlin. Or the person Merlin had become, perhaps.

“An early night will be for the best,” Arthur said, to banish these thoughts.

“Yes, my lord.”

Nothing but respect and obedience. It was infuriating.

Once they’d reached his chambers, Merlin stacked his clothes on the long table, then began to put
his things away into his dresser and wardrobe. Arthur moved absently through the rooms,
touching a chair here, a table there.

Upon his desk Arthur noticed his quill. Not a quill similar to his quill. But his actual quill. He
remembered knocking over the ink, and staining the top feathers just where these bore a splash of
black.

“How much more is there?” Arthur asked.

“Hmm?” Merlin held up Arthur’s jacket, shook it out, then hung it up with great care.

“Of Camelot. Here in Avalon. Besides your rooms, and Gaius’, and mine.”

“There’s another tower,” Merlin said to the wardrobe. “At the other end of the house. Three stories
full of things. And there’s cellars below us. And a floor above. It’s not all of it. But it’s a lot.”

Arthur watched Merlin smooth out the wrinkles in one of his shirts. How much quicker could he
do all of this with magic? he wondered. For that matter, how much quicker could Merlin have
done all of his chores back in Camelot with magic? Maybe he had done. Arthur wanted to ask,
but couldn’t bring himself to do it. The moment felt too peaceful. Merlin had relaxed, finally, as he
tended to Arthur’s clothes.

“I’ll fetch the rest of your things tomorrow,” Merlin said into his thoughts.

Arthur nodded, realizing he’d been staring. He forced himself to look away, walking to the side
window. Halfway there he stopped, thinking of what he’d seen outside before. With a loud sigh,
he went to the hearth instead, to lean against its mantle.

The sound of the windows snapping shut behind him made Arthur glance sharply over his
shoulder. Not only had the stained glass windows closed, but the shutters had closed over top of
them, and the curtains had swung shut across the arched alcove.

Arthur looked over at Merlin, who was still standing where he had been, at the dresser, folding his
socks and putting them into the drawer. Only a small upturn at the corner of his lips gave away
what he had done.

Arthur waged a brief hopeless battle against his curiosity. “The other one,” he said.

Merlin looked over at him, socks dangling from his hands.

“The other window is open.” Arthur gestured to his adjoining room, to the dim evening light
beyond the open stained glass.

Merlin nodded, setting the socks into the drawer, and went to go secure it.

“Not like that.”

Merlin’s startled reaction held more than a bit of hope. Which was well worth the unease Arthur
had felt at making this request.

“You mean…” Merlin raised a hand in the direction of the window. “Like… this?”

“Yes,” Arthur told him. “Like that.”

Almost timidly, Merlin extended his arm towards the window, palm open, long fingers spread
wide. His eyes stayed on Arthur as he spoke. “Fordyttan fenester, wágrift, éagdurue”.

Arthur watched the golden glow of magic shine in Merlin’s eyes, sparkling like stars, before fading
away. He didn’t see the windows shut, or the shutters close, or the curtains fall over the alcove.
But that wasn’t what he’d wanted to see anyway.

A flush had filled Merlin’s cheeks. Even his ears had gone a bit red. Arthur gave a soft laugh,
smiling in relief, because here was the youthful, awkward Merlin he knew, scowling at him with a
familiar expression of impatient irritation.

“What?” Merlin demanded.

“You can call lightning down from the heavens in front of entire armies, but you blush when
closing a window in front of me,” Arthur said. Because that was just too ridiculous.

“Yes. Well. You didn’t know it was me, then.”

“I saw you use magic earlier today in my presence.”

“Not magic you asked me to do.”

The tone was so vulnerable that Arthur couldn’t think of what to say. Merlin flushed a bit deeper,
looking at Arthur as if he were the center of all things.

Arthur felt another surge of relief, and of gratitude, that Merlin’s devotion had not been lost to him
either. Not even after fifteen centuries.

“I meant what I said that day,” Merlin said, his voice quiet. “My magic is meant for you. It was
meant to be used in your service.”

“How can you know that?”

“I know it because it’s my destiny.”

“According to whom?” Arthur pressed, sensing more than just that. Judging by Merlin’s
hesitation, it was quite a bit more.

“According to nearly every magical being I ever encountered,” Merlin said. “They all said it was
my destiny to serve you, according to the prophecy.”

“Prophecy?”

“About you. And what you were meant to do for Albion. As the Once and Future King.”

“Future king,” Arthur said, and he felt the breath rush out of him, as though he’d taken a blow to
the stomach. He felt his face flush, his heart beating hard against his chest. “So they- They
knew- That this would happen to me. They knew?”

Merlin gave a reluctant, and pained, nod of his head.

Arthur thought of the darkness of almost two thousand years, of the loss of everything he’d known,
of the deaths of everyone he loved. “They called me by that title, to my face, over and over again,
and they didn’t think to tell me?”

“They weren’t big on details with me either,” Merlin muttered to the floor.

“Future,” Arthur spat out, and laughed bitterly, his face twisting with the betrayal of it all. “So
this,“ he swept out his arms to the false castle, the strange world, “this is what they meant. When
they said future. They meant this, now, when everyone I know is dead and buried.”

He saw another slow nod from his friend, his eyes still downcast.

They didn’t tell me, Arthur thought furiously. How could they have not told me? How could they
have not warned me about this? Not even one of them!

Arthur felt a wave of nausea as a truly, sickeningly, horrible thought occurred to him. “What about
you, Merlin?” he demanded. “Did you know it would happen this way?”

Merlin’s eyes went wide, and he shook his head from side to side. “No! No, Arthur, I had no
idea!”

Arthur advanced on him. “Are you lying to me again, Merlin? Because you’ve lied to me before-“

“I’m not lying! I swear it!”

“How can I believe you?” Arthur yelled.

“You think I would have let something like this happen to you if I could have stopped it?” Merlin
yelled back at him, stepping forward into his space, arms stiff at his sides. “I would never have let
it happen to you if I had known! I would have died first!”

The assurance did nothing to cut through the haze of rage that Arthur felt consuming him. “But
they all still knew,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “They knew that my destiny would
mean that I would lose everything I had! Everything I fought for! Everyone I loved! They knew
that I would wind up here! Alone! With nothing!”

Merlin flinched as if struck.

Too late, Arthur realized why.

“Nothing,” Merlin said, the choked word rumbling up from his chest, his eyes narrowing, his lips
pressing into a thin line.

Arthur watched him shake his head, holding back words, before turning away, back to the dresser.

“In case you hadn’t noticed,” Merlin snapped, “you aren’t the only one who lost everything
because of the prophecy. I lost everything too. Only slower. And on my own. And over, and
over, and over again, for fifteen hundred years, while I waited for you, although the reason why I
bothered doing that escapes me entirely right now.”

Merlin shoved past him, grabbed the rest of his clothes, yanked another dresser drawer open, then
threw the bundle of clothing inside it.

“Merlin-“

The slam of the drawer cut him off. “Why don’t I just go and get the rest of your royal things now,
my lord,” Merlin bit out, somehow making ‘my lord’ clearly sound like ‘you arse’.

After Merlin marched from his chambers with a slam of the door behind him, Arthur sat down hard
on the edge of his table, and dragged both hands up over his face and through his wet hair.

Well done, Arthur thought. Absolutely well done. Directing your fury at the one person who
deserved it least.

Arthur sat a long while staring into his room, Merlin’s words echoing in his head.

Nothing, Arthur thought. I just called Merlin nothing.

Merlin, who had stayed on the shores of the Lake of Avalon, in a castle that he’d built for Arthur,
for fifteen hundred damned years.

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes closed. “Idiot,” he said to himself,
with feeling.
 the absence and failure of words
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Merlin stood in the hallway, ten paces beyond Arthur’s chambers.

Idiot, he thought. Where do you think you’re going? You can’t even let him out of your sight for
two minutes without having a nervous breakdown. You think you’re going to be able to leave this
corridor?

With a muttered curse, he sat down hard on the stone floor and shoved his back against the wall.

“Obnoxious aggravating royal arse,” he said, with feeling.

For just a moment, he nearly heard Arthur respond. Not the real Arthur. His memory of Arthur.
Who, apparently, had been more fond and more kind than the real Arthur had ever been.

How in the world had he forgotten how quick Arthur had been to anger? Or how insensitive and
self-centered he could be? It was all coming back now, of course, all those memories of times
when he’d wanted to throttle Arthur for not listening, not caring, not paying attention.

Merlin thumped his head back against the wall, feeling cold and wet and hurt and still more than a
little embarrassed about his emotional breakdown in the lake.

The sight of Arthur in the water had broken something inside him. He couldn’t even remember
what had happened in between when he’d seen Arthur in the lake, and when he’d actually wound
up in the lake himself, struggling to pull Arthur to shore.

The memory of Arthur’s arms around him was painfully clear, though. Of course it was. Because
that was very helpful right now, wasn’t it. Remembering the strength of Arthur’s arms, and the
pressure of his chest against his own back, and the heat of Arthur’s breath on his neck as he’d been
pulled to shore.

I am not thinking about that, Merlin told himself. Not now, and not later, either.

‘Liar’, came the whisper of his remembered Arthur’s voice.

“Shut up,” Merlin said. “You’re not real.”

In all of his fantasies of Arthur’s return, Merlin had never imagined this. He never would have
expected such anger and bitterness to be directed at him. His remembered Arthur would never have
called him ‘nothing’. But then, his remembered Arthur had never been real at all, had he.

‘I was real enough to you.’

“No you weren’t. You were never real. You were never him.”

‘Of course I wasn’t.’

“You were just me, being pathetic.”

‘I was just you keeping yourself sane.’

“Right. Sane. So it’s not mental at all then, what I’m doing right now.”

“Who are you speaking to?” came a soft voice from nearby.

Merlin’s gaze snapped up, to see Arthur standing in the corridor. It was the real Arthur, with his
wet tunic and breeches hanging heavy upon him, his blue eyes wide and uncertain. Very likely he
was worried that someone else really was in the corridor who he could not see. A very valid
thought, given their history with magical beings.

“No one,” Merlin told Arthur. “There’s no one here.”

“You were talking to yourself?”

“Yes?”

“Do you always argue with yourself like that?” Arthur asked, in that same worried tone.

“It just… I was…” Merlin closed his eyes and thumped the back of his head against the stone wall
behind him. “Never mind.”

I am making a mess of this, he thought miserably. I had fifteen hundred years to prepare. Fifteen
hundred years. And I am making as much of a mess of it as ever I did of everything else in my
life. He is depending on me and I am messing it up-

“Stop.”

Merlin opened his eyes, surprised by the command. Even more surprising was that Arthur wasn’t
glaring at him, which had been what he had expected. Instead, Arthur looked a bit sad, a bit tired,
and more than a bit worried.

“Whatever you’re thinking,” Arthur said. “Please. Stop.”

The ‘please’ hit him with physical force, pulling his breath from him, even as he realized that he’d
forgotten something else important too, which was the way Arthur could read him. Arthur
had always known when Merlin was deeply troubled, hadn’t he. Even long ago.

Merlin took the hand that Arthur held down to him, and let himself be pulled to his feet.

Arthur stepped closer to him, resting his hands upon Merlin’s shoulders, warm and strong upon the
damp fabric of his shirt.

“I’m the one who should be sorry,” Arthur said.

Merlin stared into his king’s deep blue eyes, and was unable to speak. Arthur’s focus on him was
absolute. It filled his entire world, just as it had back in Camelot.

They had been rare, those occasions when Arthur had let down his guard, and had spoken to him
from his heart, just like this. Arthur had belonged only to him in those moments. Just as he had
belonged only to Arthur.

I should have known, Merlin thought. I should have realized then how I felt for him. It was so
obvious in hindsight. Not that it would have changed anything, of course. Not then, and not now.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Arthur said into his thoughts.

Shame swept Merlin’s anger aside. Arthur shouldn’t be the one worrying about his own hurt
feelings. Not when Arthur was suffering the greatest trauma anyone could bear. It was a wonder
Arthur was functioning at all, much less apologizing for losing his temper. He’d
been dead yesterday, for gods’ sake.

“Arthur,” Merlin said, “you don’t have to-“

“Listen to me,” Arthur said, in the firm tone he’d used to command armies.

Merlin stopped talking. He’d never been able to disobey that voice.

“I know, deep in my bones, that centuries have passed,” Arthur told him. “I can feel it. I don’t
know how. But I can. But I can also feel, just as strongly, as if it was only days ago that I stood at
Camlaan. Only last week that I walked through Camelot. Surrounded by all those I held dear. All
who are now dead.”

“Except me,” Merlin said, before his brain could stop his damned mouth from uttering the selfish
words. He ground his teeth together, furious at himself.

But Arthur just nodded, moving a hand from Merlin’s shoulders to grasp the back of his neck.
“Yes. Except you. Something for which I am unspeakably grateful.”

Merlin grabbed onto Arthur’s forearms and held on tight, fighting to keep his emotions in check,
heart aching at the intensity of Arthur’s stare. There, he thought. There was that fondness he
thought he had imagined. There was the intensity of emotion. The connection he’d felt with this
man. It hadn’t just been in his mind all these years. It had been real-

“What you did for me,” Arthur said. “All those years you lived... All those centuries... I cannot
imagine what that was like. Watching everything fall away. While you waited for me. Without
knowing how long you would have to wait. Because you didn’t know, did you.”

Arthur’s voice had gone low and rough, his eyes shining with moisture, the muscles of his face
pulling taut. Merlin shook his head in reply, unable to speak.

“There are no words for it, Merlin,” Arthur said. “Do you understand? There could never, ever,
be enough words.”

Merlin bowed his head, his eyes squeezing shut, drawing in one breath after another to control
himself, even as tears slid down his face. It wasn’t fair, he thought. He had no emotional defenses
against Arthur when he was like this. He had no guards against it. Not after so very long.

Arthur leaned forward, pressing his forehead to Merlin’s. For several long moments they stood
together like that, one of Arthur’s hands on Merlin’s neck, the other resting upon his shoulder,
Merlin desperately clinging to Arthur’s arms, breathing the same air as his king.

It was like being back on the shores of Avalon, Merlin thought. Except this time, Arthur wasn’t
going to die.

He felt Arthur’s fingers move over his hair, soothing, and had to fight back a shudder. Gods above,
the feeling of Arthur touching him again... There were no words for that, either.

“All right?” Arthur asked.

Merlin almost said no, just to stay like this a moment longer. He had to remind himself who he
was, and who Arthur was, in order to reply. “Yes,” he forced out.
When Arthur leaned back, Merlin swayed forward into his space. It took all of his strength to stand
up straight and push his shoulders back. He was dizzy with the effort.

“When’s the last time you’ve had anything to eat?” Arthur asked.

“What?”

“You look like you’re going to collapse.”

“I feel like I’m going to collapse.” Merlin scrubbed a hand over his face and through his damp hair.
“I’ll get us some food after I draw you a bath to wash off the lake water.”

“Sounds like a very good idea,” Arthur said, and started back towards his chambers.

“Not that way,” Merlin said, smiling. “Just follow me.”

Back in Camelot, Arthur had been a creature of comfort when it came to his baths, and within
moments of stepping into the washroom, it became obvious he had not changed in the slightest in
this regard. Once Merlin instructed him on how he could easily keep the bath water
constantly warm, Arthur’s distrust melted instantly into delight, and it was all Merlin could do to
try and keep his attention long enough to describe how to use the toilet and sinks and other
personal care objects lying about.

When Arthur began to eagerly undress, Merlin quickly excused himself, fleeing to his own
chambers, to change into his clothes from Camelot. They were itchier than he remembered, even
his well-used blue tunic and dark breeches not as comfortable as his modern T-shirts and trousers.
Thankfully his red neckerchief was just as soft and warm as he remembered, though he still felt a
little odd wearing it, and his clothes, as he ventured downstairs into his modern flat.

The act of gathering Arthur some food put him to rights quickly enough though, Merlin smiling to
himself as he set out sandwiches and drinks and fruit on a serving tray. With ease he carried the
heavy platter and its bounty up the stairs, wondering at how some skills apparently were never lost,
even after centuries.

When Merlin returned to the washroom, he discovered the tiled floor was covered in towels and
Arthur’s clothes. But otherwise it was totally empty. Arthur was gone.

His heart pounding, Merlin dashed out into the corridor. “Arthur!” He turned in a full circle,
dishes clanking. “Arthur!”

“What, Merlin?” Down the corridor, Arthur stepped out from around his half open chamber doors.
He was bare chested and wet haired, a towel slung around his waist, held loosely by one hand at
his hip.

The sandwiches and glasses on the tray slid sideways. Merlin jostled the tray but caught
everything before it fell.

“Is everything all right?” Arthur called.

Merlin nodded, forcing deep breaths to calm himself. “Food is ready!”

“Yes, I can see that, Merlin.”

Merlin grinned at the way Arthur drawled out his name. No one could drag out two syllables like
Arthur. It was music to his ears.
“Well come on. Don’t just stand there like a witless idiot. Bring it in.”

Witless idiot, Merlin thought happily. That’s a new one.

Arthur gave an audible huff of exasperation and walked back through the door, his towel sliding
lower on his hips, revealing a pale muscular stretch of lower back.

Merlin’s smile faded away. Gods of heaven and earth, he thought. What if Arthur wants to
be dressed?

“Merlin!”

He startled forward without meaning to, thinking of all the ways he could subtly encourage Arthur
to handle his own dressing and undressing duties, which, honestly, was just stupid, and also
beneath him. He was still Arthur’s servant. He would do what he was needed to do. He’d just set
everything else to the side.

But to his great relief, by the time he very, very slowly walked down the hall and stepped into
Arthur’s chambers, he fould that Arthur had in fact already pulled on a dry sleeping tunic and
trousers himself.

“Right there is fine,” Arthur said, gesturing to the table, because Merlin had been staring.

Merlin nodded and set out the food on the table, filling Arthur’s plate with a selection of fruits and
sandwiches. That done, he grabbed a sandwich for himself, and took it over to eat at Arthur’s
wardrobe, while he finished tending to Arthur’s clothes.

As Merlin worked, he noticed Arthur watching him from his seat at the table. He wasn’t saying
anything, he was just sitting there, halfheartedly eating his meal, staring.

It should have been unnerving to be watched so steadily. Instead, Merlin found it comforting.
Being noticed. Being seen.

He stole a glance at the table, but Arthur did not look away, still watching him, that curious look on
his face. Merlin didn’t ask about it, just letting him have the privacy of his thoughts. After
everything that had happened that day, it was the least that he could do.

Eventually Arthur rose from the table, leaving his half eaten meal, to wander over to the window
by the lakeside. In silence he opened the curtains and shutters, shoving open the glass to stare for
long moments into the darkness outside.

Night had fallen, and cool breezes swept into the darkening room, bringing with them a chill. So
Merlin did what he had always done at the castle. He set firewood into the hearth, and used the
flint stone to light it, before taking a burning twig to light all of the candles upon their wrought iron
stands and wall candelabras. With that done, he went to sort the bundle of clothing he’d roughly
shoved into Arthur’s dresser drawer earlier.

As Merlin sorted Arthur’s socks into nice neat rows, a soundless laugh huffed from him.

I shouldn’t feel so happy to be sorting his socks, he thought. There is definitely something wrong
with how much I’m enjoying this. Sorting his socks.

“Merlin.”

Merlin picked up a mismatched pair, found the correct socks, then happily placed them into the
drawer together. “Yes?”

“Why am I here?”

Merlin looked over at where Arthur stood at the open window, hands laced behind his back,
staring out at the dark shadow of the tower as if surveying his lands.

“You’re here because you are the Once and Future King,” Merlin said simply.

“When they said that, I’d thought that they meant I would be a king well into my future. As an old
man. Not a king in the future.”

It was the meaning Merlin had assumed as well. For them both to be old men, together,
with Camelot spread out like a shining jewel in the countryside around them.

“Why this future?” Arthur said to the lake, to the island. “Why now?”

“There was another part to the prophecy,” Merlin said, because there was no getting around that
word, no matter how Arthur hated it. “It said that you would return in the time of Albion’s greatest
need.”

Arthur turned from the window. “Albion is in danger?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t seem to be? But I’m honestly not sure.”

“You said this prophecy came from other beings of magic. Is there no one you can ask to find
out?”

“No. There’s no one.”

“What about the ones who just restored me? You said they were creatures of the Old Religion.
They may have the answers.”

Merlin’s fingers tightened on the edge of of the drawer until his knuckles turned white,
remembering the sounds of thunder, of screams in a tempest, of crumbling rock. “We aren’t
exactly on speaking terms.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means they aren’t in the habit of helping me,” Merlin snapped, angrier than he’d intended.

Arthur clearly wanted to press him for more answers. But he didn’t. It made no sense why he
didn’t. But he didn’t.

“Then we will have to find out for ourselves,” Arthur stated.

Arthur’s entire body language had changed, his shoulders pulling back, his arms falling to his
sides. Battle ready. Focused.

“Sire?”

“If Albion is in danger,” Arthur said, “then we are duty bound to protect her, and her people. They
are the children of Camelot, and as such, they are still our responsibility. No matter how many
ages of man have passed. We will protect them whatever the cost, you and I.”

Merlin found himself reminded of riding out at dawn, of facing bandits headlong, of calling the
knights to arms. “Yes, my lord,” he said firmly. “We will.”

Arthur nodded, visibly relaxing, though the shadow of worry did not leave his face.

Merlin returned his attention to Arthur’s dresser, impressed as always by Arthur’s strength and
spirit. He doubted he would have been able to think of others so quickly after suffering the losses
that Arthur had. But Arthur had never wavered from duty, had he. Not even when his life had
been at stake.

Deep in thought, Merlin finished arranging the last of the clothes in the drawer, and pushed it shut
with a satisfied nod. “That’s your socks all sorted then.”

“I think you’ve developed an unnatural interest in my feet, Merlin.”

“Just professional pride,” Merlin said without turning around, because his cheeks were burning
again.

“I think it’s time to turn in, don’t you?”

“Oh. Of course. Sorry.” Merlin stepped over to the bedside, to pull down the blankets and sheets
on the bed.

“That’s not what- I didn’t mean for you to-“ Arthur stepped close, placing a hand on Merlin’s arm,
stopping his motions. “I want to go to sleep, is all I meant.”

“Which is why I’m readying your bed, obviously,” Merlin said, nodding at the pulled back
blankets.

“I can do that,” Arthur said.

Merlin surprised himself with a sudden laugh. “Is that right? Since when exactly? Did I somehow
miss that happening? Even once? You making your bed?”

Instead of responding to his taunts, Arthur frowned at him, a strange expression on his face. “I
only meant that you don’t…”

“That I don’t what?”

Arthur stared at him, but did not answer.

“Let me just take care of the candles.” Merlin tried to step away, only to feel Arthur’s hand tighten
around his forearm. “Unless you’re intending to do that too?”

“No. You can do it.”

Merlin glanced down at Arthur’s hand, then back up at Arthur. “You coming with me then?” he
asked, and raised his eyebrows at him, grinning.

“No.”

Merlin’s grin faltered. “Then… what…?”

“The other way,” Arthur said.

It was the same strange soft tone Arthur had used before. The first time he’d asked him to use
magic.
“Why?” Merlin asked softly.

After a pause, Arthur said, “Because I’m asking you to.”

Merlin found himself nodding. That was more than reason enough.

Without breaking Arthur’s gaze, Merlin held out an arm to the room, palm wide, and said:
“Acwence þa ligen”.

The magic rose up at once, stretching to the candle flames and snuffing them out, and then in a fit
of over enthusiasm, snuffing out the hearth fire as well, casting the room into semi darkness.

“Oh,” Merlin said. “Sorry. I. Forgot to add ‘ure’ . To focus the…. magic.”

Arthur didn’t flinch away at the word. If anything, his focus on Merlin’s eyes in the dim lighting
became more intense. “And the window,” Arthur said.

Merlin didn’t even try to walk over to it this time. Just held out a hand, and said:
“Fordyttan fenester, wágrift, éagdurue” and reached out to his magic to pull closed the window,
and the shutters, and draw the drapes. The darkness of the room deepened until Arthur was a dark
silhouette in front of him.

“Did you know your eyes shine with starlight when you do magic?” Arthur asked.

Merlin felt his face heat. Not ‘glowed’. Not ‘turned yellow’. But ‘shone with starlight’. A heart-
wrenchingly beautiful way to describe what happened to him. And here was Arthur, of all people,
saying this. About him. About his magic.

“It’s quite striking,” Arthur added.

Merlin stood in shock, trying to think of something to say to that.

“Perhaps relighting the fire in the hearth would be best,” Arthur said.

“Forbaernan,” Merlin said, in a hoarse voice he had not expected, and the fire roared back to life in
the hearth. Arthur was still standing where he had been, fingers still warm and firm on his arm,
studying his face more closely than before.

“It’s even more noticeable in the dark,” Arthur noted. “Quite amazing,” he added, as he turned
away, pulled off his tunic, and climbed into the bed.

Merlin stood motionless, utterly dumbstruck, trying to gain control over any aspect of his person,
as he listened to the sounds of blankets moving.

“Good night, Merlin,” came Arthur’s tired voice from his bed.

“Good night, my lord,” Merlin heard himself say, as he moved to leave.

“Merlin.”

He stopped with one hand on the door of Arthur’s chambers. “Yes?”

“Thank you.”

He couldn’t think of what to say to that. Not after everything else. “If you need anything,” he said,
falling back on habit, “I’m right down the hall.”
“As am I.”

Merlin banged into the edge of the door, caught himself on it, then pushed himself around it and
outside the room. After he closed the door behind him, he turned and pressed his forehead against
the wood.

For several minutes he stood like that, listening to the sound of his own breathing in the torch lit
corridor.

Any minute, he thought. Any minute I’m going to walk away. Any minute.

Five minutes later, one thing was very clear. He wasn’t going anywhere.

What if Arthur needed him? What if something horrible happened? What if Albion’s greatest
need was going to happen tonight? Any manner of things could happen with the magics of the
world so active and unstable. He probably should have mentioned to Arthur about that. That was
probably an important thing for him to know. That the world was alive with magics after centuries
of dormancy. Who knew what could happen with that being the case.

The floor, Merlin thought. I can sleep on the floor, right here by his chambers. I can make a
bedroll with some blankets, and -

“Merlin.”

Merlin yanked open the door. “Yes?” he asked, and then cursed his stupidity, because how else
could he open the door so fast if he hadn’t been standing outside like a thief.

“You can stay.”

Merlin walked over to the archway of Arthur’s sleeping chambers. “What?”

“You haven’t moved from the door since you closed it.”

“No, I- It was just- I happened to walk by and-“

“Your feet have been casting shadows under the door ever since you left. From the torches in the
hallway.”

Merlin felt his face heat, and his neck, and even his ears. Gods of the ages, was he fifteen years
old? He cleared his throat, forcing his shoulders back. “Yes. Well. I just thought I could best
protect you, sire, if-“

“Stay.”

All right then, Merlin thought, and he looked from the uncomfortable wooden chair by the hearth,
to the uncomfortable wooden table still filled with plates, to the uncomfortable stone floor at
Arthur’s bedside. After deciding that close and horizontal was best, he went to sit on the cold
stone floor by Arthur’s bed. He stretched out upon it with a grunt, feeling every single stone
pressing into his back and shoulders and head.

“What are you doing?” Arthur asked, in his ‘you are being an idiot’ voice.

Merlin frowned up at the ceiling. “Going to sleep?”

“On the stone floor.”

“More comfortable than the table, I should think.”

A loud, exasperated sigh. “Get up, Merlin.”

“Get up?”

“I saw that decadent excuse for a bed you have in your room. It looks like it’s stuffed with feather
pillows and lambs wool. You’re not going to be able to sleep on the floor after sleeping all this time
in a bed fit for a princess.”

“It’s not fit for a princess,” Merlin said, though the thought of his soft mattress filled him with
longing. But it was so far down the hall that it might as well be in another country. “I’ll be fine
down here.”

“No you won’t. Stop being ridiculous.”

Merlin sat up, his back complaining already from the few moments spent laying on the stone. “I
suppose I could try the chair…”

“You’re not sleeping in a chair. You’ll be useless tomorrow.”

Merlin stared at Arthur in the flickering light of the fire. Arthur stared back at him, frowning, from
where he lay on his bed on his side.

“Just get in,” Arthur said. “Before I change my mind.”

Merlin watched Arthur gesture to the space behind him in the bed. “You want me to… I should…
In the…” He climbed to his feet and pointed vaguely, his brain refusing to think of any words that
weren’t a variation of ‘sleep with you’ in all of its suggestive glory. “I mean- In the-“

“For the love of the gods, Merlin, just lay down so I can go to sleep!”

Merlin walked to the other side of the bed and stared down at the blankets, trying to wrap his head
around what he was about to do. Which was to get in the same bed. With Arthur. For the first
time, ever.

Sure, he thought. No problem. It’s not as if I’ve ever pictured anything like this, in great detail, all
those nights when I lay awake missing you so much that I thought my soul would rip itself in half.

“Merlin!”

“Yes, sorry, sorry,” he said, and climbed at once on top of the blankets, laying flat on his back,
arms tight against his sides, clothes twisted around his body, the knot of his neckerchief digging
into his neck.

“Stubborn idiot,” Arthur said, and pulled the covers up over his own shoulder.

Merlin stared up at the canopied roof of Arthur’s bed, wondering what on earth had possessed
Arthur to make this offer to him, and what had possessed him to accept it.

Arthur raised up on one elbow, shook out his pillow, then lay down on his side with a low, soft,
satisfied moan that instantly filled Merlin’s mind with images and ideas that he absolutely should
not be having at this particular moment.

I am picturing a boil covered harpy, Merlin thought quickly. With the face that looked like a
bubbling cesspool. The one who exploded when I hit her with that jolt of magic. That was a mess,
hey? Took a while to clean that up. Entrails everywhere.

Arthur stretched out his legs, another relaxed moan rumbling up from deep in his chest.

The troll, Merlin thought frantically. I am thinking of the troll who snogged Uther in the throne
room. I am thinking of the pixie who tried to have sex with Gaius.

He laughed aloud at that last.

Arthur gave a loud and exceedingly dramatic sigh.

“Sorry, I- I’m just remembering a pixie who tried to get a leg over with Gaius.”

There was a long pause. “Say that again?”

“There was this pixie woman,” Merlin said, “who spent days chasing Gaius around the citadel,
trying to have sex with him.”

“I am extremely thankful that ‘trying to’ was part of that sentence,” Arthur said, surprising Merlin
by ignoring the ‘illegal magic in Camelot’ part of the story.

“I was extremely thankful it was ‘trying to’ as well.” Merlin said. “As was Gaius.”

“When did this happen exactly?”

“When the Princess Elena was brought to Court. Do you remember her nanny Grunhilde?”

“Yes.” Another pause. “Oh gods, that awful woman?”

“She really was awful, wasn’t she. I saw her eat flies like a toad. Just revolting.”

“Why do I get the feeling that this is only the first of many stories that I’m going to hear regarding
your secret and highly illegal adventures as a sorcerer in my kingdom?”

No anger, Merlin thought. Just tired, fond, bemusement. “I’ll try to pace them, my lord, so as not to
overwhelm you.”

“Lovely.”

For a few minutes it was silent.

“When you say she ate flies like a toad…” Arthur said.

“Her tongue was three feet long and purple.”

“Good gods.”

“Yes.”

Another few moments of silence.

“Are you sure ‘thankful’ is how Gaius felt?” Arthur asked.

“What?”

“Because with a tongue that long and talented-“

 “Oh my god shut up-“

“Gaius may have actually enjoyed-“

“Shut up shut up! That’s disgusting! It was Gaius!”

The mattress shook with Arthur’s laughter. “I wager she could do many things with that tongue…”

Merlin grabbed the pillow from under his head and hit Arthur with it.

“Oh, wonderful, another for me,” Arthur said, and stuffed the pillow under his head.

Merlin rested his head on the mattress and crossed his arms over his stomach, smiling stupidly to
himself. Okay, yes, now he would be able to sleep.

“Prat,” Merlin said, though his stupid grin made it sound like anything but an insult.

“Clotpole,” Arthur said, in a similar tone of voice.

“Still not a word,” Merlin said, and then happily stared like a moonstruck teenager at the back of
Arthur’s stupid blond head, until his royal snoring filled the room.

Chapter End Notes

The amazing artist maryluis created art for this chapter, to my everlasting and utter
delight. She shows the moment that Arthur describes Merlin's magic, in beautiful
detail, and capturing Merlin's reaction perfectly.

Direct link to the artwork:

did you know your eyes shine with starlight...
 to begin again

Arthur awoke slowly, blissfully warm and relaxed under the blankets of his bed. He stretched out
his body on the mattress, pushing his face into his pillow, smelling the sweet vanilla soaps of
Camelot.

The light beyond his eyelids was brighter than it should be. He must have slept through morning
council. Gwen was going to give him hell for having to make excuses for him. His knights had
probably started training without him as well. But that was all right. Sir Leon had been leading
practice of late. He could join them later.

Arthur opened his eyes to a room that was not his room, in a castle that was not his castle, to
sunlight filtering through closed drapes and shutters from entirely the wrong direction.

And then he remembered.

This was not Camelot.

Because Camelot was gone. And all his people were dead.

Arthur felt the weight of it fall upon him, crushing the breath from his body, his anguish hollowing
him out from the inside, the pain of it stronger than any mortal wound.

They are all dead, he thought again. He could feel it, and yet he couldn’t.

I’m in shock, Arthur thought. That’s why I feel like this. I’m in shock.

But even this fact felt hollow and distant.

He’d felt it before. This particular numbness. Many times, in fact, when he’d seen friends
murdered upon the battlefield. It hurt, gods it hurt, but the true grief was yet to come. And it
would be so much worse.

Arthur pressed his face into the pillow, breathing in the smells of his dead kingdom, his chest tight
with grief. How much worse could it become, he wondered, if it was already as bad as this?

With a deep shaking breath, he rubbed both hands over his face. The blankets pulled tight over his
arms as he moved, so he rolled onto his back, turning his head on his pillow to look beside him.

Merlin lay there atop the blankets, stretched out on his stomach, long arms at his sides. His black
hair stuck out at angles, long enough to touch the tips of his ears and his eyebrows. His face was
pressed into the mattress, his nose burrowed into the blankets, his mouth hanging open. He was
drooling, just a little.

Arthur felt some of his pain ebb away at the familiar sight. Not alone, he thought. By the gods, at
least I am not alone.

At his side, Merlin made a small sound like a child, then smacked his lips together, and went still
with a sigh.

The greatest sorcerer to ever walk the earth, Arthur thought. He could scarce believe it.
Especially looking at Merlin now, sprawled out next to him in the rumpled clothes of a servant of
Camelot.

The memory of Merlin as an old man, calling down lightning from the mountaintop, was still vivid
in Arthur’s memory. But when he looked at his friend now, he didn’t see any of that. All he saw
was Merlin.

Even with his unfathomable powers, even with his new brooding silences, even with the
unfathomable age hidden deep in his eyes, the Merlin that Arthur had known back in Camelot was
still there. Kindhearted, headstrong, insolent, brave, and the best and most devoted friend that
Arthur had ever known.

‘Conjurers and sorcerers will take many pleasing shapes to deceive and destroy,’ came Uther’s
voice, from deep within his memories.

Arthur watched his friend sleeping, and felt only a profound sadness for his father.

I have slept in the arms of magic for fifteen hundred years, Father, Arthur thought. I am no more
untouched by it now than he. We will protect Albion by whatever means are necessary, he and I.
Even if that means using magic to do it.

Arthur watched Merlin rub his cheek into the pillow, twitch his nose twice, then settle back to
sleep.

Comforting, Arthur thought. That's how it feels. To have Merlin sleeping at his side. It was
comforting. Although why, he had no idea. Just as he had no idea what had possessed him the
night before, when he’d asked Merlin to stay.

The room had just felt so empty. The world outside it so strange. The island and the tower too
close. He hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that if he closed his eyes, he would fall into the
darkness again, and not awake.

An irrational fear borne of exhaustion, Arthur decided. No need to feel bad about it. Not after all
he’d been through.

And it wasn’t really so different from nights on battle campaigns, was it. With Merlin laying on
the ground on his bedroll, only an arm’s length away.

All those times, Arthur thought. All those nights. I thought I was protecting him. When all along
he'd been protecting me.

A low rumbling noise pulled his thoughts from his sleeping friend. It set a vibration to the
mattress, so Arthur slid from bed, pulling on his tunic in the chill of the room. Barefoot, he padded
across the stone floor to the window facing away from the lake.

After moving aside the drapes and opening the shutters, Arthur pushed open the double glass
windows to the damp cool air of the morning. A breeze chilled his face, a bracing sensation to
match the even more startling world outside.

Arthur leaned on the stone sill, staring up into the sky, at the source of the rumbling noise. It was
a creature of some sort, silver and shaped like cross, soaring across the heavens like a bird, but
shining like a sword. Its roar followed it, near a white cloud that pursued it. Arthur watched the
strange creature until it left his vision, then dropped his gaze to the misty scene on the earth below.

Beyond Merlin’s grounds, Arthur could see strange boxes move along a black smooth path beside
a stretch of greenery. The brightly colored boxes reflected light like armor, yet were transparent
like glass as well. Each box moved as if by magic, swerving left and right around one other like
fish in the ocean, as fast as stallions.

Arthur looked down at the lawns surrounding Merlin’s tower, and saw people strolling upon them,
calling to each other in that strange language. They wore that colorful clothing he’d seen the day
before, though with their bodies covered a bit more this morning against the chill of the weather.

“Arthur!”

Arthur glanced over and saw that Merlin had sat up in bed, blinking against the light, a panicked
look on his face. It wasn’t like Merlin to be so on edge so early, he thought. Not unless there was
an enemy to hand. “Here, Merlin.”

When Merlin spotted him by the window, his shoulders visibly dropped in an exhalation. He
climbed out of bed on unstable legs, his hands running over his pale face, into his black hair. “You
should have woken me. It must be mid morning. I should have gotten your breakfast by now.”

“What am I seeing?” Arthur said. “Out there.”

Merlin joined him beside the window. “You’re going to think it’s magic. But it’s not.”

“If it’s not magic, then what is it?”

Merlin studied him a long moment, his expression grim. “I have something to help you
understand. It’s in my rooms. Shall I get it?”

Arthur nodded, and Merlin padded from the room without a word, leaving Arthur to stare out the
window at an Albion he no longer knew.

When Merlin returned, he was holding a very large, very thick book in his hands. He dropped it
upon Arthur’s desk with a thump and a small cloud of dust. Arthur stepped to his side as Merlin
opened the cover, revealing the first of the many yellowed pages.

Arthur recognized the writing on the title page. It was in Merlin’s hand. “The History of Albion,”
Arthur read aloud, “as witnessed by Merlin, son of Hunith of Ealdor and Balinor the Dragonlord.”
Arthur looked sharply at Merlin. “Balinor?”

Merlin’s guarded expression reminded Arthur of the day before, when every mention of magic had
set him on edge.

“I didn’t know he was my father,” Merlin said softly. “Not until we went to find him. And I
couldn’t control dragons until... The ability is passed down after death.”

“You’re… a Dragonlord,” Arthur said, to say it out loud, because somehow this idea was more
ludicrous than the magic and the immortality. Merlin, a master of dragons.

Merlin shrugged, looking bashful of all things.

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes.

“It really only-“

“Just… give me a moment.”

“Yes. Sorry.”
A white dragon, Arthur remembered. A white dragon had attacked them at Camlaan. It had been
stopped by the old sorcerer on the mountaintop – by Merlin – with words of power that had shaken
the earth.

Arthur dropped his hand, staring at the book, wanting to ask Merlin about that, or about any of the
things he’d seen that day. But Merlin’s uncomfortable expression made the words die in his
throat.

Instead, he forced a smile. “Those poor dragons. With you as their master.”

Merlin gave no reaction to his taunt. “At times,” he said, as if to himself.

In the silence that fell, Arthur returned his attention to the book. With great care he turned a few of
the thick pages, finding that they were all filled front and back with Merlin’s careful handwriting.

“I thought it would help,” Merlin said. “When you returned. For you to learn about the world as I
did.”

Arthur turned a page and found himself staring down at a sketch of the Tower on the Isle of
Avalon, still whole and foreboding in the distance. He read the paragraph beside it, which
described his own journey to the Isle after death, and the help he was to receive from the ancient
beings of power who resided upon it.

“That’s who kept me all this time,” Arthur said. “The Sidhe.”

“They were the only ones left who still held power over the ancient magics of life and death. They
were your only hope.”

Arthur turned the page, because he didn’t want to think about that, about his time spent in
darkness. It was still too near, too real. He turned another page, and then another, scanning over
the words that described the years after his death. Another turn of a page, and a letter slid out onto
the floor. It bore Gwen’s handwriting.

Merlin retrieved it and returned it to the book. “Gwen told me about repealing the ban against
magic in this letter.”

“Leave it to Gwen to do for you what I never did,” Arthur said.

Merlin gave him a strange look at that, then shrugged. “I think it was just her way of trying to get
me to come back and live in Camelot.”

“Come back? What do you mean come back?”

Merlin gave him a very weary, and very sad smile. “Wasn’t much point of my being in Camelot
without you there, was there.”

“Of course there was a point,” Arthur snapped, in tones he’d used back when he’d thought Merlin
actually was an idiot. “With magic legal, you could have protected Camelot against magical
attack.”

“I did protect them,” Merlin said, indignant. “I used scrying crystals to watch them from here. And
when I saw danger, I stopped it. I kept them safe that way for a very long time, Arthur. At least,
until the numbers of invaders became too great.”

Invaders, Arthur thought. Of course. He should have known they couldn’t hold them off forever.
Arthur closed the book hard and pressed the palm of his hand into its cover. More than anything
he wanted to never, ever open this book again. The thought of reading about the deaths of his
friends and the fall of Camelot set a pain in his chest worse than any battle wound he’d ever borne.

“There are good things in there too,” Merlin said, noticing his distress. “You’ll be proud of all that
Gwen did as Queen. And your knights. It really was a golden age of peace, for a time.”

A golden age of peace, Arthur thought. His heart ached that he hadn’t lived to see it.

His fingers moved over the cover of the book, then stopped, over words he hadn’t noticed before.
“Book one,” he said, and looked over at Merlin.

“There are a few more,” Merlin said, in a tone Arthur knew was a harbinger of bad tidings.

“How many more?”

“I’m not sure?”

“You’re lying to me,” Arthur told him. It was stupidly easy to tell when Merlin was lying now.
Perhaps Merlin had lost the skill over the years. Or perhaps Arthur just knew what to look for.

“You don’t want to know,” Merlin said, his tone reminding Arthur of helpings of rat stew.

“Try me,” Arthur told him.

“There’s maybe… fifty? Ish?”

“Ish?”

“All right, it’s closer to a hundred, but rest of them are much shorter than this-”

“A hundred!” Arthur burst out. “Merlin, if this is your way of getting back at me for all the times I
complained about your endless prattle-“

“Don’t blame me for history! I had nothing to do with it.” Merlin paused, considering. “Well.
Almost nothing. Mostly nothing, anyway.”

Arthur sighed down at the book. “I suppose I’d better start at once. I can’t defend Albion until I
better understand her. Which apparently I must do by reading through thick dusty tomes
numbering in the hundreds.”

“It’s a hundred and fifty at the most.”

“A hundred and-!“ Arthur broke off, catching the gleam in Merlin’s eyes. “Very funny.”

“You may as well wait to start reading until after breakfast. I’ll get food from the café. It won’t
take long.”

“The café?” Arthur said, repeating the foreign word Merlin had used.

“It’s like a tavern. Only with cakes and breads. And sandwiches. And no alcohol. Or gambling.”

“So it’s not like a tavern at all,” Arthur said, just to antagonize him.

“Think of it like the castle’s kitchens instead, then.”

“People didn’t pay to eat from the kitchens.”

“The important thing,” Merlin said testily, as he moved to the dining table, and stacked last night’s
dishes onto a silver tray, “is that there’s food there, and I can get some, because I own the place.”

Arthur crossed his arms and leaned back against his desk. Oh this was just too easy now. “So so
own an eating establishment, and you own this castle, and you own lands... But you’re not a lord.”

Merlin glared at him as he picked up the tray. “Now you’re just trying to be an ass.”

“I’m not trying very hard at all, actually,” Arthur said, fighting to hold back his smile, because he
was stupidly reassured by Merlin treating him with insolence and disrespect. There was definitely
something very wrong with how happy it made him feel.

“Yes, well, you wouldn’t have to try, would you, since you started out halfway to being an ass
already.”

“I can have you thrown in the stocks for speaking to your king that way,” Arthur said without
thinking.

When his words caught up with him, he felt a weight settle into his chest, pulling the smile from
his face.

Merlin paused in the middle of the room with the tray in his hands. “I’m afraid I didn’t bother
bringing the stocks here from Camelot, sire. I did consider it though. Because of all the wonderful
memories I had of my afternoons there. Thank you for that, by the way. Rotten lettuce always did
wonders for my skin.”

Arthur forced himself to return Merlin’s smile, because Merlin was reaching out, instead of
retreating. And for that gesture alone Arthur was ridiculously grateful.

While Merlin went to fetch breakfast, Arthur availed himself of the indoor washing facilities,
which were a miracle he didn’t understand but didn’t care, because warm running water whenever
he wanted it was a luxury so blissfully indulgent it made him dizzy. When he’d finished taking his
time trying out every faucet, he returned to his chambers wonderfully refreshed, his body and hair
and teeth cleaner than ever he remembered, his face shaved smooth with a tiny lightweight blade.

Still radiating the heat from the bath, Arthur stood in front of his open wardrobe, a towel held
around his waist.

Back in Camelot, Merlin would have picked out his clothes and laid them over the dressing screen.
Arthur might even have had Merlin dress him, if he were preoccupied with matters of state. Or
even, in truth, if he simply hadn’t felt like doing it himself.

It felt wrong to ask this of Merlin now. Not after all he’d already done. Not after years in Camelot
living under the daily threat of the pyre and the noose and the guillotine, all to protect Arthur and
defend the kingdom. Not after fifteen hundred years of waiting for Arthur’s return.

No, Arthur thought. Bringing up their meals was one thing. But menial tasks such as dressing
him? He simply could not ask Merlin to do such things any longer.

After selecting some clothes, Arthur began to dress in the silence of the room. He had only just
pulled up his undergarments when a loud clatter of dishes from the doorway startled him, making
him bang his elbow into the wardrobe.
In the doorway, Merlin was staggering sideways, a large, full metal tray of food in his hands, the
items upon it nearly falling from it to the floor.

Merlin glanced sharply at him, then away, going red in the face. Perhaps he’d used magic to keep
things from falling, Arthur thought, as he knotted the string of his underclothes at his waist.

“Everything all right?” Arthur asked.

“Just a bit… um… Out of practice.” Merlin set the tray down on the table. “Plus the shock of
realizing that you know how to dress yourself, of course.”

Arthur pulled on his breeches, glad to hear the taunt falling so easily from Merlin’s lips. “Well, it
was either that or stand around naked waiting for you."

Another loud clatter from the table, as Merlin dropped a plate onto silverware.

Arthur pulled on his tunic as Merlin set the plate to rights and adjusted the silverware, cursing
under his breath. “What in the world is wrong with you? You seem less coordinated than usual.
Which is honestly quite an achievement.”

Merlin set out plates of cakes and breads and fruit and meats on the table. A tall glass pitcher of
the clearest water Arthur had ever seen was placed nearby, right next to a teapot and cups. “Just
eager to get your royal breakfast ready, my lord.”

Arthur sat upon the rumpled blankets of his bed – he was going to have to make the bed from now
on too, he supposed - and pulled on his socks and boots. “I heard that, you know.”

“Heard what?”

“When you said ‘my lord’, you were actually saying ‘you arse’. Don’t deny it.”

“Oh I don’t deny it.”

“Of course you don’t,” Arthur sighed, his voice coming over fond instead of aggrieved.

Merlin moved the plate full of scones and jam closer Arthur’s place setting at the end of the table.
“I’d start with the scones first. The peach jam is delicious. Just fresh made this week.”

Arthur sat down at the table, started to reach for some food, then stopped. Merlin was standing
several feet away, hands clasped behind his back, watching him.

Merlin noticed him staring. “Did I forget something?”

“Yes,” Arthur drawled.

Merlin frowned at the table, puzzled. “What did I forget?”

“A plate? For you?”

Merlin just stared at him blankly.

“Unless you’ve eaten already?”

“No?”

Arthur pulled out the chair next to his own. “Then sit.”
Merlin stared the chair as if he had no idea what it was.

With a put-upon huff, Arthur got up, grabbed Merlin by the shoulders, and sat him down hard on
the chair. After taking his own seat again, he shoved the empty plate between the two of them, and
started stacking it with food. When Merlin didn’t move, Arthur grabbed a small cake with one
hand, Merlin’s wrist with the other, and mashed the two together.

“Eat,” Arthur commanded, in his firmest battlefield tone.

Merlin’s hand lifted the cake to his mouth so quickly that he surprised himself, judging by the look
on his face.

“Do I need to tell you to chew?” Arthur said.

“Ah mow how oo eaf food,” Merlin tried to snap out, around a mouthful of cake.

“Drink before you choke,” Arthur commanded again, and was rewarded by Merlin immediately
grabbing the pitcher to pour himself some water, looking rather appalled at himself as he did so.

Arthur waited until Merlin was just about to put the pitcher down, then gestured at his own glass.
It was a rare treat indeed to have Merlin so wrong-footed. He wanted to enjoy it while it lasted.

After Merlin filled his glass, frowning at him the whole time, Arthur let him eat in peace. The
food was delicious, though much of it was far too sweet for his taste. The water was fresh and
clear, and the tea tasted nearly exactly like the teas of Camelot. Which was probably Merlin’s
doing, he thought, as he watched his friend chewing on a third rather large breakfast cake.

“I’m eating, all right?” Merlin said into his thoughts. “You don’t have to stare at me like I’m
going to raid Camelot’s vaults at any second.”

“Which you probably have done,” Arthur said, mostly to change the subject, because he hadn’t
realized he’d been staring.

“Only in the service of the kingdom.”

Arthur dropped his fork. “What?”

“It wasn’t that often,” Merlin protested.

“Exactly how many times did you break into the vaults?”

Merlin counted in his head for far, far too long.

“Never mind,” Arthur said. “I don’t want to know.”

“In my defense, most of the contents of Camelot’s vaults are here now anyway, for safe keeping, in
my cellars.”

Arthur felt grief rise within him, cresting like a wave, souring his stomach, catching his breath. It’s
like that, he knew. After the battle had ended. After the shock wore off. The grief at those friends
you’d lost came in surges. Like waves of attack by an untiring foe.

“It is gone, then,” Arthur said softly. “Camelot...”

Merlin leaned forward in his chair. “No, Arthur,” he said firmly. “It’s not.”
“It’s… not,” Arthur repeated, not daring to believe.

“I couldn’t let the invaders have it. Not our castle. Not our town. So I told the forest to cover it,
and the mountain to encase it in stone. Not a soul who walks upon the ground protecting it knows
that it’s there. Right beneath their feet.”

“You hid Camelot… in a mountain…” Arthur heard himself saying. An impossible thought. But
then, Merlin was an impossible man, wasn’t he.

Merlin rested his hand on Arthur’s forearm, his smile radiant, his eyes crinkling with his joy.
“Arthur. Camelot is safe. She’s safe, and she’ll stay safe, until you need her.”

For the first time since waking here in this place, Arthur felt true hope fill him. Camelot still
existed. It lived, as he lived. “But- our people…”

“Everyone we knew lived out their lives there in peace, under Gwen’s rule. As did many
generations who followed. Only when the invaders became a plague on the land did our people
scatter to the farthest corners of Albion. Only then did I bring all that I could here, and hide
Camelot, until your return.”

Arthur covered Merlin’s hand with his own. “You keep giving me one miracle after another,
Merlin.”

“This one was absolutely my pleasure, sire.”

And here was yet another of Merlin’s talents, Arthur thought. To make ‘sire’ feel like a bow and
an embrace all at once.

“Thank you,” Arthur said, and squeezed his hand.

Merlin’s broad grin turned him once again into the young man of twenty Arthur had known so
long ago. “Not so useless after all, am I.”

“Well. I wouldn’t go that far.”

Merlin laughed, and Arthur along with him, at the sheer joy of it. Camelot still lived. Someday he
would see her walls restored. Her towers shining in the distance.

But only after he knew his purpose, he thought. Only after he was ready to face it. And he would
face it, with Merlin at his side.

A sensation on his arm drew Arthur’s gaze, to where Merlin’s hand rested. Merlin’s thumb was
moving gently across the fabric of his tunic, back and forth.

It put Arthur in the mind of Gwen, strangely enough. Of her hand upon his own. Of her silent
reassuring caresses.

Merlin’s hand jerked away abruptly, his arm knocking his glass of water over, spilling liquid onto
the floor. “Sorry,” he breathed, and jumped up from the table. “I’ll- I’d- better get something for
that,” he said, backing away. “And more of your things. And- I’ll- Yes. Be right back.”

Arthur watched him hasten from the room and out into the corridor. When it became clear Merlin
was not returning immediately, Arthur leaned back in his chair, frowning down at where Merlin’s
hand had been.
His arm was still warm from the touch. He covered the spot with his hand, wondering at what had
happened.

But then his gaze fell upon Merlin’s book upon his desk.

His hands clenching into fists, Arthur pushed himself up from the table and sat himself down at his
desk. After a deep breath, he opened the book, and began to read.
 two worlds, apart, together

Merlin dropped a stack of books to the floor outside Arthur’s chamber doors, next to a pile of his
clothes and boots. He stretched out his back with a groan, mopping at his sweaty neck with the
cloth around his neck.

Now he remembered why he’d worn these things constantly back in Camelot. It had been because
of the lifting and the hauling and the other hundred types of filthy manual labor.

Merlin nudged the pile of books with his foot, counting them again. Twenty books, he thought.
That should be more than enough for the next few days. Not that Arthur was going to get very far
beyond the first one today. Not with it telling of their friends’ deaths, of Camelot’s fall, and of the
invasion of Albion by the Norsemen.

No, Merlin thought. That would be quite enough for Arthur to handle in one day.

After gathering Arthur’s clothes in a bundle, and stacking a few books atop them, Merlin
approached Arthur’s door. Which was closed, and which he couldn’t open with his hands full.

He started to put everything down again, then rolled his eyes at himself. The time for hiding his
magic was long past, he told himself. That, at least, could be different now.

“Aetynan,” Merlin said to the doors, and they both swung open so he could enter.

Arthur sat at his desk by the open lakeside window, hunched over the open book. “Still not
knocking, I see.”

“Sorry.” Merlin shoved aside the leftover breakfast dishes with his elbow, and piled Arthur’s
clothing and his books upon the long table.

“Reassuring to know that some things haven’t changed, at least,” Arthur said bitterly, as if to the
pages spread out before him.

“Yes, sire,” Merlin said, and wasn’t surprised when he didn’t get a reply.

As quietly as possible, Merlin carried the rest of the books and the stacks of Arthur’s things into
the chambers. He moved with care as he put Arthur’s things back where they belonged, taking
great care not to disturb his king.

Occasionally from Arthur’s corner of the room Merlin would hear a sharp intake of breath, or an
unintelligible muttering of words, followed by the snap of a page turning.

It took an hour before the crack of Arthur’s fists slamming against his wood desktop broke the
silence. Merlin startled at the noise, dropping his tray full of empty breakfast plates to the dining
table with a clatter.

On the other side of the room, Arthur got up from his desk and strode to the open window, his
hands clenched into fists at his sides, his shoulders heaving.

“Arthur-?”

“Leave me.”

“If you want to talk about-“

“Now, Merlin!” Arthur shouted at the floor, his voice breaking on his name.

Merlin grabbed the tray of dishes and hurried to the door, but paused in the threshold, uncertain.

“Go!”

Merlin startled again, nearly dumping the dishes onto the floor in his haste to get into the corridor.
What was it? he wondered. What had made Arthur react so strongly?

He puzzled over it the entire walk downstairs, through his modern flat, and into the main manor
house. The café tables that filled the stone hall were barely half full, and the lunch counter mostly
empty. Pale light shone through the glass wall from the rainy day beyond.

Eleanor intercepted him after he’d returned his breakfast dishes to the café kitchen. “Good
afternoon, Merlin,” she said, her tone clearly disapproving of his late afternoon appearance.

“Good afternoon, Eleanor,” he said back, and gave her his most endearing smile.

“You do know that the Solstice Festival ended last night.”

Merlin followed her stare to his tunic and breeches and boots. He tugged at his neckerchief a little,
straightening it, as if that would help him somehow look more befitting the twenty-first century. “I
slept in my clothes last night,” he said, which was true enough. “I was up late with my friend.”

“The one who fancied a swim in the lake yesterday?”

Merlin couldn’t help but cringe, thinking of all the people who had been on the lawns and in the
park and in the café for that matter, who had probably all seen him make a spectacle of himself in
the water. So much for first impressions. “Oh, right,” he said. “That.”

“Don’t feel too badly, young man,” she said, in a much more forgiving tone than she ever would
have used if he’d done the same thing as Emrys. “It wouldn’t be the first time someone wound up
in the lake after a few too many glasses of cider at the festival,”

“Oh it wasn’t like that. It’s just a rough time for my friend right now. So he’s going to be staying
here. With me. From now on, actually. We’ve known each other for ages, and I used to serve-
work for- his family, so-“

“You don’t have to explain your relationship with your young man to me, Merlin,” Eleanor said,
and gave him a little pat on his arm.

He felt his cheeks warm. “He’s not- We’re not- No, we-“

“What you are or aren’t isn’t my business. I just need to know if I should plan to have more sweet
breads on hand. They do seem to be disappearing in great quantities now that you’re both here.
Although I’ll have you know that all the food you’ve been nicking is coming out of accounts.”

Merlin smiled at the familiar reprimand. Perhaps he hadn’t lost a friend when he’d left his old self
behind this time. “Yes, my lady.”

“My lady,” she said, and tutted at him. “You must have gotten some coaching from your Uncle
Emrys, then, hmm? Well I’ll have you know that ‘my lady’ didn’t work for him either. And he
was a much more handsome figure of a man than you.”

Merlin’s mouth fell open, his eyebrows raising. Handsome? he thought, torn between feeling
horrified and feeling flattered. Flattered was winning, if only by a small margin.

“The next time you come down here for food, Merlin, don’t empty the cafe shelves of all of our
scones. Emrys was always doing that, and it caused problems then too. I know you’re a skinny
young thing, but we have customers to feed. Not at the moment, of course.”

Merlin surveyed the large open space of the cafe with her. “It’s still not too bad for a rainy
Monday afternoon. From what my Uncle told me, I mean.”

“And speaking of what Emrys may have told you, on Mondays he and I-“

“Review the week ahead,” Merlin finished. “I could do that with you now. If you’d like.”

“I’ve been waiting to begin all morning,” she said, with a very familiar raised eyebrow.

Merlin smiled, gesturing to where he knew she kept her binders about the business. “Lead on, my
lady,” he told her, and earned a swat on his arm, as she lead him to the corner table in the café
where she’d already set out her papers.

As Eleanor spoke to him about employee schedules and incoming deliveries and bills to be paid-
Merlin pretending he was hearing it all for the first time- he found his thoughts wandering
constantly back to Arthur.

Today is Monday the 21 st of June, Merlin thought. An absolutely ordinary rainy English day in the
twenty first century.

And yet it was not. Because Arthur Pendragon had stepped out of history and legend, upending
everything in his life, and was right this very minute in his royal chambers, angry and hurt and
demanding to be alone, yes, but alive and whole and real in the modern world.

Merlin closed his eyes and savored the thought. Of Arthur, alive, after so unspeakably long.
Alive, and breathing, and able to be seen, and heard, and touched-

“Are you paying attention, young man?”

“Hm? Oh. Sorry, Eleanor. Were you- What?”

“Oh, go on then. Go see to your friend. You’re of no use to me so distracted by him.”

The knowing look on her face made Merlin wonder how he’d managed to ever successfully lie to
anyone. He didn’t seem to be able to keep a damn secret to himself these days.

“You look like him, you know,” Eleanor said sadly. “Emrys, I mean. In the eyes. Many a time I
saw Emrys get that same faraway look you just did. He never would tell me what he was thinking
about... Although I can guess for myself, now.” She leaned forward, hands resting primly on the
table. “He is well, isn’t he?”

“Yes, he is. Very well.”

“I just haven’t heard anything from him. Not even one of those message things on the mobile my
boys got me.”

Merlin vowed to locate his damn mobile in his old clothes and fix that situation. Hopefully the
thing hadn’t been fried by all the magic flying around. “I’ll see that my Uncle sends word to you.I
promise.”
“In his good time.”

She began collecting her papers and binders, so Merlin got to his feet. At the other end of the
building, he noticed the lights of his Apothecary were out. “Why isn’t the Apothecary open?”

“Danyl and Heath both called out sick today, so we couldn’t open. I’ve put a sign in the window
sending people to me, if they need help.”

“This coincidental sickness wouldn’t have anything to do with them going to the Festival together
this weekend,” Merlin said, and raised a wry eyebrow at her.

She returned it with one of her own. “My goodness. Emrys really did tell you everything, didn’t
he.”

“It’s almost like we’re the same exact person.”

“Well then I’ll leave it to you to draw your own conclusions about this sickness of theirs.
Although I might add that they did both call out sick from the same phone number.”

“Well,” Merlin said.

“Well indeed.”

“About damn time,” Merlin said, wry, and he could hear her pleased laughter following him, all
the way to his residence door.

His good mood lasted all the way through his flat, until he stepped into the doorway of his
downstairs bedroom. Because the tower stairwell door had been left wide open.

Something he never, ever did.

Merlin dashed upstairs, running first into Arthur’s empty chambers, then into the empty
washroom, then into his own chambers and through them the library. Empty, empty, empty, he
thought in growing panic, and ran back into the corridor, and down the stairs, charging through his
flat and bursting out his front door to the grassy lawns.

“Arthur!” he yelled.

His heart was beating wildly, and he was dizzy and could hardly catch his breath, but he sprinted
down to the lakeside anyway, slipping and half falling on the slippery wet grass in the steady
rainfall.

At the water’s edge, Merlin finally caught sight of Arthur, standing there by the heelstone of the
Stone Circle of Avalon, right near where Merlin had lost him over a thousand years before. Merlin
ran up to him, grabbing his arms to stop his momentum, but succeeding only in pulling Arthur
down to the wet ground with him.

Arthur fell hard atop him, his elbow driving into Merlin’s stomach, knocking the air from his
lungs. “Merlin!” Arthur shouted, and climbed to his feet as Merlin lay gasping and clutching his
stomach on the ground. “What the hell are you doing!”

Merlin got to his knees, gasping for air from the fall and the pain and the panic. “Couldn’t find-
You weren’t- I didn’t-“ He bent forward, palms pressing into the wet grass, wheezing in breath
after breath.
“I just needed to get out of that bloody room!” Arthur shouted. “What is wrong with you?”

Anger lifted Merlin’s gaze to where Arthur stood, soaking wet from standing in the rain beside the
lake. “What is wrong with me? What is wrong with you?”

“That book is what’s wrong with me! It’s difficult enough getting through it- I don’t need you
knocking me to the ground on top of that!”

“And I don’t need you taking every single damned opportunity to get as close as possible to this
bloody lake!”

"Just what in the world is wrong with that?”

“Fifteen hundred years is what’s wrong!”

Arthur stared in response, his expression shifting with dawning comprehension, as the rain fell
steadily upon them both.

Merlin sat back on his heels, fists pressing into his thighs as he struggled to stop his damned
uncontrollable shaking. “Never mind,” he ground out. “It’s nothing.”

“You think the Sidhe going to take me away,” Arthur said softly.

“No. No, I don’t, I swear. You’re safe here. You’re safe.” Merlin glared at the ruins of the tower.
He couldn’t help it. It drew his gaze constantly. Like an accident scene. Like a nightmare. He
wanted to blast it to pieces. To scatter its rocks across the lake. To erase it from existence-

“All right,” Arthur said. “Come on, Merlin. Get up.”

Merlin felt Arthur’s hands on his arms, urging him up. Stunned at the gentleness, Merlin climbed
to his feet, and found himself staring into the weary bloodshot blue eyes of his king.

Arthur had been crying, Merlin realized. Crying out here, in the rain. And once again, here he
was, complicating Arthur’s grief. Making his recovery more difficult.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin said, hating how his voice shook, and how Arthur must be able to feel his
body shaking too. “I’m being an idiot.”

“Not this time. Because you’re right. And I’m sorry. I should have gone somewhere else.
Anywhere else. Being near this lake is no good for either of us.”

Merlin felt Arthur tug at his arm, guiding him back up the hill and towards the house. “Did you
just say I was right and then apologize?”

“Of course not."

“Oh. All right then.”

In response, Arthur moved his palm to the small of Merlin’s back, warm and solid against of his
soaking tunic. Merlin tried not to lean into the touch, without success. Arthur apparently noticed,
because he slid his hand up and down Merlin’s spine, soothing.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Merlin heard himself say.

“Probably the same thing that’s wrong with me,” Arthur said.
Yes, Merlin thought. That was probably true.

“It will get better,” Arthur told him.

“I’m supposed to say that to you.”

“You did say that to me.”

“I did?”

“You did. Yesterday. You know I do listen to you. When you make sense.”

As they walked past the front wall of the manor house, Eleanor shoved open the glass doors of the
café and stepped out onto the porch. “Are you boys all right?”

“I’m fine, Eleanor,” Merlin called back.

“You’re going to catch your death, the both of you!”

Arthur smiled and waved at her, of course at exactly the wrong moment.

Eleanor’s glare remained fixed on him the entire way to the North Tower door.

“Terrifying woman,” Arthur said, after they’d entered the warmth of Merlin’s residence.

“It would help if you didn’t smile at her like a simpleton when she’s yelling at you.”

Arthur lead the way to the stairwell without a single uncomfortable glance at the many strange
modern things surrounding him, which Merlin took as a good sign.

“I’m going to have to learn that gibberish they speak, aren’t I,” Arthur said, as they ascended the
stone staircase.

“It would keep you from looking even more witless than you already seem, yes.”

In the corridor at the top of the stairs, Arthur turned to him, at first looking like he was going to
return the insult, then obviously changing his mind. “Still mad about the lake, are you?”

“Apparently.”

“And just how long will I be treated to this wonderfully testy mood of yours?”

“A few hours?”

“Try a few minutes.”

“Fine. A few minutes.” Which was probably more likely anyway, Merlin thought. Because now
that he was back in Arthur’s presence, the panic had receded quickly. Which was just
embarrassing, honestly. “Learning English won’t be as bad as you think,” he said, to avoid
thinking about that. “I discovered a spell centuries ago to decode unknown languages. I used it on
myself without any harm done.”

“However could you tell?”

“Oh, very funny indeed, my lord.”

“I heard that.”
“I meant for you to. Now come on. You need to get out of your wet clothes. Again.”

A strange look passed over Arthur’s face. “You should change your clothes as well. Come back to
my chambers when you’re in something drier.”

It was a dismissal if he’d ever heard one. “But- Don’t you want me to-?“

“And clean the mud off your boots. I can’t have you mucking up my chamber floors.”

“Yes, sire,” Merlin said absently, then stood silently staring, as Arthur walked away and
disappeared into his rooms.

Merlin puzzled over Arthur’s strange behavior as he changed into another set of clothes and boots
from his days in Camelot. When he was done, and returned to Arthur’s chambers, he found that
Arthur had dressed himself in a white tunic and black pants. He was sat at his desk once more,
bent over his book, fingertips massaging his temples as if to ease a headache.

“Arthur?”

“I’m reading, Merlin, in case you had failed to notice.”

“Well before you read any farther, I want to tell you something.”

Arthur dropped his palms to the pages with a slap. “Let me guess. Things get worse.”

Merlin stepped to Arthur’s desk and picked up his quill. He lay it in the open pages, then gently
closed the book. “Just… listen. Please?”

Arthur sat back hard in his chair, sighing loudly, waving an irritated hand for Merlin to get on with
it.

“It was a mistake,” Merlin told him. “You reading things in the order they happened. Without
knowing how it ends.”

“With all that we knew gone and dead,” Arthur said bitterly.

“With all that we knew still here and changed.” Merlin crouched down, his hands resting upon the
book. He waited until Arthur looked at him before he spoke. He wanted to make sure that his king
was listening. “The invaders of Albion came from everywhere. Over and over. Great tribes of
men. All trying to break our people. Trying to bend them to their will. Trying… and failing.
Because our people were strong. They fought, and they adapted, and they and their children lived
on.”

Arthur nodded, the first faint flickerings of hope in his expression. Better, Merlin thought. But not
quite there yet.

“Our people survived the events I wrote about in this book, sire. And they’ll continue to survive
whatever great trials Albion is yet to face. I know they will, because you’re here now to protect
them, and I’m here ready to help you, by my life or by my death.”

It took a few minutes, but finally, a small smile pulled at Arthur’s lips. “All those times when I
caught myself thinking you were wise,” Arthur said. “It’s because you actually were.”

Merlin moved his hand across the cover of the book, thinking of too many times that had not been
the case. “Sometimes,” he said, and pushed himself to his feet.
Arthur opened the book again, and Merlin caught sight of what was written there. The years
following Gwen’s death. That must have been what had driven Arthur outside, he realized.
Reading of Gwen’s passing.

He must miss her terribly, Merlin thought. After all, she was his wife. She was the one he loved.
She would always be that, to him.

“Do you want me to leave?” Merlin asked softly.

Arthur pulled the book towards him. “No,” he said, and turned the page.

Merlin nodded, trying not to think too much about how relieved he was that he could stay. There
was probably something wrong with how desperate he was to be around Arthur at all times.
Something he'd think about another day.

As Arthur read, Merlin collected the armor he’d stacked in the corner of the room. As quietly as
possible, he pulled a wooden chair beside the hearth, then got out his metal cleaning kit and sat it
next to the bundle of metal on the floor.

“What are you doing?”

Merlin dipped the rag he held into the polish. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“That’s not necessary.”

“Trust me when I say that it is.” Merlin began rubbing the polish into the dull metal, the smell
reminding him of the castle armory; of the sweet grasses of the training field; of the clashing of
swords and shields, and of countless days sitting in Arthur’s chambers, making sure that his prince,
and then his king, would be well protected by the metal.

Arthur’s hand closed on his shoulder, pulling him from his thoughts. Arthur was standing at his
side, and was staring down at him as if uncertain what to say.

"What is it?

“You don’t have to do this,” Arthur told him.

“It will rust if I-“

“No. I meant.” Arthur’s brows drew together, deepening the crease above his nose. “You’ve done
so much. You don’t have to do this. Things like this. Servant things. Not anymore.”

“Are you…” He couldn’t even say it. He could barely even think it.

“I’m releasing you,” Arthur told him.

The words felt like a punch to the stomach.

“All that you’ve done, Merlin. All that you are. I can no longer ask this of you. It isn’t your
place. Not any more.” He squeezed Merlin’s shoulder, then turned to walk away.

Merlin stood up with a clatter of armor on stone and a crack of the wooden chair slamming to the
floor. Arthur spun around in place, clearly startled.

“Not my place?” Merlin yelled. “Have you heard nothing that I’ve said? Or have you actually
become a dull-witted thick-skulled simpleton?”
“That is quite enough!“

“Oh that is not even close to being enough!”

“You-! You are-! Maddening is what you are! How can you possibly be angry at what I just said?”

“I can be angry, Arthur, because you’re missing the point! Again!”

“And just what point is that?”

“That you cannot end my service to you,” Merlin ground out, furious, “because my service to you
cannot be ended. I was born to serve you, Arthur. It is what I was meant to do. It is what my
magic is for. I told you that. Or weren’t you listening?”

Astonishingly, Arthur clamped down on his reply a long moment, then let out the breath he was
holding. “I was,” he said finally, with obvious reluctance.

“Well then try and remember it, will you? I’m tired of reminding you!”

Merlin picked up the fallen chair and slammed it down against the stone. “Try to sack me,” he
grumbled, and sat himself hard on the seat. “Like that will ever happen. Just try and make me go.
See how that works out.” Merlin grabbed Arthur’s armor and began polishing furiously. “Royal
pain in my arse.”

Arthur’s bark of laughter was so loud and unexpected that Merlin jumped, and looked up at him in
surprise.

“You are simply maddening,” Arthur said, but it was fondly now, and he was chuckling, his arms
crossed over his chest, his head tilted as if he couldn’t believe what he saw seated before him.
“Really, Merlin. You are.”

“No, you are,” Merlin tried to mutter angrily, but sounded five years old instead, and to top it off,
his voice came off as ridiculously fond, too, damn it.

“You missed a spot there,” Arthur pointed out, gesturing to the hauberk, before returning to his
desk. “I would appreciate my armor not rusting solid, if it’s not completely beyond your very
minor level of competence.”

That’s better, Merlin thought. And then rolled his eyes at himself for thinking it.

As Arthur settled himself back to read, Merlin bent to light a fire in the hearth. Once the flame
rose to dispel the dampness of the room, he went back to his polishing, cleaning the metal of
Arthur’s chainmail.

The movements of his fingers over the small links were repetitive in a way that was entirely
peaceful. Between that and the warmth of the fire, very soon he found his thoughts drifting, sliding
away from him, his eyelids drooping closed of their own accord.

In his mind he saw the Isle of Avalon, the tower sitting upon it. A cloud of twinkling blue lights
was settling upon it, glowing beautifully in the night.

As the cloud neared, he could see hundreds of blue threads of light, a shimmering blanket of magic
that sparkled like stars above the water. When it touched the surface, Merlin felt the ancient
magics of the earth surge violently around him, pulsing through his blood and his bones, calling
out to him with a power that had him recoiling in terror-
Merlin jolted awake when he hit stone floor, his shoulder and hip and head all colliding with the
stone at once. He gave a grunt of pain, pressing a palm to his forehead as he pushed himself to his
hands and knees.

“Merlin, what happened?”

Merlin felt Arthur’s hand on his back. He pushed himself up to his knees, dazed. “Fell asleep?”

“You fell asleep in the chair?”

“Yes? I think?”

“Come on. Let me see your head.”

Arthur took hold of Merlin’s arms and pulled him to his feet. Merlin swayed in place, staring over
Arthur’s shoulder at the tower on the Isle of Avalon outside. It was half hidden in the mists from
the late afternoon rains, but was unchanged from how it had been for centuries.

The sensation of Arthur’s hands on his cheeks, tilting his head downward, erased any further
thoughts about that.

“You’re all right,” Arthur pronounced, and let him go. “Get us some food. It will help you
recover from your faint.”

“It wasn’t a faint,” Merlin said to Arthur’s retreating back, not missing Arthur’s taunting smile. He
didn’t care, though. Arthur was asking him to fetch his food, which was a damn sight better than
him trying to sack him. As if he could.

“Dinner,” Arthur told him, and pointed towards the door. “And wine.”

Merlin had been nearly out the door. He stopped, turning back to the room. “What?”

Arthur was at his desk, glaring down at the book. “Bring some wine with dinner. I have a feeling
I’ll be needing it.”

Merlin looked at how close Arthur was getting to the end of the book. Yes, he thought to himself.
I think you definitely will.
 in vino veritas

Arthur slammed shut Merlin’s book and surged to his feet. “Merlin!”

When no one answered, he grabbed the book and strode from his chambers, heart pounding as if he
were heading into battle. There was no one in torch lit corridor, so he marched onward, his boot
steps loud and echoing upon the stones. “Merlin! Where the hell are you?”

Muttering a litany of increasingly creative swears, Arthur stomped down the stairwell and into the
bizarre, brightly lit bedroom downstairs. No one was there either, so he kept going, on through the
living area, shoving open the door which Merlin had indicated lead to the main part of the manor.

A single step inside, Arthur paused, disoriented, because the cavernous stone hall was both strange
and oddly familiar. Dim evening light shone through the enormous lake-facing glass wall, casting a
meager glow upon the many small white tables. All were as empty and silent as the room itself.

“Merlin!’ Arthur yelled, his voice echoing in a very satisfying- and once again disturbingly
familiar- way off of the stone walls.

“Here! Yes! Arthur! What is it?”

Arthur watched Merlin elbow his way through a swinging door near the corner of the room. In his
hands he held an enormous tray full of steaming plates of food. Though his stomach rumbled at the
sight, Arthur refused to be distracted from his earlier outrage. “Norsemen!” he yelled, and
slammed Merlin’s book down onto one of the small white tables. “Not the Saxons, not the Jutes,
not the Picts– it was the damned bloody Norsemen! Driving our people from our own lands!”

Merlin’s expression shifted, something bitter twisting his lips as he carried over the tray. “I know.
But it didn’t last. You’ll see in the next chronicle.”

Arthur ran both hands through his hair, his mind conjuring all sorts of nightmare images from what
he’d read. And for Merlin to still be angry about this, centuries later- “Just tell me you located
some wine.”

“I was just about to bring it up to you with our food.”

Arthur tipped his head back, staring in distress up at the latticework of beams supporting the
massive three story high walls of the long hall- only to be struck once again by the familiar pattern.
This time, he finally recognized it for what it was.

“The throne room.” Arthur looked over in surprise at where Merlin stood patiently, heavy tray in
hands.

“It wasn’t intentional,” Merlin said, with a wry grin. “Well. Not to begin with. But yes, it did
wind up looking a bit like the throne room by the time I was done building it.”

Arthur wandered amid the tables, seeing everything anew. “The glass wall is an improvement,” he
noted, though he privately thought that the view of the tower was not. He turned his back on it as
he surveyed the many empty tables. Obviously used by the people who came here to eat and
drink. “We’ll eat down here,” he told Merlin, and sat himself down at one of the tables, his back
to the lake. “I’ve had quite enough of my chambers and those books of yours for a while.”

After retrieving two wine bottles from behind a long counter, Merlin pulled another table over to
Arthur’s, and began setting out plates.

Arthur watched him, curious. “So this is your café, then.”

“It is. Eleanor just closed up a little while ago. I figured I might as well use the kitchens to make
something warm. They have more food than I do in my flat. I’m sure Eleanor will be taking it out
of accounts.”

“Eleanor is your assistant?”

“I’ll be sure not to tell her you called her that. She would cuff you around the head.”

“I’d like to see her try.”

“I’d like to see that too.”

Arthur chose to ignore the genuine enthusiasm with which Merlin had said that. “What’s that over
there?” he asked instead, and nodded to the far end of the long hall, where a door was set into the
stone wall. “Does that lead into the other tower I saw?”

“After you pass through my apothecary it does.”

“Your apothecary?”

Merlin set out the final serving dish and sat down, dropping the tray to the floor with a clatter.
“Poultices and natural remedies and soaps are a bit more my area.”

“Gaius would be proud,” Arthur said without thinking, but was relieved to see that the comment
didn’t trigger one of Merlin’s pained silences.

“Gaius would probably want a portion of the profits,” Merlin laughed. “He’d deserve it, too. A lot
of the herbal remedies for sale in there are based upon his ideas.”

Arthur leaned over his plate, inhaling the delicious smells rising from the steaming potatoes and
vegetables and meat. “You made this?”

“It’s not exactly crusted capons, I know, but at least it’s not sandwiches.” Merlin grabbed the wine
bottle and nodded towards it. “Ætýne byte”.

Arthur watched the cork ease up out of the bottle with a small pop. Merlin removed it and poured
a full measure of wine into Arthur’s cup. “That’s a handy trick.”

“Not an appropriate use of magic, really,” Merlin said, as he filled his own cup. “But I don’t have
a wine opener in this entire place. I don’t really drink that often.”

Arthur took a long, grateful drink of what turned out to be very smooth red wine. “You? Not
spending every night in the local tavern?”

Merlin cocked an eyebrow, his smile turning wry. “You don’t seriously still think I was in the
tavern all those times I went missing from Camelot.”

Arthur froze with his cup halfway to his mouth. “You weren’t?”

“No, Arthur,” Merlin said, mocking but fond, as if he were speaking to a child.

“Where were you then?”

“Well usually I was off nearly getting myself killed trying to protect either you or Camelot. Or
both.”

“Surely not… every time,” Arthur said. Because he could remember a lot of times. An
uncountable number of times.

Merlin just shrugged as he shoved a forkful of meat into his mouth, then made enthusiastic gestures
at his plate, suggesting how delicious it was, and that Arthur should eat some too.

Arthur watched Merlin have at his dinner– and really, it was like watching a wild boar, the way he
ate- until Merlin paused with his fork halfway to his mouth.

“What?” he asked, around a mouthful of potatoes and peas.

“You’re going to tell me about every one of those times you went missing.”

Merlin gave a wry laugh, brows raising. “Are you sure? That could take all night.”

Arthur reached for his glass of wine, downed its contents in one long drink, then thrust his glass
towards Merlin. “More wine first. Then you can begin by telling me the real reason that I had to
suffer through George, and his brain numbing prattle about polishing techniques.”

“I’m going to need more wine myself to tell that particular story.” Merlin filled Arthur’s cup, then
topped off his own. “I still have the scar from where Morgana put that damned Fomorrow serpent
in my neck.”

Arthur spit out some of what he had been drinking, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand,
then gaped at Merlin. “What?”

Merlin looked down at the dinner laid out before them. “Hm. Maybe I should start with the time
Gwen was accused of being a witch instead. That one’s more suited to hearing at dinner than a
story about the living head of a snake embedded in my neck, brainwashing me to-”

Arthur held up his hand, cutting off Merlin’s words.

Merlin watched with raised eyebrows as Arthur finished off his glass of wine in several gulps.

As the alcohol burned its way down his throat, Arthur banged his cup back down upon the table.
“Bit more,” he told Merlin hoarsely.

Merlin just laughed as he filled his cup again.

By the time they were done eating, the first bottle of wine was gone, and the second was nearly so.
The light through the glass wall had faded away entirely into the darkness of night, though the
room was still dimly lit by a glowing orb set high into the wall.

It cast hard shadows on the lines of Merlin’s face, sharpening the angles of his cheeks and nose as
he laughed at the story he was trying to tell Arthur.

Something about a dragon, Arthur thought sluggishly, and blinked slowly at his friend, realizing
that he’d been only half paying attention. “Stop,” Arthur said, and placed a hand on Merlin’s arm.
“What? What are you saying?”

“I am saying,” Merlin said, and swayed sideways in his chair toward him, “that it was Aiths-
Aisth- the dragon’s fault there’s no second floor.”
Merlin waved a flopping hand at the room’s ceiling, and Arthur looked up, which was a horrible
mistake, because it made the entire world spin. “What- what did the dragon do?” he asked,
swinging his head around to look at Merlin.

“Set fire to the roof. Which is why you should never invite a dragon in your house. Apparently.”
Merlin rolled his eyes, and tried to drink from his cup, only to discover it empty. He thrust out an
arm wildly, reaching for the bottle, but tipping it over.

“Can’t handle your drink,” Arthur said, and stood up unsteadily, grabbing the bottle. “I better hold
onto this.”

“I can just get more.” Merlin pushed himself up, knocking his chair over backwards. “Inna- In-
Come on.” He waved Arthur along as he fell over his fallen chair, climbed back to his feet, and
then staggered off through the tables.

Arthur laughed as he watched Merlin trip over a table leg and then a chair, each time swearing at
the offending piece of furniture. “You never could hold your drink, Merlin,” Arthur drawled out,
with all the superiority of one who had never been carted out of a tavern over someone’s shoulder.

“If you’re talking about- If you- When I- That was Gwaine’s fault,” Merlin shot over his shoulder,
apparently knowing exactly the night to which Arthur was referring.

Arthur felt his cheeks aching from his grin. This was good, he thought. All this. This was very
good. He felt better than he had since he’d woken in this insane place. Everything was nicely
numb and far away. Even the pain of-

No, Arthur thought, before any of that could cut through his pleasant fog. No. I am not thinking
about that. Not right now. No.

He watched Merlin knock over a table, then set it to rights, apologizing to it.

At least I’m not as bad off as Merlin, Arthur thought. And then he tripped over a table leg, and
smacked his knee into a nearby chair. “Damn labyrinth of chairs,” he growled at them.

“The labyrinth of Gedref!” Merlin turned to walk backward, then sat down hard on a table he
hadn’t realized was there. “The hell was that all about?”

Arthur thought for a minute. “Unicorn,” he said, nodding sagely.

“Unicorn. That’s right.” Merlin staggered towards Arthur, and pressed a finger into his chest.
“And you. Being a dumbass.”

“That’s not a word.”

“Dumb. Ass,” Merlin said, jabbing him with his finger.

“Totally. Invented,” Arthur said, doing the same with his wine bottle.

“It really isn’t,” Merlin informed him, and staggered away through the tables, muttering something
that sounded like ‘poisoned damned chalice’ and ‘stupid damned curse’, although it could have
easily been ‘stupid damned prince’, now that he was thinking of it.

“You watch your mouth,” Arthur said, in case Merlin had said something inappropriate, which was
more than a little likely.
“You watch my mouth,” Merlin said over his shoulder, and gave him a strange grin, before opening
the door to his residence by virtue of falling through it.

Arthur followed him inside and stood waiting in the large brightly lit space, swaying slightly, as
Merlin rummaged around, and then pulled out another bottle of wine. Holding his bounty high,
Merlin gestured to the stairwell back upstairs, even bowing a bit, though the effect was largely
ruined by his drunken staggering.

“For the love of the gods, Merlin, stand up before you fall over,” Arthur said, and grabbed him by
the back of his tunic, to drag him back upstairs.

Once they’d returned to Arthur’s chambers, Merlin dragged another heavy chair in front of the fire,
right next to the one already there. After Arthur sat down, Merlin gave a wobbly bow to him, then
collapsed into the chair at his side.

Arthur turned from the dark hearth to nudge Merlin’s arm with his wine bottle. “Come on then.
Let’s have a fire.”

Merlin nodded and started to get up.

Arthur grabbed his arm and sat him back down. “Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t mean that way.”

“What other way could you possibly mean, my lord?” asked Merlin, wry and teasing.

“You know.”

“Tell me.” Merlin leaned upon the arm of his chair, his eyes sparkling with his smile. “Come on,
Arthur. Say it. Tell me to use magic.”

“Giving me orders, are you?” Arthur asked, thankful for the numbing effects of the alcohol,
because he felt sure he would be flushing under Merlin’s steady gaze, for reasons he could simply
not fathom.

“No, cabbagehead,” Merlin said, “I’m waiting for you to give me orders. I’m not the bloody king.”

Arthur nearly choked on his mouthful of wine, and had to swallow hard. “What?”

“Come on, sire,” Merlin prompted him, and his voice had gone soft, almost gentle. “Tell me.”

Arthur wiped his mouth on his sleeve and leaned back in his chair. “Go on then. Magic the fire so
we don’t freeze to death because you’re being too insolent to do what you’re told and stupidly
pretending as if you don’t know what I want you to do.”

The insult brought a broad smile to Merlin’s face. He grinned at Arthur, his eyes half moons with
delight, as if he’d just won the highest award in Camelot.

The sight of it made Arthur feel warm inside, though he wasn’t sure why. But then, he wasn’t sure
why he was watching Merlin so intently either, or so carefully looking for signs he was performing
the spell.

Merlin stretched out a slightly swaying arm, still holding Arthur’s steady gaze, and said very
slowly and in a low voice: “Bæl on bryne”.

Arthur saw starlight dance in Merlin’s eyes as the flames roared up. “Now you’re just showing
off.”
Merlin snorted and raised his wine bottle to his lips, only to discover the cork was still in it. He fell
into laughter, his hand pressing into his stomach, gasping for air as he slid down in his seat, the
heels of his worn boots scrambling against the stones to keep him from slipping to the floor.

“The mighty Dragonlord,” Arthur said wryly.

“O drakon e male!” Merlin said, raising his bottle high in the air as if in a toast, before falling into
laughter again.

“Ridiculous,” Arthur said, but when he drank out of his own bottle, he missed his mouth, and
spilled wine on his tunic.

“The mighty Once and Future King,” Merlin gasped out, and to Arthur’s delight and hopefully
enduring memory, he giggled.

Arthur couldn’t hide his broad grin. I will remember this, he told himself. No matter how many
years pass, I will remember that noise and remind Merlin that he made it every single day of the
rest of my life.

“You sounded just like a girl just there,” Arthur noted, chuckling.

Merlin lifted his wine bottle before his eyes, concentrating with obvious effort, saying "ætýne
bytte,” to make the cork pop from it. He took a long drink, downing nearly a quarter of its contents
all at once.

“You are definitely going to be feeling that tomorrow,” Arthur pointed out, as he set his empty
bottle on the floor and relaxed back against his chair, warm from the fire and the alcohol and the
company.

Merlin slouched in his chair beside him, his long legs out straight in front of him, one thin arm
stretching out on the armrest, the other across his stomach. With a sigh, he rested his chin upon his
chest, his neckerchief pushing up nearly around his ears. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing I’ve felt,”
Merlin said softly, almost to himself.

Arthur felt questions burning inside him in response. Questions that very well could trigger one of
Merlin’s long silences. But he needed to ask them. And perhaps, with the numbing drink, and the
relaxing fire, and the secretive night, just perhaps Merlin would tell him.

“What is it then?” Arthur asked. “The worst thing you’ve felt?”

All traces of humor vanished from Merlin’s face as he stared into the fire. “How I felt when I
watched you die,” he said in a low voice. “Knowing I’d failed you.”

“You didn’t fail me, Merlin.”

“I should have stopped Mordred,” Merlin said, low and pained, as if he were talking to himself. “I
should have killed him when I had the chance.”

“I’m to blame for Mordred far more than you ever could be,” Arthur told him.

“It was my duty,” Merlin said bitterly. “And all these years... You don’t know... How I’ve
regretted… All the mistakes I made.” A choked breath left him. “I should have been at Camlaan. I
should never have let Morgana trick me. I was supposed to protect you. Or die by your side. And
I didn’t do either.”
Arthur put his hand on Merlin’s forearm, where it rested upon the arm of the chair.

“I should have died,” Merlin said, as if to himself.

“And where would I be now if you had?”

Arthur watched Merlin’s lips press together, the lines of his face tightening. Arthur squeezed
Merlin’s arm, shaking it a bit. “Merlin,” he said, into his silence, into his pain, “do you hear me?”

Merlin set his other hand atop Arthur’s. He closed his eyes and went still for so long that Arthur
began to wonder if he’d fallen asleep. But then he opened his eyes again, blinking slowly.

Arthur felt Merlin’s fingers slide around his bare wrist, to press into his pulse. Arthur could feel
his own heartbeat throbbing against Merlin’s fingertips.

“I still can’t believe you’re alive,” Merlin said, so softly that it was almost lost in the crackling of
the flames.

Arthur squeezed Merlin’s arm again, reassured by the physical contact. Merlin responded with a
gentle squeeze of his own, his fingers still pressing against Arthur’s pulse.

All those years that we were alone, Arthur thought. Alone and separate. Merlin and I both. It’s
no wonder that an empty room feels threatening to me. No wonder that he stays so close by my
side. We’ve been wounded by centuries of isolation. Wounded and bleeding inside.

Arthur could see Merlin’s anguish etching itself into his features, aging him as he watched, the
pain and the memories and the weight of too many years pulling him away, into the past.

“Stay with me,” Arthur heard himself say.

Merlin looked over as if just remembering he were there. Tears were sliding down his cheeks.
“What?” he choked out.

“You drift away,” Arthur said. “You’re here, but not. You never did that before.”

“I didn’t?”

Arthur thought about the times he’d seen Merlin sitting alone by the campfire on battle campaigns,
a distant and worried expression on his face. Temporary moments that Arthur had always been
able to pull him out of. Nothing as severe as this.

Arthur felt Merlin’s thumb move over the skin of the back of his hand. Merlin had gone silent and
still, sorrow weighing upon him.

“You’re quieter now as well,” Arthur said.

Merlin stared at his thumb moving over Arthur’s hand, hypnotized by it. “No one to talk to for a
long time.”

“Except yourself.”

“Not myself,” Merlin said, his eyes closing again. “You.”

Arthur leaned forward to grab Merlin’s wine bottle just as it slipped from his fingers. “What’s
that?”
“Not talking to myself. Talking to you. When you were dead.”

“Must have been a boring conversation,” Arthur said, setting the bottle upon the floor.

“Was nice.” A faint smile pulled at Merlin’s lips, as if at a pleasant memory. “You talked back.
When I talked to you.”

“I don’t… think so,” Arthur said, though to be honest, he wasn’t entirely sure.

“Wasn’t really you,” Merlin mumbled into his kerchief. “I went mad for a bit. Eleventh century?
Can’t remember. Wasn’t so bad though. Madness. I could hear you better. See you, too. You
were good company. Even afterward.” A small smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. “Kept
you around to yell at me.”

Arthur felt his breath catch, pain tearing through the haze of alcohol. He could picture it far too
easily, Merlin dwelling in the woods by the lake, without his castle, without his friends, living half
starved from the land, driven insane by the burden of immortality.

“Gods, Merlin,” Arthur choked out.

Merlin lifted his head and forced his eyes open, blinking as if waking up. “Did you take my wine?”
he asked, in sudden great concern.

“You’ve had enough to drink,” Arthur said, and gently removed his hand from Merlin’s. He got up
slowly, swaying just a bit, apparently still affected by the alcohol despite the clarity caused by their
discussion. “Come on, Merlin. Get up.”

“Are we going somewhere?” Merlin said, as Arthur pulled him to his feet.

“Yes, to bed.”

“You’re taking me to bed? Why, Arthur,” he slurred, his eyebrows raising, before collapsing into a
fit of giggles, and falling against Arthur’s chest.

Arthur grabbed him around the shoulders and hauled him back to his feet. “Good lord, Merlin,
you really never did go to the tavern even once, did you.”

“Just with you, my lord.”

Arthur pulled Merlin’s arm around his shoulders, and wrapped his own around Merlin’s back.
“You are going to be entirely useless tomorrow.”

“Worst. Manservant. Ever,” Merlin said, and then collapsed into laughter, nearly dropping to the
ground.

“Oh for- Merlin- Come on then-“

“We should play dice again sometime,” Merlin said happily. “That was fun. You were awful that
night. What bad luck you had, sire.”

If Merlin’s smug expression wasn’t clue enough, then his burst of sudden giggles would have told
Arthur all he needed to know. “You cheated,” Arthur burst out. “That night at the tavern! With
the dice! You used magic!”

“Me?" Merlin asked innocently, and pressed a palm to his chest. “Perish the thought, sire-“
“You’re paying me back every single one of those gold coins,” Arthur said, and hauled Merlin
over to the bed to sit him down upon its edge, perhaps a bit rougher than strictly necessary.

Arthur watched as Merlin nearly pitched off the bed in the attempt to take off his boots. Arthur
huffed at him, and bent to help.

There was a brief scuffle as Merlin tried to prevent Arthur from doing so, only to get shoved back
onto the mattress flat on his back.

“Bully,” Merlin complained to the ceiling, as Arthur pulled off his boots and socks. “I’ll magic
you inna- make you a- ffffrrrtoad.”

“You can barely even say the word in your drunken stupor, much less do anything about it.”

Merlin pushed himself up to his elbows as Arthur stood up. “How can you say stu- stur- big
words? You had as much to drink as I did.”

“You had an entire bottle more. Even if you didn’t, I can hold my drink.” Arthur grabbed Merlin’s
arms and pulled him to his feet, staggering himself from the effort.

“Ha, you are pissed,” Merlin said, and he yanked at his neckerchief, which had twisted around his
throat.

“You’re going to throttle yourself. Turn around.” Arthur grabbed the back of Merlin’s neck and
pushed his head downward so he could get to the tangled material. In the silence of the room, he
could hear Merlin’s breathing grow louder.

“Don’t you dare throw up in my bed,” Arthur warned.

“Won’t. It’s not. I mean. No.”

His voice was low and strained. “You sound like you’re going to be sick,” Arthur said, as he
dragged his fingers back and forth along the skin of Merlin’s neck, trying to untangle the fabric.

Merlin’s breath choked off and he pulled away abruptly, falling sideways onto the bed, his face
pressing into the pillow, his knees pulling up against his chest. “M’all right, g’way,” he said, and
pressed his hand against his neck where Arthur’s hand had been.

“You’re going to choke to death in the night,” Arthur said, and tried to reach for the kerchief
again. Merlin swung an arm at him, so Arthur grabbed it, shoved it to the bed, then grabbed
Merlin’s shoulders and rolled him roughly onto his stomach.

“Be still,” Arthur commanded, and pressed his palm into Merlin’s back, while his other hand
worked at the knot of the cloth at Merlin’s neck.

He felt Merlin’s body tense beneath his fingers. “Arthur,” he moaned into the pillow.

“I will toss you onto the stone floor if you throw up on my pillows, Merlin, I swear it.”

On the bed, Merlin gave a small whimper. Finally Arthur was able to slide his hand around
Merlin’s neck, and pull away the offending cloth. Merlin gave a shudder as it was removed, and
then grabbed the pillow below his face, and pressed it over his head, giving a long muffled moan.

“You are such an infant, honestly.” Arthur staggered away from the bed with the cloth in his hand,
heading to his wardrobe. “Stay there while I ready for bed. And remember what I said about my
pillows!”

From the bed, Merlin made another pitiful sound, but did not move from where he had curled up
on his side.

Somehow Arthur made it to the washroom to clean up, and then back again to his chambers, all
without falling down the steps or tripping over his own feet. He was more than a bit unsteady
from the last of the wine that he’d finished off, and thoroughly exhausted from the day he’d had.
He barely registered shucking off his clothes and rummaging through his wardrobe to pull on what
he hoped were sleeping breeches.

After glancing to where Merlin lay motionless atop the covers, curled up and facing away, Arthur
set another log on the fire in the hearth, then went to join him.

He wasn’t careful as he climbed under the blankets of his side of the bed, but Merlin didn’t seem
bothered. He was so oblivious, in fact, that Arthur was able to shove at him with his back, because
the drunken idiot had barely left him any space to sleep. “Come on, move over...”

When Arthur heard something that sounded suspiciously like a mumbled curse, he pushed
backward again, this time gaining enough space for himself, though at the cost of Merlin’s back
now pressing firmly against his.

“To hell with it,” Arthur muttered, and relaxed into his bed, his eyes falling closed

As he drifted off, he decided it wasn’t actually that bad, Merlin being so close. He certainly didn’t
fear the dark room, or the tower, or any of the nonsense beyond these walls. Not with his friend so
close by.

Brief movement pulled Arthur from his doze. When it ceased, Merlin was leaning heavily against
him once again, this time with his warm breath huffing over the back of Arthur’s neck.

After another unintelligible string of words behind him, Merlin flopped his arm over Arthur’s
shoulder, his hand landing on the mattress by Arthur’s chest.

“Merlin,” Arthur grumbled into his pillow, and grabbed his friend’s wrist, and tried to shove
Merlin’s arm away.

Only a small noise in response, and a warm breath on his neck, and Merlin’s arm slid over him
again, as dead of a weight as the body behind him. Arthur tried to shove it away again, but then
gave up, heaving an exhausted sigh.

He’d push him away as soon as Merlin fell asleep, Arthur thought tiredly. Then Merlin couldn’t
fight him. That’s what he’d do.

“Idiot,” Arthur murmured, and drifted easily into a sound sleep.

 in vino capitis

He stood on the shore of Lake Avalon. Upon the isle, the tower ruins glowed blue, then gold, then
blue.

Merlin frowned at the light as it grew brighter and brighter, until the world around him was filled
with the brilliant glow of magic. He felt it pressing against his skin, from the air, the earth, the
water, the sky.

He tried to pull away, but felt magic slide thick tendrils over him, and around him, and then, as he
screamed, deep inside him.

Someone pressed against his body from behind. A strong arm covered in chainmail wrapped
around his waist. Another holding a sword pulled him backwards, against a chest covered in
armor, as the magic undulated and surged around them.

He twisted in the arms of the man holding him, and came face to face with Arthur. His king’s
fierce eyes shone with distant stars. Upon his head he bore a jeweled crown, its stones sparkling
gold.

“Merlin.”

The tendrils of magic were winding around them both now, relentless and unbreakable.

‘Run, Arthur!’ Merlin yelled, as the magic wound tighter and tighter. ‘Arthur! Save yourself!
Leave me! Run!’

“Merlin!”

A thump on his head snapped Merlin awake.

Disoriented from the fading images, Merlin reached up, felt a pillow on his head, and shoved it off.
His head was pounding, his stomach lurching. He groaned and tipped forward, his arm draping
over a solid, warm body. “Mmmmmnnnff,” he groaned into his pillow, melting into the comfort of
the person beside him, his chest pressing against their strong back muscles.

“Shuttup,” mumbled a sleep-slurred voice from very close by.

Merlin barely registered the words through the pain in his head. He drew in a deep breath, and
found his nose filled with the scent of Arthur’s blankets and Arthur’s hair and Arthur’s skin.

A distant part of his brain nudged at him about this. He ignored it.

“Mrln,” came a half growled complaint.

Merlin forced open dry sticky eyes to see a head full of blonde hair illuminated by candlelight. He
was laying pressed against Arthur’s back, his arm draped over Arthur’s bare shoulders.

“Rthr?” Merlin managed through a dry mouth, and then cringed, because the word set off strikes
of lightning behind his eyes.

“G’sleep, Merlin,” came Arthur’s voice, muffled by his pillow.

Merlin hummed agreement and drew in another deep breath, his nose pressing against the warm
skin of Arthur’s neck, breathing him in.

“Sleep,” Arthur murmured, and went still.

Merlin relaxed against him, smiling, thinking that if this was a dream, of laying with Arthur like
this, of Arthur allowing it, then he never wanted to wake up again.

Arthur, Merlin thought happily, and drifted back to sleep.

The sound of a glass breaking startled him awake.

Merlin jerked his head up, only to drop it again to the pillow, grabbing at his skull, squeezing his
eyes closed against the absolutely blinding daylight filling the room.

“Dammit,” came a hissed voice. It was followed by a chair scraping over the floor, and what
sounded like glass shards scraping over stone.

Somewhere nearby birds were singing merrily, and leaves were dancing in the trees, both of which
were utterly offensive considering that Merlin’s head was a ball of agony, and he was very much in
danger of losing the contents of his stomach. Cautiously, he pushed himself up and sat cross-
legged on what was apparently Arthur’s bed, squinting against the daylight viciously streaming in
from both wide open windows.

How exactly had he got here in Arthur’s bed? Not that he hadn’t been in Arthur’s bed the past few
nights. But all those times he’d known how it happened.

In a daze Merlin watched Arthur standing by his desk, already dressed in a red shirt and black pants
and boots. He held one of Merlin’s books. Water was dripping from it, from the glass he’d
knocked to the floor.

“Damned fragile nonsense,” Arthur grumbled, grabbing a piece of cloth from the floor to mop at
the spilled water all over his desk.

“Is that my sock?” Merlin heard himself croak out. His feet were bare, apparently. He was
dressed, but his feet were bare. And his neck was cold. He placed a hand to his neck, where his
kerchief should be. That was gone too. How in the world had he gotten so selectively undressed?

“Awake, are we?“ Arthur asked, and picked up his quill and its stand to shake water off of them,
only to wind up spattering ink all over his tunic.

The creative string of Brittonic curses that followed would have been amusing if Arthur's voice
hadn't been loud enough to redouble Merlin's headache. He had to grab at his lurching stomach.
“Gods above please shut up-”

“Shut up?” Arthur snapped, and even if Merlin hadn’t seen the flash in Arthur’s eyes, he would
have known by That Tone that he was in a world of trouble. “Oh, I’m sorry, Merlin, am I being
loud?” Arthur strode towards the bed, the volume of his voice increasing with every word. “And
here I thought I was starving to death as quietly as possible! All morning! So that you could get
your beauty rest!”

Merlin scrambled from the bed, his palm pressed to his throbbing temple, as Arthur stalked after
him into the room.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” Arthur continued loudly, “then perhaps you could get us some
breakfast! Because that insane old woman chased me off when I tried to get food myself! Yelling
at me in that gibberish I still can’t understand! Because you’ve been too busy sleeping the day
away to do anything about it!”

Merlin stumbled into the table of the anteroom, then pushed himself around it, Arthur still dogging
his steps. “Yes! All right! Just- God, stop yelling!” He yanked open Arthur’s chamber doors, then
stopped halfway through the doorway, squinting at where Arthur stood glaring at him, covered in
ink. “Wait- Did you say you actually tried to get your own breakfast?”

Arthur’s eyes widened, his face flushing that color that meant that Merlin had definitely stepped
over a very bad line and that the yelling was about to get a much worse.

“Never mind!” Merlin blurted, and shoved himself through the threshold, shutting the door behind
him.

He spent the next ten minutes in the washroom, rediscovering what yesterday’s dinner looked like.
After brushing his teeth three times, and splashing some water on his face, Merlin finally made his
way downstairs.

He had only just stepped into the manor café from his residence when he heard Eleanor’s voice.

“There you are, Merlin Hunithson! I need a word with you, young man!”

“Hyud oyr awyr ar daear,” Merlin grumbled to himself, and held up a hand in greeting. “Eleanor,
my lady-“

“Don’t even try,” she said, stalking over to stand before him, in what must have been the loudest
flowered dress that she owned. Its pink and purple and green flowers accosted him in such vivid
colors that his stomach gave another lurch. “It serves you right, being in such a state! You and
your young man too! Both of you leaving your leftovers and dishes all over the kitchen and the
café for the morning girls to clean up!”

“It won’t happen again.” Merlin tried to step past her, because those sweet breads he saw in the
display case were something he needed to get into his stomach as soon as possible, at least if he
wanted to prevent ten more horrible minutes with the toilet.

“You’ll get food after you clean up your mess in the kitchens. We made sure to save all of your
dirty plates and pots and pans!”

Merlin squinted at her, swaying, his head pounding. The lunch counter crowd were all watching
the goings-on with amusement, as were many more from the tables in the cafe. There was quite a
lot of people here, he realized suddenly. And a lot of sunlight streaming through the glass wall,
too.

“What time is it?” he asked.

“It’s noon, as if you didn’t know,” Eleanor informed him.

“Noon?” Merlin asked, because that wasn’t possible. Arthur? Letting him sleep in until noon?
The same man who had, in the past, kicked him awake, shoved him awake, used a broom to hit
him awake, and on one memorable occasion, nearly drowned him awake with a bucket of dirty
water from a horse trough?

Well, Merlin thought. How about that. Arthur Pendragon, letting me have a lie in. It was
astonishing, really, especially considering that it meant that all morning Arthur hadn’t been able to
get breakfast, or make any noise in his own chambers.

Flashes of memory returned, of the night before. Of sitting in a chair with Arthur in front of the
fire. Of joy turning into grief. Of Arthur’s low voice as he tried to ease away centuries of regrets
and grief and pain-

“Right this way, young man,” Eleanor said sternly, and gestured to the kitchen.

Merlin drew himself up, shoulders back and chin raised. “Eleanor Godwyn,” he said, in a voice
that spoke of lightning and storms, with an expression that held echoes of unconscious bandits in
the Darkling Woods and dead royal assassins in the Valley of Fallen Kings, “I am going to take
whatever food I need to Arthur, right this minute, because he is my first priority.”

He held up a hand when she opened her mouth to protest.

“And when I am done, my lady,” he continued, softer, “I promise I will come downstairs and clean
up the mess from last night, and I will apologize to the kitchen staff myself, as well as give my
word that it will not happen again. Are we agreed?”

She pursed her lips, clearly torn between irritation and admiration. “We are agreed, Young Mister
Hunithson.”

Merlin let himself relax, rubbing at his forehead. “All of which I am going to do after I get some
hangover remedy,” he muttered, and walked past her on bare feet through the staring patrons of his
café, heading into the Apothecary.

He found Danyl at the Apothecary counter, with Heath on a chair very close to him, their shoulders
pressed together. They were discussing something on Danyl’s laptop screen, but looked up when
Merlin approached.

“Can I help you?” Danyl asked formally, and all at once Merlin remembered that neither Danyl nor
Heath knew him. Not as his younger self.

“I’m the nephew of my Great Uncle Emrys Hunithson,” Merlin recited to them both, as he had a
hundred times before. “Eleanor should have given you a letter from him, telling you about me,
taking over things.”

“So you’re Merlin, huh?” Heath said, with the amused smile that Merlin often got when using his
real name. “You don’t look like a powerful magician to me.”

“That would be from all the drinking last night,” Merlin said, and leaned his elbows heavily on the
counter, one palm wiping at his face. “Would one of you mind getting me some of my hangover
remedy from the shelves?”

“You mean the one Emrys made?” Heath asked.

“Emrys. Yes. Not me. Emrys.” Merlin put his forehead down on the countertop. “Pleased to meet
you both by the way,” he mumbled miserably.

“Cor, mate,” Danyl said. “What happened to you?”

Merlin raised his head and rubbed his eyes. “Arthur,” he said. At Danyl’s blank stare, he waved a
tired hand over his shoulder. “Friend of mine. Who is staying with me. He’ll be around. Just…
remind me to never try to out-drink him. Ever, ever again.”
“Arthur and Merlin,” Heath laughed, from where he was rooting through the shelves. “People
must think you’re having them on when you meet them. Especially around here!”

“Check down on the bottom shelf,” Danyl called, loud enough that Merlin cringed.

“None left,” Heath called back. “Solstice Festival drinkers must have bought us out.”

“Of course,” Merlin sighed. “I’ll just make more then, shall I? After I fetch breakfast? And clean
up the dishes and the food? Without using magic?”

He dropped his hands, and saw both Danyl and Heath giving him that same strange stare he had
often received as an older man. The one that said he was being mental. Except now, it apparently
was a a much more worrying thought. Apparently the long beard and grey hair had done a lot to
prevent him from actually being sectioned.

“Joking,” Merlin said. “Because of the name? Merlin? With the magic?”

“I’m seeing the relation to the old man now,” Heath murmured to Danyl.

“If you’d like,” Danyl said to Merlin, after shooting Heath a look, “I could mix up some of the
hangover remedy for you. Emrys showed me a few times how to make it. He has supplies for it
up in the greenhouse with the herbs.”

“I knew there was a reason I always liked you best. I mean Emrys liked you- ah never mind.” He
straightened slowly, cringing at his uneasy rumbling stomach. “Bring it round to the kitchen, will
you Danyl? I’ll be doing dishes there. Apparently.”

“So your clothes,” Heath said. “Is that part of a theme or something? To go along with the Arthur
and Merlin thing?” He looked over at Danyl. “I’d been telling Emrys forever that he should do a
theme here. We’re on the shores of Avalon, for god’s sake. Everyone else does the King Arthur
thing. Why not us?”

“Sure,” Merlin said. “Why not. That’s why I’m dressed like this. Because of the King Arthur
thing.”

“Hey, can I talk to you later about that?” Heath called, as Merlin walked to the door. “We could do
some stuff on social media. And the website. I’d been after Emrys to-“

“Yes, fine, all right, later,” Merlin said, but then paused by the door, half turning. “By the way, I’m
glad that you two are finally a couple. Congratulations on that. But don’t both call out sick if
you’re not actually sick. I need at least one of you tending the shop.”

Danyl flushed red and dropped his gaze, and even Heath looked a bit abashed. But he recovered
quickly, smirking. “It was Danyl’s fault. He wouldn’t let me get out of my bed.”

“Oh my god!” Danyl hissed, and swatted Heath’s arm. Heath only smiled at him in response,
unrepentant.

About damn time indeed, Merlin thought, and let himself out the door.

True to her word, Eleanor didn’t protest as Merlin gathered breakfast for himself and Arthur, not
even when he ventured into the kitchens to add whatever hot foods he could nick from the grill.

The thankful look on Arthur’s face when he returned upstairs to his chambers was more than
enough reward for the painful journey into the cafe.
“That smells absolutely wonderful,” Arthur pronounced, and strode towards Merlin, shocking him
motionless by taking the tray from him and carrying it himself to the table.

Merlin looked down at his empty hands, then over at where his king was bent over the tray,
grabbing a scone and eating it as if he hadn’t seen food in a week.

He was just hungry, Merlin thought. That’s why Arthur had taken the tray. He wasn’t trying to be
nice or anything. Seriously, what was he even thinking.

“This is delicious,” Arthur said around a mouthful of blueberry scone, as he sat himself down and
continued to eat from the serving dishes.

Before Arthur could reach for the pitcher of juice, Merlin grabbed it and poured him a glass.
When Arthur reached for an empty plate, Merlin snatched it from him, and then had to grab at a
serving spoon when Arthur tried to pick that up too.

“Let. Me. Do. It!” Merlin bit out as he wrestled the spoon away from Arthur’s grip, to scoop
potatoes and eggs onto Arthur’s plate. “Here. Stubborn arse.”

“Your hair looks like a family of wyvern nested in it,” Arthur told him by way of reply, and tucked
into his breakfast.

Merlin’s eyes swept over Arthur, over his beautifully combed blonde hair and his stunning blue
eyes, along the strong set of his jaw and the skin exposed at the v of his dark blue shirt laces, at the
lay of his black crushed velvet jacket upon his strong shoulders, then finally down the rest of him,
his strong chest and loose slung belt and tight trousers and leather boots.

Breathtaking, Merlin thought helplessly. Arthur looked breathtaking. And perfect. And regal.
And the catch of the five kingdoms. Or however many damn kingdoms were upon the earth these
days.

“You,” Merlin began. “Well. You look like.” He swallowed, making a small noise in his throat.

Arthur lifted an expectant gaze, brows raising in challenge.

“There’s blueberry scone mashed on your face,” Merlin said finally, which was hardly a
respectable comeback, and a lie, besides.

“Another stunning display of wit,” Arthur commented, with a patronizing little smile.

As Arthur tried to subtly wipe at his face, Merlin sat himself down in a chair. His stomach still
wasn’t certain if it was desperate for food or desperate to get rid of food. Merlin made its decision
for it, grabbing the blandest bread on the table and pouring a large glass of water to treat his post-
wine-drinking dehydration.

“Why don’t you feel like you’ve been run over by a hay cart?” Merlin asked, in a whining tone that
would have gotten him cuffed by Gaius in two seconds.

“Because, Merlin, unlike you, I can hold my drink.”

“Prat,” Merlin muttered, and took a petulant bite of bread.

“Are you going to threaten to turn me into a fffrrrtoad again?”

“A what?”
“Don’t you remember?” Arthur asked in a strange tone of voice, with his gaze focused on the eggs
he was moving around his plate.

“Everything between sitting by the fire and waking up this morning is a bit dodgy,” Merlin
admitted.

“Like I said,” Arthur said, in what sounded like relief. “You can’t hold your drink.”

Merlin wondered what he could have possibly done or said last night, to make Arthur so glad he
couldn’t remember it. The list of possible awful answers to that question was long and horrifying,
making his stomach lurch again.

“When will you be able to do that spell you mentioned?” Arthur asked. “The one to make the old
woman’s gibberish something I can understand.”

Another memory of last night. Of telling Arthur to command him to do magic. Merlin stared down
at his plate, fighting a blush. “Best to wait until I feel better. After lunch maybe.”

“This is lunch,” Arthur reminded him.

“Later, then. When my head is clearer. Anyway, there’s things I need to tend to downstairs first.”
He pushed himself wearily to his feet. “Do you need anything else before I go, sire?”

“A shorter version of history?” Arthur asked, scowling at the open book on his desk.

“Can’t help you there,” Merlin said, and left his king to his reading.

After a much less nauseating trip to the washroom, including a blissfully relaxing shower, Merlin
went back to his chambers, to dig around for clothing appropriate for both the dark ages and the
modern ages.

He settled on dark trousers that fell over the top of his boots, and one of his tighter blue shirts
without lacings. He even put a bit of product in his hair, which was longer than it had been in his
days in Camelot. Long enough to shove some of it off to the side, at least a bit.

The changes spared him any further comments about his appearance, as he entered the kitchen of
the café. Instead, the kitchen staff were quite friendly, all of these people who he knew taking time
to re-introduce themselves to him, as he bent over the sinks to wash the pots and pans he had used
the night before. Before too long, they were even teasing him, joking about his working at
their lowly level, though without any malice behind it.

Just as Merlin was finishing the last of the dishes, Danyl came into the kitchens, holding a small
glass vial. “Here’s the remedy, Merlin.”

Merlin downed its contents in one swallow, cringing out of habit for the bitter aftertaste that did
not, in fact, wind up happening. “It’s different. Why is it different?”

“I added some peppermint extract,” Danyl said. “Softens the taste, and helps with the nausea. Oh,
and I added some honey to ease a sore throat from, well, you know. Helps the taste, too.”

“Everything else is the same?” Merlin asked, and when Danyl nodded, he handed the vial back to
the young man, impressed. “That’s actually much better than the original.”

“Tell me if it doesn’t work the same way. I was worried it would throw the balance of the herbal
chemistry off. I don’t think it should, but…”
“I’ll let you know. It really is quite good. I’ll be sure to continue those lessons that Emrys was
giving you.”

“You can do that?”

“Everything that Emrys knew, I know. Believe me.”

“Oh. Then... You’ll know about Friday? Is that still all right?”

“Your birthday party,” Merlin said. “Yes, that’s fine. Just remind Eleanor that you’ll need the
spare keys to let your family and friends into the café that night.”

“Thanks. And, you know, if you want to come? And your friend Arthur? I was going to invite
Emrys, but… then he left sort of suddenly…”

Merlin caught himself about to apologize, and smiled instead. “He liked you quite a bit, you
know. Thought you were a bright lad.”

“Tell him to come round sometime,” Danyl said, his eyes dark and sad beneath his mop of brown
hair. “I tried texting him. But he never did like to use his mobile.”

“I’ll tell him. And thanks for the invitation. I-“

“Merlin!”

The shout came from the cafe, loud enough to attract the attention of the kitchen staff stacking
dishes and even turning Danyl in place to stare at the door.

“Merlin! Ble edech chi!”

“Oh hell,” Merlin muttered, and pushed past Danyl and out the kitchen door.

Arthur was standing in the middle of the cafe tables and customers, the thick book under his arm,
staring out amongst the crowd of customers who were nearly all staring back at him. “Merlin!
Damniasech ble wyt ti!”

Merlin hurried over to Arthur, casting an apologetic glance Eleanor’s way, where she was standing
dumbstruck, coffee pot hovering over a customer’s cup. “Rydw i yma!” he called to Arthur. “Fod
yn dawel!”

Arthur strode toward him, yelling loudly in Brittonic about William the Conqueror having no
business being remembered as the first person to unify Albion because Arthur had done that
already four hundred years before.

Merlin grabbed Arthur’s arm and pulled his furious king towards his residence door. “Sorry!
Sorry!” he told people as they passed. “He forgets he’s not in Wales anymore! Don’t you,
Arthur! Excuse us,” he said to the room at large, and pulled Arthur back into his residence.

Arthur shook off Merlin’s grip as soon as the door closed behind them. “William the bloody
Conquerer!” he yelled, and slammed the book down on Merlin’s dining room table.

“Would you please just calm down-?”

“Didn’t you hear what I said?” Arthur jammed his knuckles into the book cover. “ William the
bloody Conqueror is given credit for uniting Albion for the first time? Him?” Arthur swore at
length, pacing the length of his flat.
“Well,” Merlin said, “technically, he was the one who-“

Arthur rounded on him, face flushed with fury.

Merlin snapped his jaw shut. The details of history could definitely wait.

“I need to get out of here,” Arthur announced, his gaze frantic as it searched the walls and the floor
and the ceiling as if he were trapped and looking for an escape. “Horses,” he announced. “They
must have horses in this century.”

“They- yes? Why?”

“We’ll go riding.”

“We… could do… Yes…”

“Is there a problem?”

“Well. I don’t actually have horses. Myself. Exactly. But there are some. I just need to arrange to
borrow them.”

“See that you do.” Arthur picked up the book from the table with great distaste. “And locate that
bloody spell you mentioned. I’m tired of people staring at me like they don’t have a brain in their
heads.”

Merlin watched Arthur stride from the room, muttering to himself about the idiocy of the modern
world and how it would be easier if everyone spoke the damn language they were supposed to be
speaking.

“Horses,” Merlin said to himself. And then he sighed, because he knew who he was going to have
to deal with, in order to borrow some.
 for I am ready once more

Arthur was halfway through the fourth of Merlin's chronicles, suffering through even more
outlandish tales of William the Bloody Imposter, when Merlin returned to his chambers.

He was dressed for riding, his breeches tucked into his boots, his brown jacket atop his blue tunic,
a red neckerchief around his throat. His hair looked wind blown, and strangely fuller than Arthur
remembered, but the rest of him was reassuringly familiar, right down to the saddlebags hanging
from his shoulders.

Arthur stood from his desk and shrugged on his black jacket. He was past ready to get out of this
room and away from these damn books. “Everything is prepared?”

“Yes, sire,” Merlin said cheerfully.

And that, too, was reassuring; both the use of his title and the earnest delivery of it. Merlin’s eyes
were sharper now, and color had returned to his face, such as it ever lived there. “Feeling better, I
see?”

“Gaius’ hangover remedy always did work wonders.”

“I could have used some myself, earlier,” Arthur said. His headache was gone now, and he was
again clear of mind, but that was not how he’d awoken.

Instead, he’d struggled awake from sleep with his thoughts in a fog, his head pounding, his
stomach sour. When memory had come rushing in once again, of all that he’d lost, his grief had hit
him even harder than the mornings before.

Only the feeling of Merlin’s arm heavy around him had kept him from despair. Only the weight of
Merlin along his back had quieted any thoughts of being alone.

It should have been strange, to lay with Merlin in such a way. Though they’d slept outdoors in
similar arrangement, never had it happened in a bed, and never had it felt so much like an embrace.
It had felt surprisingly natural, so much so that Arthur had lingered in that position overlong,
leaning into his friend, against the strong chest pressed to his own back, feeling Merlin's warm
breaths on the back of his neck.

“I’ll be sure to keep some upstairs just in case,” Merlin said, startling Arthur from his thoughts.

“You- What?”

“The hangover remedy. You sure you couldn’t still use some?”

“Nonsense. I’m fine. Now what’s that you have there?”

Merlin held up a yellowed piece of paper bearing illegible words and druidic illustrations. “It’s my
spell for understanding other languages. I’m ready to use it on you if you are. Though you may
want to sit down first. It might make you a little dizzy.”

“You’re certain it’s safe?” Arthur asked, though he was already seating himself in one of the
wooden chairs facing the hearth.

“I wouldn’t use it on you if it wasn’t safe, dollophead."

Arthur had to fight back a smile at Merlin’s insolent tone. “What do I need to do?”

“Just sit still and do nothing." Merlin dropped to one knee before him. "You can manage that,
can’t you?”

“Not as well as you can.”

Merlin scoffed at him, glancing down at the paper, then frowning, and glancing down again.

“I trust that I shouldn’t be worried that you feel the need to repeatedly check the spell,” Arthur
said, with false bravado.

“Of course not. I'm just… It’s been a while since I used it. I don’t want to… improvise.”

“Well in that case consider me completely reassured with no concerns whatsoever regarding what
you’re about to do to my brain using magic.”

“Don’t be such a child. It’s not like it’s the first time.”

“It- what?”

Merlin’s winced, peering up at Arthur. “I didn’t- I mean- It was nothing, really-”

“You are going to tell me about every single occasion that you used magic on me without my
knowledge, Merlin,” Arthur snapped. “And then I shall decide if it was nothing.”

Merlin opened his mouth to protest, then thought better of it. “Yes, sire.”

Arthur huffed out an angry breath. “If I hear that I did anything under the influence of magic that
was unbecoming a ruler of the Five Kingdoms-“

“The donkey ears and the braying weren’t my fault-”

“Merlin!”

“Yes! I know! Sorry! I wasn’t supposed to ever mention about- Never mind! I- So- Look, are you
ready or not? For the, you know. Magic.” He cringed at the word for the first time in days, and
this time Arthur was entirely glad he did.

After muttering a token protest about disobedient servants and the flagrant abuse of magic, Arthur
allowed Merlin to press a warm palm against his forehead.

“If you could relax, please, sire?” Merlin asked, in what was, for him anyway, a very servile tone
of voice.

Arthur forced the tension out of his muscles as Merlin drew in a deep breath, his expression
growing hard with concentration.

“Cume mec drýcræftes,” Merlin said, his voice rumbling up from deep in his chest, “limplæce
cyneword ond andgietan, dæghwæðerlic morgenlicne ferhþes.”

Arthur saw starlight dance within Merlin’s eyes, brilliant and beautiful. And then the world went
white.

Millions of sparks danced over his skin, like shocks from thick wool in midwinter. He felt dizzy,
and his thoughts swam, as if sliding into a sudden dream.
“Arthur!”

He felt hands land upon his shoulders, steadying him. When he opened eyes he didn’t remember
closing, Arthur saw Merlin kneeling before him, worried as a mother hen.

“Are you all right?” Merlin asked.

Arthur nodded, and tried to get up, only to sit back down on the chair.

“Give it a moment. It'll pass.”

Arthur grabbed hold of Merlin’s forearms and held on, taking many slow measured breaths to fight
the dizziness.

“Can you understand what I’m saying?”

“Of course I can. Why wouldn’t I understand what you’re-” Arthur stopped talking, realizing that
he was speaking the same language as Merlin. Which was not the language of Camelot at all. It
was the oddest sensation, really. He could think the old language in his head, but as the words
formed upon his lips, he shifted them into this strange new language.

“Galwch barhau idal mi en avr, ni galweh shi?” Merlin asked.

“Yes, I can understand what you- Wait- You were speaking Brittonic just then, weren't you.”
Arthur frowned at the strange word he’d used. “Brittonic? What kind of name is that?”

“It’s one of the names they use for the old language,” Merlin said. “But you see? You can still
understand it and speak it if you want to.”

Arthur recited a list of his favorite insults for Merlin in the old language, including some he just
made up on the spot.

“Very good, my lord,” Merlin said, in sarcasm-laden English. “Nothing wrong with you. Well.
Beyond what was already wrong.”

“So this is what the language of Albion sounds like now,” Arthur said, and had to form his lips
carefully around the word ‘Albion’, because the spell wanted him to call it by a different
name. “England,” Arthur muttered, and screwed up his face. “That’s what they call Albion now?
Honestly, Merlin, did you make no effort whatsoever to control what they called our lands or
language?”

"Repeatedly," Merlin assured him, as he climbed to his feet.

Arthur rose from his chair without a trace of lingering dizziness. “What is this accent that you’ve
given me? You don’t sound like I do when you speak.”

“Not to worry, sire, you still sound like a pompous, spoiled, member of upper crust royalty. The
magic kept all that exactly the same.”

“I take that to mean that I don’t sound like I just fell out of a tavern in the lower town, unlike you,”
Arthur said, smiling now at the round sounds of his vowels and the crisp bite of his consonants.

Merlin laughed at Arthur’s increasing over-enunciation. “Why am I not surprised that you sound
like you’ve spent your life in Buckingham Palace or Harrow?”

“I’m going to ignore that statement, because it’s made up of nonsense,” Arthur declared, which
he’d found an excellent response to anything he didn’t yet understand. “Now. If it’s not too much
trouble, shall we to the horses?”

Merlin’s delighted laughter at the formal phrasing had Arthur grinning in response, looking
forward to the prospect of ordering Merlin around in more than one language. It was a very bright
spot in the midst of the strange insanity that now was his life.

Together they made their way downstairs, Arthur in the lead, Merlin trailing behind him with the
heavy saddlebags. When they reached Merlin’s first floor rooms, Arthur headed towards the door
leading to the café.

“The tower door to the front lawns is faster,” Merlin protested.

“There’s something we must do first,” Arthur said, and pulled open the door to the grand stone hall
and its busy cafe. As he walked through the white tables filling the grand room, he searched the
faces of the customers and staff. Most people paid him little attention as he passed, too
preoccupied by strange slates of stone they held in their hands, things which Arthur didn’t
understand, and therefore ignored.

“We need to go outside,” Merlin said to him, with a jerk of his head towards the double glass doors
set into the enormous transparent wall.

“Ah, there she is,” Arthur said, once he spotted the older woman in her flowered dress. She held a
teapot in one hand, the other hand perched upon her narrow hip as she watched him approach.

Merlin swore in the old language as he followed, side-stepping his way between tables, knocking
the heavy saddle bags into the occasional customer as they swung from his shoulders.

Arthur ignored that too, smiling instead at the old woman who was glaring at him as he stepped
before her. Which wouldn't do at all, he thought. So he bowed to her as if she were a visiting
noblewomen at court, saying: “Good afternoon, Lady Godwyn. I fear we owe you a tremendous
apology for our inexcusable behavior of yesterday evening.”

The old woman's thin brows raised in surprise, her mouth falling open in mute protest as Arthur
took the tea pot from her and set it down between two startled young women at a nearby table.

"I assure you," Arthur said earnestly, picking up the woman's thin hand to press it between both of
his, "that we shall not repeat our discourtesy. You have my word.”

To his great satisfaction, he saw a hint of color fill her cheeks. “It’s no trouble,” she assured him,
smiling now. “None at all. Don’t you think one more second about it.”

Behind him, he heard Merlin make a choking noise. He glanced over his shoulder, gloating, and
was delighted by the outrage he saw on Merlin’s face.

“I have heard only wonderful things about you, my lady,” Arthur told her, because there was no
such thing as laying it on too thick in his experience. “I very much look forward to getting to know
you better.”

“Why that's… I… Thank you…”

She looked at a loss as to what to call him, so he gave her his most charming smile. “Arthur.”

“Arthur,” she said, and then gave a light laugh as he bent to kiss her hand.
“My lady,” he said in parting, before striding through the café and out the glass doors to the porch,
Merlin hurrying to catch up.

Any moment, Arthur thought, as he jogged down the steps and onto the lawn. Any moment…

“What was that?” Merlin burst out, as expected.

Arthur grinned over at where Merlin was jogging to keep up with him, the saddle bags flopping
against his hips. “That, Merlin, was a guarantee that my favorite scones will be set aside for me
every morning.”

“That’s-! I can’t-! Ugh! You made her blush! Eleanor shouldn’t be blushing! That’s just
disgusting! She’s eighty years old, Arthur!”

“She’s the keeper of the scones, Merlin.”

Merlin made an exaggerated wretching noise, following it up with some highly realistic gagging
sounds. “Just disgusting,” he muttered.

Arthur stopped walking, looking all around the lawns surrounding Merlin’s home.

“What’s wrong?” Merlin asked.

Arthur swept out a hand to the empty field. “The horses, Merlin. Where are the horses?”

Merlin nodded towards the edge of the forest. “There’s stables beyond those woods at the top of
the hill. That path over there leads to them. I hope you don’t mind a bit of a walk.”

“Anything’s better than being in that room with those books and their so-called kings,” Arthur said
with great disgust, and started forward at a brisk pace.

He heard the bags bumping against Merlin’s legs as he jogged to keep up. “Oh, that’s all right
then,” Merlin said, in a loud, sarcastic tone of voice that was like music to Arthur’s ears, “I’ll just
carry both of these heavy saddle bags myself all the way to the stables, then, shall I?”

“How many times did you say you performed magic on me without my consent?” Arthur asked.

No reply was forthcoming, though eventually Arthur was fairly sure he heard muttering along the
lines of ‘saved your pompous royal arse not that I ever was thanked for it of course not’.

“I heard that,” Arthur said, and strode into the cool shadows of the forest, with Merlin close
behind.

The dirt path wasn’t steep, but it held enough overgrowth that Arthur had to watch his step as they
wound their way up the gradual slope of the hill. The sweet smells of green leaves and wet earth
filled his nose, familiar enough that he caught himself more than once seeking a flash of red cape
and the sight of his knights on patrol.

Behind him came the sound of Merlin’s slightly labored breathing, and his wet footfalls, as well as
the occasional swear. Also just like Camelot, Arthur thought wistfully. If he had his crossbow, he
could almost believe that they were out for a hunt together, a thousand and a half years ago.

Eventually they reached the edge of the forest, and emerged upon the hilltop. When Arthur
stepped out from under the trees, it was onto a green sunlit meadow that covered the top of the
hill. A massive yellow wooden house stood in the middle of the green, next to the more familiar
structure of a rather large old stone stables building.

“This is… Widow Abbernathy’s… grounds,” Merlin panted, as he staggered to a stop next to
Arthur. “She… is… oh hell,” he said, and bent forward, the saddlebags falling to the ground as he
pressed hands to his knees.

“Whatever is the matter with you?”

Merlin glared up at him, clearly irritated, heaving in deep breaths. Sweat covered his face, and his
cheeks were red from his exertion. “I’ve spent the past three decades… as an old man, Arthur… I
haven’t exactly been… doing this kind of work.”

“Well you’re not an old man now, are you,” Arthur said. “So get moving.”

Merlin grumbled the entire walk to the stables, where they were met by a stout old woman whose
violently red dress matched both her hair and the makeup upon her cheeks. Though she seemed
nice enough, Arthur noticed Merlin scowling at her more than once, and skirting intentionally
away from her wherever she moved close.

She chatted with them both as they selected their horses, with Merlin in particular. Arthur largely
didn’t pay attention, busy selecting a black stallion with a fine leather saddle. He climbed atop the
steed with great relief, Merlin guiding a white mare into position beside him before adding the
saddlebags to Arthur’s mount.

For the first time all day, Arthur felt himself truly relax. He smiled, leaning forward to stroke the
mane of the steed, then was startled by Merlin’s sharp yelp.

Merlin climbed onto the saddle of his own horse swearing, his saddle bag clutched to his chest.
“Come on,” Merlin said testily, and without waiting for a reply, spurred his horse hard, nearly
falling off as the animal surged forward out the stable building door.

After riding only a short distance into the open field, Merlin stopped his horse to secure his own
saddle bag. As Arthur reined his own horse to a stop, he heard Merlin mutter “fresh old woman”.

“What’s that?” Arthur asked.

“She pinched my arse!” Merlin bit out. “Again!”

Arthur burst out laughing so loudly that his horse threw back his head in protest. He had to pat the
stallion’s neck and tighten his grip on the reins to settle him down again.

“It is not funny!” Merlin snapped at him. “I’m young enough to be her grandson!”

“You’re old enough to be her grandfather many times over.”

“She doesn’t know that! Cheeky old woman!” Merlin yelled back at the stables, now that they
were safely out of hearing distance.

“I find it hard to believe you can’t fend off one old woman with eager hands.”

Merlin’s gaze snapped to him, a flash of pain in his eyes, before fading into a guarded expression
that Arthur was coming to know all too well.

“What is it?” Arthur asked.

“Nothing. Just. You said that to me before. But. Not you. Not really.” Merlin stared down at
the reins and did not explain.

Arthur thought of what Merlin had said the night before. About being driven mad. About
speaking to him when he had not been there.

All those centuries, he thought. How in the world had Merlin survived all those centuries?

Without another word, Merlin spurred his horse into a gallop. Arthur resettled himself into the
saddle and did the same, following him across the meadow.

They rode together for a while over the open meadows along the hilltops, before finally venturing
down into wooded paths. For the most part they rode the narrow paths single file, Merlin in the
lead, because he knew these lands better.

Only occasionally would Arthur encounter a reminder of the new world. A strange noise echoing
through the woods. A light flashing far away. The roar of those creatures in the sky. Otherwise it
was just the two of them and the familiar sounds and smells of the forest, their only company the
plants and the trees, with daylight fading all around them.

Arthur wasn’t quite sure where they were, but he suspected it was still close to the lake. The early
evening air was humid, holding something of a chill. A fine night for hunting, he thought. When
the path widened again, and they could ride side by side, he told Merlin so.

“There are places where you can hunt not too far away from here,” Merlin told him. “But not by
the lake. This is protected land.”

Arthur could hear a bit of pride behind those words. “Your doing?”

Merlin nodded, but did not explain. He’d gone quiet again since they’d left the meadow. Lost in
memory, Arthur thought. Lost in pain. And lost to him, as well.

“The horses could use a rest,” Arthur told him, hoping to pull him from these thoughts.

“There’s a clearing just up ahead,” Merlin said. “We’re almost there.”

Calling it a clearing was being generous, Arthur thought. Really the small area of grass by the
lakeside wasn’t much larger than could hold two horses and several people camped for the night.

As Arthur climbed down from his horse, he realized that’s exactly what this spot was used for. A
well used fire pit sat in the middle of the small meadow, well back from the water. Bits of paper
were littered all around it, signs that people had been here before.

Arthur watched Merlin lead both of their horses to a nearby tree. As he tended to them, Arthur
stared across the water at the ruins of the tower. Beyond it, he could just barely make out a change
in the trees that marked the clearing around Merlin’s estate. “We’re on the other side of the lake,”
he said.

Merlin gave the horses a pat as they ate the food he’d given them. “We can rest here for a while.
Or if you’d like, we could camp here tonight. I brought bedrolls and some sandwiches.”

Arthur watched Merlin stretch out his back in a way that suggested he was no longer accustomed to
riding. Another subtle change from the man he was. And yet this action, of bringing him here, of
packing their things for an overnight stay… That was very much the man he remembered.

He knew that I was being driven mad by the history written in those books, Arthur thought. He
knew, and he brought me here, because it would feel like it used to, back in Camelot.

Merlin was looking at him, his expression cautiously hopeful, his eyes wide and questioning,
silently asking if he’d done the right thing.

“It so happens I’m in the mood for sandwiches,” Arthur said, and then pretended not to notice
Merlin’s delight.

While Merlin spread out a large blanket and unwrapped some food from a small cloth, Arthur
wandered through the small grassy clearing. At one point, he headed towards the water’s edge, but
then stopped himself. Because even that small change in distance had made Merlin go very still
behind him.

He’s like I am with the empty room at night, Arthur thought bitterly, and glared at the tower upon
the Isle of Avalon.

Arthur hated it, his new and unwelcome and entirely childish fear of being alone in a darkened
room. He hated, too, that Merlin now bore scars of fear as well, of Arthur being near the water.

It would take time, he told himself. That was all. His fifteen hundred years spent in darkness were
only three days behind him. And Merlin’s isolation lived still very fresh in his friend’s mind as
well. Their fears would diminish eventually. He just had to be patient until they did.

When Merlin had finished setting up their bedrolls atop the blanket – quite close to one another, he
noticed – Arthur took his place at Merlin’s side. The evening light was dimming at a rapid pace,
most of it blocked by the trees surrounding the clearing.

“Set a fire so that we can see what we’re eating,” Arthur said, and nodded at the cold, wet, charred
scraps of wood in the fire pit, where no earthly flame had any business springing to life.

“You mean…” Merlin said, almost shyly, and wiggled his fingers at the coals.

“I mean,” Arthur said.

“Forbaernan,” Merlin said, with a slight nod to the fire pit.

Arthur watched the flames dancing a long time, until Merlin nudged his arm, offering a sandwich.
He took it, nodding, and for a while they sat silently together, eating.

After a while, Arthur risked a glance over at Merlin, to find him staring contentedly at the flames,
a familiar relaxed slouch bowing his back as he sat cross-legged on the ground. Arthur felt
himself relaxing even more in response, sitting there surrounded by the sound of the leaves in the
wind, the waves upon the shore.

By the time they’d finished eating, the first stars had made an appearance. Arthur stretched out
upon his back on his bedroll, the hard earth a welcome and familiar thing beneath him.

Merlin stretched out as well, not even an arm's length away.

Close, Arthur thought. He likes to keep me close.

Above them both, clouds dotted the darkened sky, stars twinkling between them. Like jewels on a
crown, Guinevere used to say. She’d always compared the jewels of her crown to the stars in the
sky.
“I miss her,” Arthur said.

“She was your wife," Merlin said. "Of course you miss her.”

Was my wife, Arthur thought. Not is my wife. Was my wife.

Yes, he was a widower now, wasn’t he. Though she’d been a widow first. It was all so difficult
and confusing to grasp.

“I was ready to leave her, you know,” Arthur said to the stars. “I was ready to leave them all. To
die for my kingdom. I was prepared to do it.” He drew in a deep breath, let it out slowly. “But I
wasn’t prepared in the slightest for this. For all of them to leave me instead.”

“Almost all,” Merlin said, his voice almost lost in the rustling of the leaves.

Arthur reached over, set his hand upon Merlin’s forearm. “Almost all."

Merlin fell silent, but it was one of his very loud silences, which meant he had much to say, and
was holding it all back.

"What?" Arthur prompted.

“It's just... It's understandable, you know. For you to feel abandoned."

“It’s not fair to them that I do.”

“None of what has happened to us is fair," Merlin said bitterly.

“No,” he agreed. “It isn't.”

They lay there a long time, listening to the wind stirring the leaves, the horses shuffling by the
lakeside, the water whispering to the shore.

A moving point of light in the sky caught Arthur’s attention. “That shooting star is moving
awfully slowly.”

“It's not a shooting star.”

"It's not?"

"No. It's... something else."

I’m not going to ask, Arthur thought. Merlin’s tone made it very clear that asking would be a bad
idea. He should absolutely, positively, not ask.

“Well what is it?” Arthur asked.

“It’s a long metal tube containing hundreds of people that is being propelled across the sky by a
constant controlled explosion.”

“Right. Of course.”

“You have no idea what I just told you.”

“Shut up.”

Merlin chuckled, a familiar sound that comforted Arthur even more than the smells of the forest,
and the sounds of the horses, and the hard ground beneath him.

It was so easy to believe that this was another time, he thought to himself. With the strange light in
the sky now gone, there was no trace of the modern world. Only the one he had known.

But that world was gone now. Along with everything he’d had. And everything he was.

“What will I do with myself,” Arthur asked. “Without a kingdom to rule.”

“You’ll do what you always do, sire. Prepare for the next battle.”

“Even though we’ve no idea what that shall be.”

“Yes.”

“And you honestly don't know anything at all about these trials we will face?”

“All I knew is that you would return in the time of Albion’s greatest need.”

Arthur crossed his arms and huffed out a frustrated breath. “Well that’s entirely non-specific and
unhelpful.”

“Helpful is not a word I’d use for speakers of prophecy.”

Too much pain in Merlin’s tone. Not a road that he had intended his friend to travel. “Well then,”
Arthur said. “I suppose we’ll have to prepare for everything.” He turned his head on the
blanket to study Merlin’s profile. “We’ll begin training tomorrow.”

Merlin turned an utterly horrified expression toward him. “Training?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten what training is."

“Training,” Merlin repeated, his face screwing up as if the word itself tasted bitter.

“I’m assuming you have at least some of Camelot’s armory in your grand manor?”

“It’s a house, and yes, I do, which I’m starting to think was a mistake.”

“Tomorrow afternoon,” Arthur declared, feeling better already at the thought of a sword in his
hand. “We begin training.”

“Oh I can hardly wait.”

“You could use the exercise, the sorry state you’re in,” Arthur added, and earned a mocking repeat
of his own words in response.

More long moments of peace, with the wind rustling the leaves of the trees around them.

“It’s a bit odd, isn’t it,” Merlin said. “Lying here. With no bandits lurking in the woods trying to
kill you.”

“Or you.”

“Mostly you. Actually, come to think of it, I won’t know what to do with myself now either.
Without having to stop someone from killing you every day.”

“Don’t exaggerate. It wasn’t every day.”

“Fine. Every other day.”

“That’s better,” Arthur said. “And I’m sure you’ll do what you always do as well. Which is as
little as possible.”

Merlin grinned over at him. “Sounds good to me.”

“Of course it does," Arthur said, grinning right back at him. "I'm certain with all those servants of
yours-“

“Employees.”

“-I’m sure you manage being as idle as someone can possibly be. You don’t have even more
servants-“

“Employees, Arthur, I pay them.”

“-at your disposal who I haven’t met yet, do you? No other staff?” Arthur paused, realizing
something he should have thought of before. “No wife? No children? Or grandchildren?”

The smile faded from Merlin's lips. He looked away, to stare up at the night sky.

“Do you?” Arthur pressed.

“No.”

Arthur pushed himself up to his elbow. “In fifteen hundred years, you must have… found
someone? Married? At least once?”

Merlin shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Surely there was someone,” Arthur said.

In the flickering light of the fire, he could see Merlin’s expression pinch. “There was. Once. But
nothing came of it.”

“But… You couldn’t have been... alone. Not for…" Arthur couldn’t bring himself to say it. Not
for all those centuries. Not for all those long years that he waited. It was too horrible to even think
it.

“I had a few… companions. Sometimes. Not for very long. Between the not dying and the hiding
my magic and the waiting for you, I’m a bit much to take. Or so I’ve been told.”

“Whoever told you that was an idiot,” Arthur said.

Merlin looked over at him, his eyebrows raising in surprise, smiling so completely that his eyes
crinkled. “I thought I was the idiot.”

“Only in comparison to me.”

“Is that how it works?”

“Yes,” Arthur said, and lay back on the blanket, trying not to think of Merlin with these idiotic
companions of his. Of Merlin being mistreated by them, or hurt by them, while Arthur had been
unable to protect him. He wished he could turn back time, to deal with whoever had wounded
Merlin so badly that he had turned to isolation.
“Ready for a story?” Merlin asked, in the middle of the twentieth way that Arthur had been
imagining doing harm to the people who had hurt his friend in the past. It had involved a javelin
this time.

Arthur forced himself to relax, the fire warm upon his boot soles, the crackling of the flames
peaceful in the quiet night. “You’re referring of course to a story about your illegal activities using
magic in Camelot?”

“One of the many thousand, my lord.”

Arthur feigned a noise of irritation. “What’s the story about this time, then?”

“I’ll let you choose. What do you want to hear about? Goblins, assassins, or magic?”

An easy decision, Arthur thought. He pretended to think it over anyway. “Magic.”

“All right, then," Merlin said, sounding pleased. "I’ll tell you about the Crystal Caves.”

Though Arthur tried to stay awake as Merlin spoke, gradually his thoughts began to drift. Images
formed in his mind, of Merlin standing in a great cavern, his eyes sparkling with golden starlight,
surrounded by shining crystals filled with visions of the world.

The feeling of rain upon his face startled him awake. A drop fell upon his closed eyelids, and then
another on his cheek. Arthur wiped at his face, pushing himself up to his elbows on his bedroll,
sleep muddled and disoriented.

The fire still roared at his feet in the pitch darkness, even with the rain growing heavier. His
thoughts were sluggish by what must have been a few hours’ sleep, but he was coming around
rather quickly as the rain grew heavier.

At his side, he saw Merlin was still sound asleep upon his back, utterly undisturbed by the
weather. When the wind picked up, the patter of the rain on the leaves turned into something loud
enough to make the horses stomp the ground and huff misty breaths into the air. Within seconds,
the heavens opened up, and it began to pour.

When Merlin still didn’t stir, Arthur smacked him soundly on the shoulder, startling him awake.
“Whazzit?” Merlin said, then lifted his face to the increasing downpour, and spat out rain. “Pfah-“
he said, and wiped his eyes. “S’raining.”

“Very good, Merlin, yes, it’s raining,” Arthur snapped, as he moved closer to the fire, which
continued to burn against all laws of nature. Both his jacket and his clothes were soaking wet
already, and the rain was only getting heavier. “Do something about it,” he told Merlin, and
smacked him on the arm.

Merlin jerked his arm away, giving him a look of great offense. “What do you want me to do?”

“Have you hit your head in your sleep?” Arthur demanded. “What do you think I want you to do?”

Merlin looked up at the sky, then back at him. “Seriously? Magic? Because you can’t handle a
little rain?”

In the distance came a flash of lightning, and a rumble of thunder. The rain intensified to a near
deafening roar around them.

Arthur spat out the water that was running down his face. “Do you see what you’ve gone and
done? You’ve made it rain harder!”

“That wasn’t my fault!“ Merlin looked over to where the horses were apparently unbothered by the
storm. “We can take shelter under the trees.”

“It’s raining through the leaves, Merlin, what good would it do to move away from the fire to
where it’s colder? Just fix it!”

“It’s the weather! You don’t fix something that doesn’t need to be fixed!”

“You do if it’s trying to drown you!”

Merlin wiped at the torrent of water running down his face. “All right, fine!”

“Come on, hurry it up,” Arthur said, and rapped Merlin’s shoulder with his knuckles.

“Stop hitting me! You’re always hitting me!” Merlin shoved himself a bit farther away on the
soaking wet blanket, grimacing at the squelch of water beneath his breaches.

“I’m not always hitting you, don’t be a child,” Arthur said, and shivered at the wind that had
decided to make an appearance, just to vex him. He shoved at Merlin again. “Come on!”

“Oh my god you are such a- Stop it!“ Merlin flailed an arm at Arthur, lifting his other to the sky,
palm out, fingers splayed. “You are going to drive me utterly... Leave off!” he said, shoving back
at Arthur. “Royal arse,” Merlin snapped, then said, “onstyrest þu heofonwolcen cume milde byreas
áscínest- áscínest- áscí-“

In the firelit downpour, Arthur watched Merlin’s body go rigid, and then jerk violently, as if
shocked by unseen lightning. Gold surged within his eyes, shining so brightly that even the whites
of them were lost in it.

“áscínest- þu- þu-“ Merlin stammered, shaking so violently that his voice trembled. His eyes grew
wider, the gold shining even brighter from them, as he choked out words in a strangled voice,
“sunne- þæt- sumorhát dæghwæðerlic!”

A blinding flash of light made Arthur flinch back. When his vision cleared, he saw Merlin on his
back on the ground, his body bowing off the earth. Light shone through every inch of Merlin’s
skin, filling his wide open eyes, glowing beneath his clothes, dancing beneath his flesh like a
million stars trying to burst free from within him.

Merlin cried out, throwing his arms to his sides, and thick tendrils of sparkling light radiated from
his hands and his fingers, sinking into the earth, curling into the air, crawling across the lake.

The raindrops stopped in midair, the trees halted mid-sway, the flames froze in place, and the
world fell into silence.

Arthur crawled to Merlin’s side, his own breathing loud in the absence of sound. “Merlin!” he
yelled, and grabbed him by the jacket, hauling him upward.

A sensation on his arms drew his gaze, and Arthur saw tendrils of light-- no, he thought, it was
tendrils of magic—slide around his arms where he held onto Merlin. The thick ropes of it felt like
water, like flame, like wind, sliding over his clothing and skin, questioning, seeking, wanting.

Sparkling light now blanketed the entire meadow. All around them, flowers rose from the earth and
bloomed, strawberry plants sprang forth and fruited, and blue butterflies rose fluttering from the
grass.

Merlin gave a broken moan, and Arthur heaved him forward by his jacket, and with all his strength
slapped his face open handed, knocking him to the ground.

The air electrified around him, intense enough that Arthur expected lightning to strike him. But
then it was gone. With a rush of sound, all the rain hovering in the air fell to the ground.

The silence that followed was disturbed only by the soft waves whispering to shore, and a warm,
dry breeze stirring the leaves of the trees. Above them, stars shone from a dark and cloudless sky.

Arthur crawled in his uncomfortable wet clothing to where Merlin lay in a crumpled, twitching
heap upon the earth. “Merlin,” Arthur said, and pulled him to sit up.

Merlin fell forward against him, limp and unresponsive, his forehead thumping into Arthur’s
collarbone, his weight nearly knocking them both to the ground.

Arthur shifted his legs around so he was sitting facing Merlin, his hip pressed against his friend’s.
He wrapped an arm around Merlin’s back, holding him against his own chest. He pressed his palm
to Merlin’s face, tilting his head back to look at him.

Merlin’s eyes were closed, the long dark lashes not even twitching, his mouth hanging open, his
lips nearly completely white.

Somehow the fire was still burning, so Arthur pulled them both toward it, across the wet bedrolls
and blanket. Once he was close enough to feel the heat of it on his side, he pulled Merlin tighter
against him, pressing his forehead against his own neck, hoping to calm the tremors he could feel
shaking his body.

“Come on, Merlin,“ Arthur told him. “Wake up.”

In a daze he looked around the clearing, at the strawberries, the flowers, the butterflies. He had no
idea what had happened, or what was happening, or how to fix it.

Merlin had stopped fire, Arthur thought. And wind. And rain. And had created all these living
things besides. And he had done it all while out of his mind.

“Come on, stop it,” Arthur said to Merlin’s motionless face, his voice absolutely not rising in
panic, because that was utterly unbecoming a king. “I’ll slap you again if I have to, Merlin. You
don’t want that, do you?”

Finally, a small noise in response. “Mmmmmno,” he said into Arthur’s neck.

“I knew it,” Arthur said, in unspeakable relief. “You were faking it all along.”

Arthur could feel his own body shaking now. From his wet clothes, he told himself. Although the
night was quite warm. Still, he couldn’t seem to stop. He kept remembering the starlight dancing
under Merlin’s skin. The tendrils of magic reaching out into the world. Reaching into him as well.
Asking him a question he couldn’t understand.

“What happened?” Arthur asked.

“Magic,” Merlin murmured into his neck. “Wasn’t careful. So strong. Couldn’t… I…”

Arthur felt his friend give a massive shudder. “You can tell me in the morning. Just rest now.”
Merlin stilled against him, a deep breath leaving him. Arthur just sat and held him, surrounded by
the new life on the forest floor, and in the air around him.

Arthur watched several butterflies alight upon the brown jacket covering Merlin’s back, and then a
few more upon his own arm. One of the largest touched down atop Merlin’s wet black hair,
inches from Arthur’s nose.

Merlin did this, Arthur thought again. All this life. All this beauty. All from him. Even with the
pain he carries. Even after everything.

Arthur stared at the small creature that had been borne of Merlin’s magic. “Beautiful,” he
whispered.

Merlin made a small noise against his neck, so Arthur tightened his arms around him, holding him
fast as his breathing evened out into the patterns of sleep.

For a long while Arthur sat there, half dozing against his friend, snapping back awake whenever
his arms started to slide from around him. All around, the butterflies continued to dance in the air
and among the flowers and the strawberries. Arthur watched them sleepily, until a flash of light
upon the surface of the lake drew his gaze.

Only a sliver of a moon tonight, he saw, after scanning the sky. No cause for the moonlight to
dance upon the water. And it was only in one spot, as well.

Very carefully, Arthur settled Merlin upon his wet bedroll, and then shrugged off his jacket, and
lay it atop his friend’s chest. After making sure Merlin would not wake, Arthur stepped to the
lakeside, eyes fixed upon the light in the water.

It was quite close to shore, only a few steps into the lake. With care, Arthur quietly stepped into
the cold water, moving towards the glow. The water was barely above his knees when he was
upon it.

In utter wonder, Arthur Pendragon sank his hand into the cold water of the Lake of Avalon,
wrapped his fingers around frigid steel at the lake bottom, and then stood, holding aloft his sword,
Excalibur.

He gazed at the blade with wide eyes, his heart pounding, a strength building inside him that had
nothing at all to do with magic or rebirth after a millennium of death.

He felt like himself again. For the first time, truly, like himself.

There was nothing that could stand against him now. Not with this blade in his hand. Not with
Merlin at his side.

Let the trials of Albion come, Arthur thought to himself, to the strange world around him, to all the
children of Albion.

Yes. Let them come.

Now, I am ready to face them.

 old habits, new days

He stood on the shore of Lake Avalon. Upon the isle, the tower ruins glowed blue, then gold, then
blue.

Merlin watched the light of the ancient magics grow brighter and brighter until it filled the world
around him. He could feel it pressing against him, a weight on his skin, from the air, the earth, the
water, the sky.

In the lake stood a lithe figure of a woman, her dress made of mist, her smile of moonlight.

‘It’s all right, Merlin,' she said.

‘Freya.’ He wanted to go to her, but the lake was where the magic felt strongest. And it was
already frighteningly strong. ‘Freya, help me.’

She tilted her head quizzically, looking behind him. ‘He doesn’t understand.’

Strong arms wrapped around Merlin from behind, arms covered in chainmail. He felt Arthur’s
armor press into his back. Saw Excalibur in his king’s hand, held between them and the lake.
Magic sparkled along its blade.

‘He can be a bit thick,’ came Arthur’s voice into his ear.

Merlin turned in the circle of Arthur’s arms. Ropes of magic were wrapping themselves around
Arthur’s neck, winding all around his body, while Arthur stood smiling, heedless of the danger.

Merlin yanked at the tendrils, but they slipped though his fingers. ‘Arthur, get away! Run!’
Merlin turned to Freya, but she was smiling too, even as she dissolved into the mists. ‘Do
something!’

‘I already have,’ she said, and then was gone.

“Merlin!”

He felt himself being shaken, and gasped awake staring up at an indigo sky.

Arthur lay beside him in the meadow in the pale light of dawn, propped up on one elbow, his hand
clasping Merlin’s shoulder as he shook him.

Merlin grabbed Arthur’s wrist and lifted his arm to look at it. No ropes of magic bound him. No
sign of threat anywhere. Just the peaceful morning filled with the sounds of birdsong, the scent of
strawberries and lavender, and dozens of blue butterflies fluttering above.

He made a strangled noise, all at once remembering the ancient magics surging through him and
out into the world.

Merlin pushed himself to his knees, his hands pressing into Arthur’s neck, feeling for his pulse.
“Are you all right? What did I do? Did I do anything to you?”

Arthur sat up and grabbed Merlin’s wrists, pulling them away from his neck. “Calm down, you
were just having a dream-”
“Not the dream, my-” he choked on the word, forced it out, “-magic, Arthur, did I hurt you with my
magic?”

“Of course you didn’t, don’t be ridiculous.”

Merlin sat back on his heels, pressing his palms into his eyes, remembering broken bodies by the
stone circle, stones exploding across the lake, and a thousand even more horrible and bloody and
brutal things he could have done to Arthur with his magic without even knowing he had done it.

“What happened last night?” Arthur asked. “I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

Merlin dug his fingers into his hair, feeling the ancient magics still churning around him.
Reverberations of a massive magical shockwave, he realized. Just like the morning of Arthur’s
return.

Merlin’s head snapped up and he stared wide-eyed at Arthur. “What else happened? What’s
changed since yesterday?”

Arthur’s brows raised, but then he huffed a seemingly bemused laugh. He reached behind him on
his bedroll, then raised a glittering sword between them.

“Excalibur,” Merlin said, the name a breath punched from his chest.

“It was in the lake,” Arthur said, his tone reproachful but unworried, as if he were sure Merlin had
one of his ridiculous stories of magic to explain why it had been there.

The blade held no evidence of its great age, nor of its centuries in the lake. Its inscription was
crisply engraved, its edges sharp with the promise of death.

Merlin realized he was leaning back instinctively from the blade, which was both unnerving and
surprising. He had wielded this weapon before himself, and had nothing to fear from it in Arthur’s
hand. It was undeniable, though, what he felt from it now. Both a threat, and a promise.

“You could kill me with it,” Merlin heard himself saying, which was not what he had intended. He
had meant to ask if Arthur had seen Freya. If he had ventured into the water. But the other words
had come out instead.

“It’s a sword, Merlin,” Arthur said, as if he were a child. “I could kill anyone with it.”

“No. I mean.” He hesitated, centuries of secrecy and fear choking the words from him. But he had
to get them out. With his magic slipping from his control, Arthur needed to know. “I mean,” he
forced out, “that you can kill beings of magic with it.” He pressed a hand to his chest. “Like me.
You could kill me with it. If you had to.”

“If I had to? What are you talking about, if I had to.”

Merlin looked helplessly at the tower, remembering the surges of power cresting over him like
waves in the the ocean. Euphoric, he remembered. That’s how it had felt. Euphoric and
overwhelming and like he never wanted it to stop-

“What,” Arthur said in a low voice, “are you not telling me?”

Merlin pressed his lips together. Stared at the tower. Then shook his head at himself. Stupid, he
thought. Stupid.
“Merlin…”

“I wanted… to work it out. Before I said anything to you.”

Silence in response.

And then a small noise, strangled and low.

Merlin drew in a deep and shaking breath, and forced himself to face his king.

Arthur’s blue eyes had narrowed, his jaw working as he ground his teeth, his shoulders visibly
rising and falling with harsh breaths. “Have you been lying to me? Again?”

“No- Arthur- No, I haven’t, I swear-“

“But you haven’t been telling the entire truth.”

Merlin had to struggle to hold Arthur’s scathing stare. “No,” he choked out.

A rush of color filled Arthur’s face, veins standing out in his neck. Without another word, he
surged to his feet and strode away, to the edge of the lake.

Merlin pressed his fists into his legs and clamped down on his body’s urge to rush after him. He
had to dig his nails into his thighs as Arthur paced along the water’s edge, slicing his sword at the
reeds that rose from the water.

When he stopped, he was facing the lake, his body at full attention as if facing an army, his
shoulders heaving with angry breaths, his knuckles white upon the sword held at his side. The sun
had risen behind him, lighting his blade with fire, shining upon Arthur’s hair like a golden crown.

“Tell me. All of it. Now.” Arthur’s voice was as deep and dangerous as ever Merlin had heard it.
“I command it.”

Merlin’s gaze dropped, his head jerking in a nod without his meaning to do it. Never had he been
able to resist that tone. It spoke of battlefields, and crowns, and blood, and death. It held echoes of
the ancient kings, and of the land itself, and permitted no disobedience. Especially not from him.

“The ancient magics have been growing stronger,” Merlin said through a tight throat. “Every day,
more and more. I’ve never felt such power. Not in my entire life.”

“You told me,” Arthur ground out, “that magic was dormant. That it’s been dormant for
centuries.”

“It was.”

“But that’s changed.”

“Yes.”

“When.”

“Since… a few days before your return.”

Arthur rounded on him, his face tight with anger and betrayal and shock. “A few days?”

“I had it under control!” Merlin burst out. “Or- I thought I did. Until last night. The ancient magics
just- broke loose. I wasn’t… I couldn’t… stop them…”

Arthur drove his sword into the ground and took a furious step forward. “Are you telling me that
you couldn’t control your own magic?”

Merlin felt his face burn with shame, but he forced himself to nod, lips pressing together, his hands
clenching into fists so tightly that his knuckles ached.

“And you didn’t think to tell me that this has been happening!” Arthur yelled, his voice echoing
across the water.

“I was going to! I was! Just as- Just as soon as I figured out what it meant…”

“As soon as you-!” Arthur gave him the sort of smile that was no smile at all, but was much rather
a vicious showing of teeth prior to a killing blow. “And have you?” he asked, in the falsely sweet
tones of one who did not expect yes for an answer.

“I just-“ Merlin watched Arthur’s eyes narrow. “No.”

“No. No, of course not. Because if you had figured it out, Merlin, then you would have decided,
all on your own,” Arthur bit out, his voice raising, “to finally inform your king about something
that could render you completely unable to defend yourself, and completely unable to defend me,
and completely unable to defend Albion from a threat so severe that I was awoken from fifteen
hundred years of death!”

Without another word, Arthur yanked his sword from the ground and stalked past where he knelt
and over to the horses.

Merlin climbed to his feet as Arthur untied his horse from the tree. “Let me-“

“Not another word,” Arthur bit out, as he pulled the reins free.

Merlin snapped his mouth shut, hating himself for obeying so quickly, though not nearly as much
as he was hating himself for holding back the truth.

“Bring our things back to the house,” Arthur told him, cold and hard as if he were a stranger. “I’m
going ahead. I assure you I can find my way without your help.”

Merlin watched him climb onto his horse and urge it across the clearing. He felt a violent swell of
panic as Arthur vanished into the woods. But he forced himself to let Arthur go.

This was all his fault after all. Again.

Fifteen hundred years, Merlin thought. I had fifteen hundred years to prepare. How do I keep
messing it up so badly?

“Idiot,” he growled, and angrily gathered their things. With as much haste as he could, he hauled
their damp belongings to the horses and packed them into his saddlebag.

As he climbed onto his horse, a cluster of blue butterflies fluttered past him. He watched them a
long moment, realizing that he felt no magic in them. That was something new as well. He’d
never been able to create something that had lived separate from his magic for long. But these
creatures were truly alive.

Merlin glared warily at the meadow, at the strawberries and the lavender and the butterflies. And
then he cast another look at the tower.

“I don’t suppose you’re going to actually tell me what’s happening,” he said.

Only silence from the ruins on the island.

“Yeah. I didn’t think so,” he muttered, and spurred his horse forward, onto the forest path.

Though he tried to urge his horse to move more swiftly, the older mare was hardly a steed of
Camelot. She took her time upon the winding dirt path of the forest, moving at a leisurely pace that
had Merlin’s nerves itching at him with every step.

Only when he left the forest behind and rode onto sunny hilltop meadows did Merlin see Arthur
again. The morning had grown warm, and Arthur had removed his jacket. Merlin could see the
blue tunic in the sun, as well as the glint of his sword where he’d tucked it into his saddle.

Merlin shrugged off his jacket as well, glad to have the sun on his still damp tunic. “That can’t be
a good sign, can it,” he said. “The sword coming back.”

His horse twitched her ears and gave a harsh breath, which Merlin took as a definite no.

“Right? I mean, is a sword ever a good sign? It’s a sword. It’s not like it’s butterflies, is it.” He
paused, frowning at himself. “Butterflies… Honestly… What is wrong with me? Well. Apart from
the talking to myself bit. Like a mental patient. Which I am still doing. Even after realizing that
I’m doing it.”

He rode for a moment in frustrated silence.

“Although technically, I’m actually talking to you,” Merlin said to his horse. “And talking to you
is better than talking to an imaginary person who was dead at the time, especially if he talked back
to me, right?”

The mare moved steadily forward, but gave no sign of reply.

“Stupid horse,” Merlin muttered.

Up ahead in the meadow, Arthur had stopped his horse at a point overlooking the city of
Buckdale. Merlin brought his horse alongside, and quietly studied the scene below.

Houses and shops and office buildings and high rises filled the valley with brick and steel and glass
and stone. Trees dotted the maze of streets that wound among and through the buildings, all filled
with traffic at this time of the morning. In the distance, a 4 lane motorway looped around the city,
filled with cars and lorries speeding to the neighboring cities and towns.

“Is nothing the same?” Arthur said, without turning his gaze from the scene.

“In some corners of the Albion it is.”

Arthur stiffened in the saddle, knuckles whitening on his reins.

“But not most,” Merlin forced himself to add.

He saw Arthur give a grudging nod, which he took as approval for the effort at honesty. Telling
the entire truth was going to be insanely difficult, Merlin thought. If he could even manage to do it
at all.
At a distant sound of a lorry’s air horn, Arthur leaned forward in his saddle, eyes searching the
downward slope of the hillside ahead. Without another word, Arthur urged his horse forward,
towards a dirt path that lead down into the valley.

“Are you sure you want to-?“ Merlin began, then cut himself off at a sharp glance Arthur gave
him. “Right,” he said. “Down the hill then.”

The horse path that wound down the grassy hill was well worn by the tourists who lodged at the
Widow Abbernathy’s house. It terminated at a car park at the base of the hill. Joggers or bike
riders or horseback riders often left their vehicles there, to use the dirt path that stretched along the
bottom of the hill from Avalon to Buckdale.

When they reached the small gravel covered car park, they found it nearly empty. Only a few
vehicles sat shining in the hot sun.

Merlin reined his horse to a stop next to where Arthur had done the same, only a few feet into the
car park, right next to a red sports utility vehicle.

Arthur pressed a palm to the top of the vehicle, then yanked back his hand at the heat of the sun
warmed metal. Merlin kept his mouth shut, holding back his explanations, as Arthur peered at the
glass windows, the black tires, and then stared out at the other vehicles around them.

On the narrow road that ran past the car park, several cars approached from Avalon and then sped
off towards Buckdale. Arthur’s stare followed each one as it passed the car park from left to right,
one after the other.

After they’d gone, Arthur shot a disapproving look at Merlin, as if what he’d seen was somehow
Merlin’s fault. Before Merlin could say anything, Arthur turned away, and urged his horse
forward.

Merlin followed in barely restrained silence, right up until Arthur began to lead his horse towards
the entrance the cars used to get into the car park.

“This way, sire,” he called, pointing to the tree-lined dirt path that ran alongside the roadway.

“Why that way?” Arthur snapped.

Merlin started to speak, then stopped himself, realizing that he had been about to tell Arthur yet
another half truth. After a deep breath, he forced out the real answer. “Because,” he said, “there’s
something else I haven’t told you that you should know about. And it would be easiest for you to
find out about it if we went to Avalon. Which is that way.”

“What a surprise,” Arthur said, in a mocking and bitter voice. “You. Keeping secrets from me.”

“It wasn’t a secret. It was just… something I was waiting to tell you at the right time.”

“Like your magic.”

“That was-!” Merlin clamped his mouth shut and squeezed his eyes closed. He had deserved that.
He would always deserve that. “Yes,” he ground out. “Fine. This is another secret. All right?”

“Wonderful that we can agree,” Arthur said, in possibly the most condescending tone Merlin had
heard from Arthur since his return. “So tell me, Merlin, how many more half truths can I expect to
be surprised with today? What more will I discover that you haven’t yet told me besides what lies
ahead in Avalon?”
“Nothing,” Merlin assured him. And then he cringed. Because that wasn’t true either.

“You’re lying, again,” Arthur snapped at him. “I can tell now, incidentally, so don’t even try to
deny it. You’re a horrible liar, actually. I have no idea how I didn’t see it before. So go on then.
Tell me. What’s this new secret that I don’t yet know?”

“It’s just- I’ve had these dreams. All right? Just- They probably don’t mean anything at all. But
they’ve been happening a lot. And ever since you got back.”

Arthur’s jaw tightened, his knuckles turning white on the reins of his horse.

“There’s really probably nothing to them,” Merlin said.

“Do you honestly believe that?”

Merlin hesitated too long, and Arthur threw up his hands and the reins both, making the horse
throw back his head in protest.

“Are you physically incapable of telling the truth?” Arthur yelled at him, his control finally
vanishing in a burst of anger. “Do you have some permanent mental defect that prevents you from
being honest with me?”

“This isn’t easy for me, you know!” Merlin yelled back, loud enough to be heard over the diesel
engine of an approaching lorry. He saw Arthur’s horse startle at the combined noise, jolting Arthur
in the saddle.

“Isn’t easy for you?” Arthur shouted over its engine as it passed. “Do you have any idea of the
insanity surrounding me? And on top of it all, now I have you, who I need to be able to trust,
withholding vital information from me!”

Another lorry sped past, its engines a deafening roar, startling Arthur’s horse to the point that it
reared up and nearly threw him from the saddle.

Arthur swore and got the horse under control with rough jerks of his reins. “The hell are those
things!” Arthur yelled after the lorry, drawing his sword and brandished it at the vehicle as it
vanished down the road. “Damned metal monstrosities!”

Merlin felt his eyes go wide, and his mouth fall open.

And then a laugh burst from him.

As he slapped his hand over his mouth, Arthur rounded on him, all wide furious blue eyes and
flushed in the face and wind blown hair and rumpled blue tunic with Excalibur in his hand as if
preparing to lead an attack on all of the delivery lorrys of Albion.

And Merlin couldn’t help himself. He collapsed into laughter, bending forward in his saddle, body
shaking with it, nearly toppling him from his horse.

“This is not funny!” Arthur yelled at him, startling his own horse again. “Damn farm horse! For
the love of the five kingdoms, calm down!”

Merlin’s hysterics redoubled, completely out of his control, so much so that he had to cling to the
mane of his horse to keep from falling to the ground.

Arthur yanked his horse’s reins and moved his stallion closer to Merlin. As soon as he was within
arm’s reach, he smacked Merlin on the back of his head with his open hand.

Merlin slid from his saddle to the dirt and gravel below, but not even his rough landing stopped his
giggling. He climbed to his knees wheezing from it, tears of laughter sliding down his face.

“Serves you right,” Arthur said, from atop his horse.

He tried to sound angry, but as Merlin got himself to his feet, wiping at his face, he saw the corners
of Arthur’s mouth twitch upward.

Just as Merlin started getting himself back under control, he thought again of King Arthur
Pendragon of Camelot waving Excalibur at a delivery lorry, and he fell once more into hysterics,
clinging to the side of his saddle, snickering into the leather.

“That’s it,” he heard Arthur say.

Merlin had just enough time to register the crunch of boots on gravel, and the sound of steps
nearing him, before Arthur was at his side, wrapping an arm around Merlin’s neck, bending him
forward and pressing his face into Arthur’s ribs so that Arthur could grind his knuckles into
Merlin’s skull.

“Ow! Stop it! Let go! OW! Arthur!”

“Oh, sorry, is this not funny? It’s very funny to me.”

Merlin wedged his leg behind Arthur’s knee, and dropped them both to the dusty stone covered
ground. For three entire seconds Merlin felt proud of his memory of the few martial arts classes
he’d taken. But then Arthur flipped him soundly onto his stomach, his arm going around his neck
from behind, pressing Merlin’s face into dirt and stones and motor oil, while once again Arthur
dug his knuckles into Merlin’s skull.

“What’s that you were saying?” Arthur said, but Merlin could hear him laughing now. “Was it that
you’re sorry? Is that what you were going to say?”

Merlin spat out some dirt and pulled at Arthur’s wrist, but Arthur was far stronger than he
remembered. “Yes! All right! I’m sorry!”

“You’re sorry what?”

“I’m sorry you royal pompous obnoxious prat of a- Ow! Sire! I’m sorry, sire!”

He felt Arthur’s arm release him, only to have Arthur’s hand push his face into the dirt one last
time for good measure as Arthur climbed to his feet.

Merlin got to his knees on the dirt and stones, coughing out dust, torn between furious irritation
and profound relief.

When he lifted his gaze to Arthur, relief won out. Because Arthur was standing over him
triumphantly, his trousers dusty from wrestling on the ground, his hair mussed and caught by the
wind, his face lit up with a broad grin.

No one should look that beautiful, Merlin thought. Especially when they’re being such an arse.
It’s just utterly, completely, unfair.

“Fifteen hundred years,” Arthur said with mock sadness, “and you still can’t defend yourself any
better now than you could in Camelot. Honestly, it’s just embarrassing.”

“Fifteen hundred years,” Merlin said, in the same tone, “and you still act like you’re a five year
old. My lord.”

“I heard that.”

“I know.”

Arthur’s smug expression melted into something that managed to be both fond and weary all at
once. “What am I going to do with you,” he said.

“Perhaps not drive your knuckles into my skull?” Merlin said, and rubbed at his head, then
carefully soothed his hair into place.

“Such a girl,” Arthur said, and he held down a hand to where Merlin knelt. Merlin gripped his
forearm, and let himself be pulled up.

As they both turned to go back to their horses, Merlin saw two women in running clothes standing
on the dirt path to Avalon. They were both staring at them, eyes wide with amusement. One of
them was pointing her smartphone at them. Quite possibly she had been for some time.

By his side, Arthur straightened his tunic, squared his shoulders, and raised his chin regally, as if
he hadn’t just been caught wrestling on the ground like a poorly behaved little boy.

“Good afternoon,” he told the two women, with a gracious smile. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”

Merlin rolled his eyes as the women giggled together, then started jogging again, across the car
park and over to where the dirt path continued toward Buckdale.

“The clothing people wear in this century, honestly,” Arthur said, as he stared after where the
women were jogging away in their very short, very tight running attire. “When did it become
acceptable for women to leave the house nearly naked?” Arthur craned his head to get a better
look. “Not saying I mind it… Not at all… I mean just look at them… Good lord…”

Merlin cuffed Arthur smartly on the back of his head.

And then stared in horror at his hand as Arthur slowly turned to him, an expression of incredulity
upon his face.

“What, exactly, was that for?” Arthur asked.

Merlin clasped his hands behind his back and tried very hard not to let the real reason for his
reaction show on his face. “Horseplay?” he said in a small voice.

“I believe we already determined that you weren’t any good at that, Merlin.”

“It. Yes. Right. I’d- forgotten. Apparently.”

“Yes. Apparently.”

“Right. So. Shall we go then?” Merlin hurriedly started to climb onto his saddle. He had one foot
in the stirrups and was halfway up when he felt Arthur grab the back of his tunic and yank him
backward. Merlin hit the dirt hard, and found himself blinking up at Arthur in surprise.

“Horseplay,” Arthur told him smugly, then turned and strode away.
Merlin stared furiously after him. “I could have been hurt, you know!”

“Oh don’t be such a child.”

“Royal arse,” Merlin muttered, as he climbed back to his feet, brushing gravel and dust from his
trousers. With a grunt, he hauled himself back into his saddle. He could taste dirt in his mouth.
He spat out dirt, then wiped his face with a grit covered palm. “I hate you so much you have no
idea.”

Arthur grinned at him from astride his black stallion. “You really don’t.”

Merlin couldn’t bring himself to deny it. He couldn’t even think of a proper insult, not with Arthur
looking so relaxed and jubilant and very much like himself once again.

Merlin felt himself smile, despite everything that had happened, or maybe because of it. “You’re
right,” he said. “I don’t. And that’s the truth.”

Arthur gave him one of those long looks of his that made it feel as though the world had fallen
away. Nothing existed except for him and Arthur, here, now, together.

“Thank you,” Arthur said, acknowledging Merlin’s words, or the truth of them, or both.

Merlin could barely manage a nod in response. Arthur had always caught him off guard like this.
Right when he was expecting a joke, a taunt, a return to formality, Arthur would let down his
guard. And he would let Merlin in.

“I might do it again,” Merlin said, to show Arthur that he could do this too. Open himself. Let
Arthur in. “I might hold things back from you. Not intentionally. Just out of habit. I’ve just
always lived that way. I’ve always had to lie, to everyone, about everything.”

“You can’t lie to me,” Arthur said. “You can’t, Merlin. Do you understand?”

Merlin nodded. “I’ll do better. I promise.”

“I’ll find some stocks to throw you in if you don’t,” Arthur told him, as he urged his horse down
the path toward Avalon.

The jibe instantly released the tension Merlin had felt trapped in his chest. “Did I not mention that
I left those behind in Camelot?” he said, as he rode alongside Arthur into the small copse of trees.

“I’m certain I can figure out how to make more.”

“And by that you mean you’ll have me make some.”

“See there? You’re finally learning. And it only took you fifteen hundred years.”

“You did always say I was a bit thick,” Merlin said, and then found his smile faltering, as he
remembered his dream from the night before.

“What is it?” Arthur asked him, obviously noticing.

“It’s noth-“ Merlin clamped down on the word. Because apparently he really was a bit thick, and
had been about to lie again. “It’s about a dream I had last night.”

This received a nod of approval from Arthur, who had apparently not missed Merlin’s near lapse in
honesty. “Tell me,” Arthur said.
To the best of his recollection, Merlin did so. Not just about the dream of the night before, but the
others as well. Of the magic, of the lake, of the glowing of the tower.

He left out the bits about Arthur’s arms wrapped around him. Because some secrets were simply
not Arthur’s to know.

By the time he’d finished speaking of his dreams, they’d reached the edge of the town. They
followed the wooded path over the roadway, and then alongside a small stream that wound behind
houses and narrow lanes.

The questions finally came from Arthur then, about the objects of the modern world around them.
Merlin did his best to answer, though occasionally Arthur would get distracted by some new thing
he spotted, and interrupt.

“If you’ll ever let me finish,” Merlin said, as he rode side by side with Arthur over a bridge leading
to the village green in the center of town.

“It’ll be another century before you finish,” Arthur said absently. He had half turned in his saddle
to watch a double decker bus pass by them. Tourists on the open top storey were all half standing
to take photos and video of them.

Merlin glanced down at his clothes, then over at Arthur and his sword, and sighed. While horses
were not unheard of in Avalon, horses bearing two men dressed like they were from the Dark Ages
certainly were. At least when the Solstice festival wasn’t on.

“It’s worse than listening to Leon give a crop report,” Arthur said, as he sat a bit taller in his
saddle, craning his neck to see into the village green they approached.

“Oh come on, I’m not that bad,” Merlin complained, as they guided their horses from the narrow
cobblestone street and onto the grassy square of the village green.

Shops and restaurants lined all four roads that bordered the the town’s central park. People and
cars moved in a steady stream along them, but in the park itself it was peaceful. Merlin saw very
few people, and even the many park benches were empty at this time of the workday.

Merlin rode toward the center of the park, crossing walkways and ducking under trees, until he
approached the massive statue that was the park’s main feature.

“This is what I wanted you to see,” Merlin said, as he reined his horse to a stop.

Arthur brought his horse alongside Merlin. And then stared at the statue in shock.

Merlin studied the statue with him, looking from the massive rectangular stone pedestal, to the
powerful horse standing atop it, to the bold figure of a knight in armor who rode it.

The knight loomed above them both, larger than life, sitting tall in his saddle, holding the reins of
his horse in one hand, a sword above his head with the other. A crown sat upon the head of the
knight, above a ferocious and determined and very familiar face.

Without a word, Arthur climbed out of his saddle and walked over to the statue’s base, where a
plaque had been set. Merlin followed, and joined his king as he stood staring at the words carved
into the metal.

“’King Arthur Pendragon’,” Arthur read in a low voice. “’Legendary King of the Britons, and
central figure in Arthurian mythology.’”
Merlin watched Arthur lift his gaze to the statue once again, looking vaguely sick. The color had
drained from his face, his breath leaving him as if he’d been punched.

“That’s what you didn’t want to tell me,” Arthur said in a low voice. “That after all this time...
After all we fought for... I’m just a myth to these people. A story for small children.”

Merlin stepped in between Arthur and the statue, placing both hands on Arthur’s shoulders. He
waited until Arthur met his eyes before he spoke.

“No, sire,” he said. “You are so, so very much more to them than just that.”
 as always, the exception
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

“You’re not making sense,” Arthur said. “Either I’m a myth or I’m not. I can’t be both.”

Merlin gave him a small smile, though in his blue eyes Arthur could see the passage of centuries.
“That may be true for others,” he said. “But as always, you’re the exception.”

Arthur studied the enormous metal sculpture of the king in his armor upon his horse, his arm raised
high, brandishing a sword, his face identical to his own. “I don’t see how that could be.”

“Look here.” Merlin pulled gently at his arm, leading him to the side of the statue.

Arthur followed him around the rectangular stone block that supported the statue, to the side
bearing another metal plaque. It bore a short passage of text.

“Arthur was a youth of such unparalleled courage and generosity, joined with that innate
goodness, as gained him universal love.” - Geoffrey of Monmouth, “History of the Kings of
Britain”, 1136

“Geoffrey wouldn’t shut up about you,” Merlin said. “He told everyone who would listen that you
existed. Though he didn’t exactly stick to the facts. Nor did Mallory or the rest of them, for that
matter.”

Arthur followed Merlin around to the back of the statue. There he found another metal plaque set
into the statue’s base from several hundred years later.

“Yet some men say in many parts of England that King Arthur is not dead… And men say that he
shall come again.” ― Thomas Malory, “Le Morte d'Arthur”, 1485

Before Arthur could ask how the prophecy had been set into stone for all to see, Merlin gave his
arm a gentle tug.

“There’s one more to see,” Merlin said, quieter now, with eyes lowered.

Arthur followed him around to the remaining side of the stone base, to find another plaque. This
one bore words so familiar that he could only stare, speech stolen from him, even after he’d
finished reading.

“No matter what adversity we face, we stand for what is right. To betray our beliefs, that is what
will destroy everything we’ve strived for.” - The Once and Future King Arthur Pendragon of
Camelot, 528

The journey to Morgana’s castle, he remembered. The mission to rescue his knights from her
stronghold. That’s when he’d told Merlin these words. To him, it had not been that long ago. But
to Merlin, it had been countless lifetimes.

“How did you remember?” Arthur asked.

Merlin shrugged. “It was one of the rare times I was paying attention to you.”

Arthur just stared. At his side, Merlin crossed his arms over his blue tunic, head lowered, eyes
crinkled in the corners, all sharp cheekbones and quirked lips and black hair catching in the warm
summer breeze.

“You just never stop amazing me,” Arthur said. He couldn’t help but say it this time. The truth of
it just couldn’t be held back.

Arthur caught a quick twitch of a smile, pleased and embarrassed, before Merlin walked over to
where the horses had wandered away to eat some of the nearby shrubs.

“Where did the other words come from?” Arthur called to him, gesturing to the base of the statue
with one arm. “Did you know those people?”

Merlin pulled the horses back over to Arthur. “No. Not really. I mean, I did write to them. And
they wrote back. But mainly to tell me to sod off. Because apparently my corrections to their
stories were ‘too fanciful to be taken seriously’. It’s not my fault that so many of the things that
happened to us were… well…”

“Ridiculous?” Arthur suggested. “Absurd?”

“Exceptional,” Merlin told him. “Which is why I wrote my own version of the story. Though no
one wanted to read that. They only wanted to read the nonsense by Geoffrey and Malory and
White and all the other tossers.”

Arthur retraced his steps, regarding the statue of himself with a critical eye, rereading the words
upon the metal plaques. “So it’s like the stories of Bruta and the ancient kings then. Over the
years, history and legend intertwined.”

“Well, if the story of Bruta was known by everyone all around the world, then yes, it would be like
that.”

It took a moment for the meaning of the words to sink in. “All around the world?”

Merlin gave him one of his small, wry smiles that told Arthur there was still far more for him to
learn. “At the risk of inflating your already enormous ego,” he said, “you’re not just a name listed
among the Kings of Albion. You’re the King of Albion. Known around the world as myth and
legend, but known here in Albion as more of a king to them than any whose bones have been found
and placed in state.”

Not just a king of Albion, he thought. The King of Albion. Still remembered. Still written about.
Still spoken of. After fifteen hundred years.

“It’s just as I told you, sire. Others will wear the crown. But there will never be another like you.”

“Except for this, of course,” Arthur said, patting the base of the statue, forcing a light tone, because
it was already far too much for him to take. Not just the truth of it, but the intensity of Merlin’s
belief in him.

He’d felt undeserving of it over the years, some times more than others. Yet he’d felt strengthened
by it as well. Just like now, as he stood here, listening to how he’d left his mark upon the world,
while standing beside his own likeness.

“The sculptor wanted to give you a beard,” Merlin was muttering, almost to himself. “Bloody
classical artists. Thinking everyone should look like Zeus...”

Arthur dragged his fingers across the words on the metal plate before him . ‘And men say that he
shall come again…’

“People know of the prophecy as well?” Arthur asked.

“Word of that got out nearly right away. Mostly from the druids. They never made a secret of
calling you the Once and Future King.”

“And you had nothing to do with it at all?”

“Well. A bit,” Merlin said, and turned away, to pat the neck of his horse.

Arthur waited until Merlin looked back over at him. “Thank you,” he said.

“For what?” Merlin asked, just as if he wasn’t standing beside a statue he had probably suggested,
in the middle of a village he had probably built, surrounded by lands he had protected for over a
thousand years, while awaiting Arthur’s return from death all alone, in isolation, and unaided.

Maddening man, Arthur thought. “Can’t think of a thing,” he choked out.

Merlin did smile then, all sharp cheekbones and half-moon eyes and raised eyebrows, just as if
Arthur had actually told him what he was thinking. “Me neither,” he said.

He placed his hand on Merlin’s shoulder, squeezed tight. “Let’s go. I’ve seen enough.”

After Arthur had climbed back upon his stallion, he studied the statue one last time. “The armor is
all wrong,” he said. “You can’t do battle in something like that.”

“I told the sculptor that,” Merlin complained, as he climbed into the saddle. “But he was done
dealing with me by then. He threw a chisel at me! Can you believe that?”

Arthur pulled his horse away from the monument. “Someone threw something at you?” he asked,
his voice as earnest as he could manage. “Unimaginable. Who would ever do such a thing?”

Merlin made a derisive noise so loud that Arthur wondered if he’d hurt his throat making it. “He
could have killed me.”

“Really. With a chisel. He could have killed you,” Arthur said, as he guided his horse around the
trees of the village green.

“Fine, not killed me, but hurt me. It was just rude, is what it was. He was happy enough to take
my money for his work.”

“You paid for the statue to be made?”

“With the town counsel, yes.”

“Wait, let me guess,” Arthur said, delighted by this piece of information. “You were a member of
the town counsel of Avalon, weren’t you.” He glanced over his shoulder at where Merlin followed
him on his mare. Merlin was glaring at him. “Ha! You were!”

“Just until the statue was-“

“Town Councilman Merlin,” Arthur said in a loud regal tone, as if announcing him at court. “Lord
of Avalon!“

“Shut it,” Merlin snapped at him.

“You really can’t talk to your king that way, Merlin,” Arthur said, and for the first time since he’d
awoken here, his title felt real to him again, castle and lands or no.

“Shut it, my lord,” Merlin said, in a lower voice he absolutely meant for Arthur to hear.

Arthur was still chuckling to himself when they rode from the village green onto the narrow stone
streets.

Near the buildings that lined the street, people turned to watch them as they passed. Not many
horses used these days then, Arthur thought, as he guided his stallion past several of stationary
metal boxes that lined the edge of the street.

Apart from the strange metal boxes, and a distinct lack of dirt and stench, the town itself wasn’t
that strange. Arthur could smell the familiar smells of food baking, and see men and women and
children moving around and speaking together, going about their business.

A sign hanging from a nearby building caught Arthur’s attention, and he turned in his saddle, to
where Merlin rode behind him. “The Round Table Inn?”

“You’re quite the theme around here,” Merlin said. “There’s the ‘King Arthur Brewhouse’, the
‘Camelot Candle Shop’, and even the ‘Once and Future Pub’.”

“The once and future pub,” Arthur muttered, and he turned back around to scowl down the street.

But then he saw a shop with a wide glass window filled with colorful statues of all sizes and
shapes. Nearby was a sign that said “Excalibur Gifts and Toys”.

Arthur pulled his horse to stop, staring at a collection of figures beyond the window. When he
spotted a group of colorful statues in one corner of the display, he turned in his saddle.

“What,” Arthur said slowly, and with a wide grin spreading on his face, “are those?”

Any trace of Merlin’s earlier smirk fell away at once. “You- that’s- Don’t you want to get back to
get some breakfast?”

But Arthur had already climbed out of his saddle and was striding with purpose and enthusiasm to
the glass window.

“Arthur!” Merlin called after him. “You can’t just leave your horse in the middle of the- Arthur!“

Arthur strode up to the window, delighted beyond all reason, to stare at a display of tiny statues
posed in front of a drawing of a castle. They all had white hair and wore long blue robes and
pointy hats with stars on them. Statues of dragons had been set all around them, apparently tamed
by the little blue robed figures.

“Arthur, come on, we can’t- Oh just drive round, it’s only a horse!”

Arthur watched Merlin pull their horses partially through a narrow gap in the line of stationary
metal boxes.

“Tell me who this is supposed to be,” Arthur told Merlin. “Come on. Tell me.”

Merlin huffed at him, glancing back to make sure the metal boxes could move past where the
horses stood half in the street and half on the walkway. “I think you already know the answer to
that.”
“I think I want you to tell me,” Arthur said, and he grabbed Merlin by the shoulder and moved him
closer to the window.

“Fine, yes, it’s me, it’s supposed to be me, all right?” Merlin snapped at him. “Can we go now-?”

“Come on- there’s more-“ Arthur grabbed a handful of the back of Merlin’s tunic and dragged him
along the shop’s glass window. He stopped abruptly, eyes going wide at a statue dressed in a long
blue robe and pointed hat.

“Oh,” Arthur gasped, and his face was going to split with his grin, he could feel it. “That’s- It’s
a-“

“Merlin the Magician Costume, yes,” Merlin said impatiently, reading the sign above the statue.

Arthur looked at him with wide eyes, then burst out laughing, clinging to Merlin’s tunic with one
hand, pressing his hand to the glass with the other.

He heard Merlin’s very loud huff. “It’s not that funny.”

Arthur bent forward, both hands on knees now, tears streaming down his face as he laughed. “You
have to- have one- of those,” he gasped out, amid his laughter.

“I already do.”

Arthur’s head jerked up to look at Merlin. “What?”

Merlin crossed his arms over his chest. Defiant and embarrassed in equal measure, judging by the
color high on his cheeks. “I said that I have one already.”

Arthur turned back to the adult-sized long blue robes and pointy hat, then looked back at Merlin,
and nearly collapsed in a fit of laughter, grabbing hold of Merlin’s arm, nearly falling to the
ground.

“Oh my god, you are being such an arse,” Merlin said, as he pulled Arthur back to his horse and
shoved him against it.

Arthur straightened with his hands gripping his saddle. Tears were running down his cheeks, and
his face was hot from laughter. “I remember!” he said, and climbed quickly back into his saddle.
“The night I came back! When you were an old man! You had it on then!”

“It’s a tradition that I wear it for the Solstice Festival,” Merlin said haughtily, and urged his horse
forward, in the lead this time, forcing Arthur to follow.

It took several minutes of chuckling to himself before Arthur got control of himself again. He
wiped at his face, amazed at the novelty of laughing so hard that his ribs hurt. He couldn’t
remember the last time he’d laughed so hard.

“Merlin?” he called.

“What.”

Arthur grinned at Merlin’s back. “Do you have the hat too?”

“Shut up.”

“You do, don’t you.”

“Shut it.”

“I could command you to wear it.”

“You could try.”

“We’ll see, Lord Merlin.”

“Yes we will, Once and Future Pain in my Arse.”

Arthur chuckled to himself. “We’re building those stocks as soon as we have the time. And I’m
going to make you wear the hat as you build them.”

“I hate you so much,” Merlin said over his shoulder.

“You really don’t,” Arthur told him.

He heard Merlin snort in response, and urge his mare to move a bit faster, as they headed over the
bridge and back out of town.

Once they once again rode on the dirt path stretching along where the metal boxes roared past
them, Arthur brought his horse next to Merlin’s.

After the third metal box passed by on its smooth black wheels, Arthur finally yielded to his
curiosity, and asked Merlin how they worked.

Five minutes into Merlin’s barely comprehensible lecture about tiny pieces of metal working
together as gears and power generated by controlled explosions and the advancements in
metallurgy and glassmaking, Arthur told him to stop.

“It’s like listening to George prattle on about polishing,” Arthur said, and rubbed a hand across his
forehead.

Merlin gave him a look of great offense. “You’re comparing listening to a brainless servant
twaddle on about polishing to listening to me tell you about technology?”

“You’re right. George was much easier to understand.”

Merlin leaned over in his saddle and gave Arthur’s shoulder a shove. Arthur reached across the
space between them and shoved back, then had to catch himself, because he’d almost slid from his
horse.

“Are you all right?”

Arthur drew in a deep breath, adjusting his seating and attempting to drive the exhaustion from his
body. “Just a bit tired,” Arthur said.

Their journey into and out of Avalon had left him bone weary. Though most probably his
exhaustion had been from his lack of sleep the night before.

After finding his sword in the lake, he hadn’t gotten back to sleep at all. He’d been too full of
questions. Not only about Merlin’s loss of control of his magic, an issue they would need to
address very soon, but also about the return of his sword.

“You never told me how my sword came to be in the lake,” Arthur said.
“The Guardian of Excalibur lives in the Lake of Avalon,” Merlin said. “I knew her as Freya,
before she died. In the stories they call her the Lady of the Lake. After you went to the Sidhe, I
gave her Excalibur. It was safer with her than with me.”

An odd mixture of pain and tenderness in Merlin’s words, Arthur noticed. “How did you know her
exactly?”

Merlin looked down at the reins in his hands. “Long story.”

Arthur decided not to press. The mention of this woman, whoever she was, had already brought the
past too strongly upon his friend. He didn’t want to lose Merlin to his memories again. Not right
now.

“I didn’t see a woman when the sword appeared,” Arthur told him.

“Which makes no sense,” Merlin said. “How did you find it exactly?”

“There was a glow in the water. Just a few steps from the shore. The sword was just laying there,
upon the lake bottom.”

“Does it feel different to you at all?”

Arthur pulled the sword from its straps by his saddle, and hefted it in front of him. “Not at all.
Should it?”

Merlin just frowned at him, lips pressed into a thin line.

Arthur knew that look. “Merlin,” he said.

He saw the moment Merlin caught himself holding back. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s just. It’s strange.
But it does feel different. To me. Like… I’m not supposed to touch it. It never felt that way
before.”

Arthur held out the sword to him. Merlin leaned away. And then stared down at himself, as if
surprised at his own body.

“That’s… new,” Merlin said warily.

“And potentially a problem,” Arthur said. “If you were ever to need to wield it.”

“Maybe that’s just it though. Maybe I’m not supposed to. Maybe it’s something like magnetism.
Two positive poles repelling each other. Or two elements that shouldn’t form chemical bonds.”

“You’re talking gibberish again,” Arthur declared, and tucked his sword away.

“Let’s hope so.” After a lingering look at the sword, Merlin forced his gaze from it.

They rode down the dirt path together a while longer, until it lead up onto the narrowed road itself.
As they rode down the edge of the black path, along a low stone wall, occasionally a metal box
would approach slowly, and then move by.

“We’re nearly home,” Merlin said into his thoughts.

Home, Arthur thought, as he looked down the stretch of black pathway to the massive shape of the
stone manor and its towers. Yes, it is home, isn’t it. At least until Camelot’s return. Whenever
that would be.
“You look like you’re going to fall off your horse.”

Arthur straightened in the saddle, realizing he’d been nodding off a bit. “That’s you, not me. I
managed to never fall off my saddle. While wearing chainmail. And armor.”

He heard Merlin mutter something about it being his horse’s fault as they approached the lands
that adjoined Merlin’s estate. A wooden sign proclaimed it the “Stone Circle of Avalon Park”.

“Is this your doing as well?” Arthur asked, as they lead their horses along the gravel pathways of
the park. “The park? And the circle of stones?”

“Yes,” Merlin said softly.

Arthur knew that tone. It spoke of too many things that Arthur did not yet know. “Why?” Arthur
asked him, looking at him directly now, even though Merlin was looking down at his hands on his
reins.

“Had to mark the passage of years somehow,” Merlin said.

“No.”

Merlin looked at him, cringing at the tone. Arthur held his gaze, telling him without words that he
knew there was more. That Merlin was holding back again.

“It was a monument,” Merlin said, in such a choked voice that Arthur instantly regretted pushing
him. “To the spot where I sent you away.”

Arthur felt like someone had pushed the air out of his lungs.

“Down there,” Merlin said, pointing. “By the heelstone. That’s where I put you in the boat. And
sent you away. That’s where I said-“ His voice caught, and he looked away, wiping a palm
roughly over his eyes.

Arthur caught the reins of Merlin’s horse. Pulled them both to a stop. Merlin still wouldn’t look at
him, so Arthur reached out, and put his hand on Merlin’s shoulder. Still no response, so Arthur
moved his hand to the back of Merlin’s neck. Then slid his fingers through his friend’s hair.

Merlin’s head bowed at once, eyes squeezing closed, fists pressing into his thighs.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur told him, low and quiet.

A breath huffed out of Merlin, and he nodded, just once.

Arthur squeezed Merlin’s neck, then handed him back the reins, and urged his own horse forward.

“I’ll take the horses back to the Widow Abbernathy myself,” Merlin told him.

“You’re sure?” Arthur asked.

“It’s no problem. As long as I can keep her from pinching my arse again.”

“Good luck with that.”

“I’m going to need it.”

As they rode onto Merlin’s grounds, and past the porch of Merlin’s manor, the men and women
sitting at the outside tables of the café all turned to watch them. Arthur barely registered them in
his exhaustion. With a weary tug of the reins, he stopped his horse by Merlin’s North Tower door,
and slid from the stable onto unstable legs.

His stomach growled as he straightened, and he cast a longing glance towards the café, where he
was willing to wager that Eleanor had set aside some food for him.

After Merlin hauled their belongings to the North Tower door, he heard Merlin say a word in a
strange language. It meant ‘open’, he knew it did. But it didn’t translate into an English word the
way other words did.

A spell, Arthur realized, as the door swung open for Merlin unaided. It had been the word from a
spell.

“Anyone could have seen that,” Arthur told him.

Merlin threw his saddle bag through the open doorway. “You’d be amazed what people of this era
will explain away. I’ve done magic right in front of them dozens of times, and they still don’t
believe it’s real.”

“Don’t make excuses because you’re being too lazy to be subtle.”

“Subtle is my middle name,” Merlin said, as he unstrapped the rest of their things from their
horses.

“Lightning from the mountaintop, Merlin.”

“Broken branches from the trees, Arthur,” Merlin said, and gave him a wry grin. “Statues that fall
off of castle battlements. Trained assassins who trip over lumps in the rug. Bandits who run into
each other. Do I need to keep going?”

“That’s-“ Arthur stopped, remembering dozens upon dozens of other similar ridiculous things that
had happened during skirmishes and battles and attempts on his life. He’d always seen Merlin on
the ground or behind a tree nearby right afterward. “I’d always thought you were cowering in fear
for your life,” Arthur said, astonished.

“I was cowering in fear for my life,” Merlin said, without a hint of shame, as he shoved the rest of
their things through the door. “But I was also saving your royal backside. Subtly.”

The final word would have had much more impact if Merlin hadn’t made his front door slam on its
own, heedless of a women and a small child who were walking up the path behind him.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, and nodded behind him.

Merlin turned to look behind him, then looked back at Arthur, not at all concerned. “Watch this.”
He returned his attention to the woman. “Good morning!”

She responded as most people did to Merlin’s cheerful enthusiasm, which was with a ready smile.
The little girl holding her mother’s hand strained forward towards the horses, eyes wide and
excited. “Can she-?” the women asked.

Merlin pulled his white mare closer so the little girl could be lifted up to pet her nose. “I’m Merlin
Hunithson. I’ve taken over things here for my Uncle Emrys this past week.”

The woman looked shocked. “Don’t tell me that your uncle-!”

“No, no. Nothing like that. He’s alive and well.”

“Well that’s a relief,” she said. “I can’t imagine Lake Avalon without your Uncle. He’s been here
forever.”

“Not quite that long,” Merlin said. “So I was wondering if you could help me? I’m trying to learn
a magic trick that my Uncle used to do with a butterfly-“

“Butterfly!” the little girl said, and thrust out her hands at Merlin, the horse forgotten.

Merlin shared a smile with the woman holding the girl. “Would it be all right if I…?”

“Oh yes, go ahead. We were just here for the Solstice Festival, and your Uncle did the same trick
for us that day. I still can’t figure out how he did it.”

“It’s magic,” Merlin told her, and glanced over at Arthur with an eyebrow quirking upward. “All
right, ready? Say ‘butterfly’.”

“Butterfly!” the girl said.

Arthur watched Merlin place his hands around the girl’s, one above, one below. He lowered his
head, eyes downcast. “Gewyrc an lif” he said, and once again Arthur heard the words in the
foreign tongue, but understood what they meant, Merlin calling upon the magics of the world to
awaken a life.

When Merlin opened the child's cupped hands, the little girl squealed, her eyes widening as a small
blue butterfly took flight.

“There it goes,” Merlin said, casting a delighted look over his shoulder at Arthur.

Arthur watched the little girl clap her hands and jump up and down, the small insect fluttering
away above her. The sight reminded him of the meadow, of the sparkling light flowing from
Merlin’s long fingers, of the flowers blooming all around them.

Such beauty, Arthur thought. All from the magic contained within this man at his side.

“That is just so amazing!” the woman cooed at Merlin, her voice lilting and enthusiastic. Arthur
watched her place a hand on Merlin’s arm and lean towards him, smiling. “How do you do that?
You don’t keep butterflies in your pocket, do you? I’ve heard that’s how it’s done. Do you even
have pockets in your costume?”

“Butterflies in my pockets,” Merlin said to Arthur, far too smugly. “Sounds like a good
explanation, right? I mean, it can’t be real magic. Because that’s just crazy. Me. A sorcerer. As
if I were the actual Merlin from Camelot. Right, Arthur?”

“All right, all right,” Arthur said, and he grabbed hold of Merlin’s arm, pulling him away from the
woman. “You’ve made your point,” he said.

Merlin shot him an unspeakably smug grin, which was honestly saying something. After a wave
back at the woman and her daughter, Merlin gathered the reins of both horses and pulled them
towards the forest path.

Arthur looked over his shoulder as he walked by Merlin’s side. The woman was staring after them
both.
Merlin glanced back too, then returned the wave the woman gave him. “Pocket full of butterflies,”
he said, chuckling low in his chest.

“I’m so happy to know that you can safely use your magic to flirt with beautiful young women,”
Arthur said sharply.

“What?” Merlin gave him a perplexed look.

“The way she was blatantly fawning over you-”

“She wasn’t fawning over me.” He glanced back at the woman. “Was she?”

“Yes,” Arthur ground out.

He was angry, he realized. It made no sense that he was angry. Merlin could do whatever he
wanted with his magic. Although he’d said it himself, hadn’t he. That his magic was Arthur’s.
That it was all for him. And no one else.

“You’re just jealous she wasn’t fawning over you,” Merlin said.

Jealous, he thought, and glared over at Merlin. Yes, that was it, he realized. He was jealous. Of
Merlin.

“You should have made her some strawberries and flowers to go along with the butterfly,” Arthur
snapped at him. “She would have loved a soppy display like that.”

Merlin stopped the horses and turned to Arthur, looking as if he’d been hit.

Arthur replayed his words in his head. Then realized how they sounded.

He watched Merlin straighten his shoulders, pulling himself to his full height, which was a bit
taller than his own, a fact that Arthur always forgot. Merlin’s expression had hardened too, his
chin jutting out a bit, the angles of his face sharpening, pain shining from his narrowed blue eyes.

“I didn’t mean to say soppy,” Arthur said.

Which was not the right thing to say, judging by the flush of color in Merlin’s cheeks. “I didn’t
know I was doing any of that last night, did I.”

“I know that.”

“And it wasn’t soppy.“

“I just said that it wasn’t.”

“As if you’d have any idea.”

“Any idea about what?”

“Exactly,” Merlin said, and stalked away, pulling the horses roughly behind.

“You are making even less sense than usual.”

“And you are an insensitive ass,” Merlin said, his voice deep and strong, drawling out the last
word, a rare display of honesty and anger.
Which meant he was truly hurt. “Merlin-”

“I’d better get the horses back,” Merlin interrupted, and walked to the side of his horse, to tie the
reins of Arthur’s horse to the back of his own saddle.

Arthur watched him, at a loss as to what to say. Merlin was glaring at his hands as he worked,
completely silent, mouth pressed into a thin line. When he began to climb back into the saddle,
Arthur grabbed hold of Merlin’s arm. Merlin jerked his arm away and gave him a scathing stare.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur told him, though he wasn’t quite sure for what. He suspected the list of
offenses was quite long, judging by Merlin’s expression. He couldn’t quite understand what he’d
said in particular to cause him such pain. “Why are you so upset?”

“No,” Merlin said, and he gave a bitter laugh, and shook his head. “No. I don’t have to tell you
that.”

Arthur felt his temper flare. “What are you holding back from me now?”

“It’s personal, so mind your own damn business,” Merlin said, which was infuriating, a fact that
Merlin probably knew, judging by the grim satisfaction in his eyes.

“Fine,” Arthur told him.

“Good.”

They glared at each other a long moment.

“You are maddening,” Arthur bit out.

Merlin climbed angrily upon his horse, which was something Arthur had not known a person
could do. It involved a great deal of huffing and muttering of words that he couldn’t understand.

“I’ll be back with enough time left in the day for you to beat me senseless with a mace, my lord.”

Arthur wanted to throttle him. “Would you just-“ He threw his arms up and slapped them down at
his sides. He wished he had something to throw. He was considering using his boot when he saw
Merlin urge his horse forward.

But after moving a short distance across the lawns, Merlin pulled the reins, stopping his horse. He
sat there in the saddle, head half turned towards the tower.

Arthur watched Merlin’s shoulders slump, and his head bow, and knew what he was thinking.

He doesn’t want to leave me, Arthur thought. Not here, by the water. Not where I left him those
centuries ago.

Arthur thought of the dark room at night. Of the irrational threat he felt from the island and the
tower.

“I’ll keep out of the lake,” Arthur called to him.

Merlin turned in his saddle in clear surprise, no trace of his earlier anger left, just a clear relief
married with embarrassment.

“Horrible weather for a swim anyway,” Arthur added, which was an utter lie, because the skies
were blue and the sun was out and the air was warm all around them.
 Merlin knew it as well as he did. Which is probably what earned Arthur a small smile.

“When you get back,” Arthur added, “you need to gather swords and targets and the mace, so we
can spend the rest of the day training.”

Merlin stared at him, brows raised, mouth hanging open, as if he had just asked him to run across
the five kingdoms and back.

“Something wrong?”

“Oh, no, no, nothing wrong, nothing at all, why would there be anything wrong?” Merlin spurred
his horse forward, muttering to himself

Better, Arthur thought, as he watched Merlin settle into the saddle, ducking a branch as he rode
onto the forest path, the riderless stallion following along behind.

Arthur stared after him a long time. All these centuries, he thought. All this time, and one thing
was still very much the same. Beneath all of Merlin’s strength, he was still in need of protection.

I can give him that, Arthur thought. I will give him that, for as long as I am able. He will need it,
if we are to face the trials ahead.

Chapter End Notes

A lovely comic has been created of the scene in which Arthur sees the "Merlin the
Wizard" costume, courtesy of the lovely lao-pendragon / lao-paperman (Tumblr -
AO3)
 to live like a shadow

When Arthur dragged himself through the glass doors into the café, he found it full of people.
Morning was a busy time of day then, he thought, as he walked through the crowd of white tables.
The people seated at them all turned as he passed, some of them looking him up and down, others
clearly staring at his sword.

No one wore weapons, Arthur realized. No wonder he was attracting attention. Even Eleanor was
glaring in obvious disapproval at Excalibur, from where she stood by the long counter near
Merlin’s residence.

“Good morning, Lady Godwyn,” Arthur greeted her, as he rounded the counter and headed to the
residence door.

She crossed her arms over her bright yellow and pink flowered dress. “Merlin has you sleeping out
of doors too, I see? Must be a Hunithson family trait.”

“What’s that?” Arthur asked, as he stared at the plates of warm breakfast foods set out in front of
the people at the counter.

Eleanor gave a sudden laugh. “Missed breakfast, did you?”

“Merlin didn’t pack any,” Arthur said, his eyes following a scone to a woman’s mouth.

“All right, here you are. Since you’re clearly starving to death.”

Eleanor retrieved a plate from under the counter that was stacked high with every single one of his
favorite sweet breads and scones. “Oh you are marvelous,” he said, and took the plate from her,
grabbing a warm scone and shoving it into his mouth.

“Good lord, you’re worse than my eldest boy. Go sit down. I’ll fetch you some tea.”

Eleanor nudged him out of behind the counter, and Arthur took a seat with the rest of the patrons at
a chair on the other side. To his left and right, he saw people holding flat black stone slates.
Which apparently were not stones at all.

Arthur absently pulled his sword from his belt and dropped it to the counter with a clang that had
several people jump nearby. He ignored them, instead watching the surface of the stone held by
the man next to him as it revealed images and words and pictures that moved. It was like a
window, he thought, and he leaned closer.

“Oi! Do you mind?”

Arthur looked up into the man’s aggravated expression. “Why should I mind?”

“Use your own damn mobile,” the man snapped, and he took his plate and left.

Arthur moved his sword into the man’s empty seat, then craned his head to look at the slate held
by the man seated on the other side of him instead.

“Here you go,” came Eleanor’s voice, pulling his attention from the strange black stone. She
placed a pot of tea on the counter, then set an empty cup next to it.

“Yes, that would be wonderful,” Arthur told her, and nodded to his cup.
“Something wrong with your arms then Arthur?”

Arthur pulled his eyes from the moving pictures upon the stone to find Eleanor standing in front of
him, hands on her thin hips, regarding him in a disapproving manner that reminded him sharply of
Gaius.

“What’s that, my lady?” Arthur asked her.

“My lady,” she muttered, but she picked up the tea pot and filled his cup. “All right, now I have to
ask. What house do you belong to?”

Arthur watched the other man who had been seated next to him get up with an angry glance at him,
then walk off into the café. “Pardon me?”

“’Pardon me,’” she repeated in his careful enunciation, her tone wry. “Just listen to you. You’re
Manor Born if I’ve ever heard it. So which royal family do you belong to then?

Very much like Gaius indeed, Arthur thought. It was rather impressive how insightful she was. She
would have made an excellent court advisor. “How did you know?”

“My Gran worked for the Windsors. She brought me around the nobility often enough that I know
royalty when I see it. Every time I look at you I feel like I should curtsey.”

Arthur raised his cup in silent toast. “I thank you for that, Lady Godwyn.”

“I’m no Lady, though that does sound nice.” She filled his cup back up to the top with tea when he
set it back down upon the counter. “So which royal house is it? The Windsors? The Hanovers?”

“The Pendragons.”

“The Pendragons. Oh that’s very funny. Arthur Pendragon is your name, then, is it?”

Arthur sat up a bit straighter in his chair. “Yes,” he said. “It is.”

“If you don’t want to tell me, just say so.” Eleanor cocked an amused eyebrow at him. “You don’t
have to be a smart mouth about it.”

Arthur dropped his bread to his plate, suddenly much less amused, and much more tired, than he
had realized. “The Pendragons are an ancient family, a royal family, a family descended from
kings, who fought and died to protect this land.”

“You’re serious,” Eleanor said, in a mother’s worried tone now, as if he’d taken leave of his
senses. Which was even worse than when she’d been laughing at him.

“The Pendragons are as real as any of the nobility that lives today,” Arthur snapped. “They’re a
real family, and they’re my family, not that there’s any of them left besides me. Even my wife-“
He clenched his hand by his plate. Thumped it gently upon the counter. “My late wife…”

The grief came rushing through him again. For his lost kingdom. His lost people. His lost friends.
His lost family.

This was worse than not having been remembered at all, Arthur thought. To have these people
think that he never existed. That his family never existed. It felt as if they were taking away his
right to grieve. And that made it so much worse.

Arthur pushed himself up from his seat, grabbing his sword and shoving it back through his belt.
He rounded the counter back to Merlin’s residence and was halfway through the door when he felt
a gentle touch on his arm.

Eleanor stood by his side, blurry through the moisture in his eyes. She held out his plate to him,
her narrow features softened with concern. “Don’t forget your breakfast, Arthur Pendragon.”

Arthur took the plate, nodding wearily. A bit better, he thought. But hardly what it should be.
“Thank you, Eleanor,” he said, and withdrew into Merlin’s apartments.

He trudged up the stairs thinking of the future. Of what his life would be beyond these walls.

No one would know him, he thought. Not anywhere. Not as himself.

Such a strange thing, to have no one know who he was. All his life people had recognized him. As
their prince. Their king. And if they hadn’t, a mere mention of his name would be enough.

Now using his name meant either ridicule or disbelief.

I will have to lie to them, won’t I, Arthur thought. I will have to lie to my own. At least until the
time of Albion’s trial arrives.

The thought of it make him feel ill. He couldn’t imagine it. Every day having to hide who he
was. Having to pretend to be less than what he was. Having the world judge him falsely, without
knowing his heart.

Arthur stopped in the corridor, and had to catch himself against the wall, overwhelmed by sudden
understanding.

Merlin, he thought.

That’s how it had always been for Merlin.

‘I’ve always had to lie,’ Merlin had told him. And Arthur hadn’t understood, not really, what that
had meant.

To have to lie to everyone who knew him. To be seen by everyone as less than he was. To have no
one know his heart.

Arthur couldn’t even manage it for fifteen seconds. He couldn’t imagine doing it for fifteen
hundred years.

“Idiot,” he muttered at himself, and pushed through his chamber door.

After setting his plate down on the table, Arthur dragged his sword from his belt, nearly slicing his
hand in the process. Somehow he pulled off his belt and yanked off his clothes, twice getting
tangled in the material in the process. He almost fell when he put on his sleeping breeches, and
had to catch himself against his wardrobe.

His lack of sleep from the night before was definitely catching up to him. Arthur rubbed his hand
over his face, remembering the long night before, and sitting vigil over Merlin.

Merlin, who had collapsed under the force of his own magic. Merlin, who was having strange
dreams.

Dreams that he’d never had before. Dreams that woke him in a panic.
Just like-

Arthur drove his fist into the wardrobe hard enough for pain to shoot up his arm.

No, he thought.

Not like her.

Never like her.

Arthur drew in a deep breath, let it out, and felt his exhaustion fall upon him again. He carried his
sword to his bedside, and placed it into the scabbard that hung from the bedpost.

Then, for a long moment, Arthur stared at the mess of blankets and sheets that Merlin had failed to
make up the day before.

I’ll go to the washroom now, he thought. I’ll wash up, and dress, and eat, and prepare for the day.
Lots of training ahead. Swords and the mace and the javelin and the rest.

Upon the bed, the rumpled sheets and blankets looked like clouds.

“Ridiculous,” he said.

And then he crawled onto the bed and collapsed face first onto the linens.

The pillow beneath his nose smelled of vanilla and spice and sweat and wine and the outdoors.
Merlin had used it, he thought, as he inhaled deeply and relaxed, thinking of castles and turrets and
sparkling golden stars, and ropes of magic stretching into the world, leaving life in its wake.

Just a few minutes, Arthur thought, and closed his eyes.

Just a few minutes…

A noise startled him awake, and he jerked up his head, blinking into the room. Blankets lay atop
him, and the daylight had been muted by the curtains having been drawn across the window
alcoves.

He rolled over in bed, arms flailing to his sides. “Merlin!”

The door to his chambers opened, and Merlin peered inside, wincing. “Sorry. Did you hear that?”

A tray dropping, Arthur realized. He had been woken by the sound of a a tray dropping. Arthur
blinked across the room at the long table in the adjoining room. All manner of food had been set
upon it, steam still rising from the plates. “What’s happened?”

“I dropped the tray. In the hall. Sorry about that. I’ll leave you to go back to sleep.”

“I wasn’t asleep.” Arthur pushed himself out of bed and stood, then swayed, and sat back down.
“All right. I may have been asleep. A little.”

Arthur watched Merlin cross the room, hands clasped behind his back, to stand beside the table.

“What on earth are you wearing now?” Arthur asked.

“Clothes?” Merlin held out his arms to his sides, his long sleeved brown tunic stretching across his
chest. It was quite a bit tighter than his normal clothes, its small V shaped neckline without any
ties, making Arthur wonder how he’d gotten it over his head. His breeches were tight as well, also
dark and made of a thick black fabric that stretched down to low black shoes with thick bottoms.

“You look ridiculous,” Arthur told him, which wasn’t true. He looked different, more than
anything. Which was disturbing somehow. Almost as disturbing as the fact that he was apparently
staring at the long, pale length of Merlin’s exposed neck. Arthur snapped his eyes at once to
Merlin’s face.

“I’ve been working in the Apothecary and the café while you’ve been napping,” Merlin told him,
taking obvious pleasure in saying the word, “and I finally got tired of all the jokes from Danyl and
Heath about escaping from a Renaissance Fair. I was going to change back, after I brought you-
Well, I’ll call it lunch, but it’s more an early supper.”

Arthur got to his feet, scratching at his bare chest as he walked barefoot across the room. He
pushed open the curtains to the windows and squinted outside at a sun that hung low in the west.
“How long was I asleep?”

“Five or six hours?”

Arthur spun on him, outraged. “What?”

“I did try to wake you.”

“How hard did you try, exactly?”

Merlin gave him a wry smile that answered that question.

“This isn’t getting you out of training I’ll have you know,” Arthur informed him. “And change out
of that nonsense before then. You’ll split those breeches in the first two minutes. How did you get
your head in that tunic anyway?”

Merlin hooked a finger beneath his collar and pulled. The material stretched and then snapped
back to its original size. “Elastic,” he said, with a delighted grin.

Arthur approached him, reaching out to slide two fingers under the neckline of Merlin’s shirt, and
do the same thing as Merlin had done. Then he slid his fingers further down, grasping a handful of
the material, pressing his fingers into it, his knuckles pressed against Merlin’s chest. “The whole
thing stretches,” he said, and lifted his other hand to slide it over the tunic, his palm moving over
Merlin’s chest.

Merlin shuddered and stepped back. “Right. So. I’ll go change.”

“Give me that before you go.”

“Give- what?”

“The tunic. Something made of that material would be useful during training. It would give
excellent range of motion. So come on. Off with it.”

Merlin started to speak, then snapped his mouth closed. He reached down, and yanked the tunic
over his head. He handed it to Arthur gone a bit red in the face.

Arthur examined the material, still warm from Merlin’s body, then pulled it over his head, pushing
his arms through the holes for the sleeves. He pulled it down over himself, adjusting it a bit over
his arms and yanking it down over his breeches.
It was much tighter on him than it had been on Merlin, stretching over the muscles of his chest like
a second skin. “This should work very well,” he said, rubbing a hand over his chest. The material
was ridiculously soft. “What is it made of?”

When he looked up at Merlin, he saw he was standing with his arms crossed over his pale chest,
biting his bottom lip, a look of distress come over him.

“What?” Arthur asked him.

Merlin’s eyes snapped up to Arthur’s face, his cheeks reddening.

Embarrassed, Arthur thought. Though he couldn’t understand why. It’s not like they hadn’t been
in states of undress around each other before. “Go on, then. Get changed.”

Merlin nodded, and turned to go.

“One last thing.”

Merlin didn’t turn around. “Yes?”

Arthur walked around in front of Merlin, then reached up and dragged both of his hands repeatedly
and swiftly over Merlin’s hair.

“Stop it!” Merlin protested, and swatted at Arthur’s hands.

“What is that in your hair? It feels like tree sap-“

“It’s hair product- Arthur- knock it off-“

Arthur grabbed the back of Merlin’s neck and forced his head forward. He used his other hand to
flatten Merlin’s hair down the way it ought to be. “You look like you’ve been in a windstorm-”

“Arthur,” came Merlin’s voice, choked and low.

Arthur let go of his neck and stepped back, smirking. “There,” he said, as Merlin lifted a reddened
face to him. “That’s much better.”

Merlin glared at him from under what still looked like a bird’s nest of black hair. “Arse,” he
muttered as he shoved past, knocking roughly against Arthur’s shoulder on the way.

Arthur rubbed his fingers together at the tacky substance left behind from Merlin’s hair. He lifted
his fingertips to his nose, sniffing curiously, because he could smell a strange spice scent
overlaying the familiar soaps they both shared in the washroom.

When he glanced over, he saw Merlin standing in the doorway, watching him, so red in the face
that his ears were red.

“Don’t forget the training equipment,” Arthur told him. “And the mace. I know how you love
working with the mace.”

Merlin opened his mouth to reply. Managed only a choked sound. Widened his eyes. Then
vanished through the doorway without a word.

Arthur laughed to himself, then sat down at the table in front of the spread of food Merlin had set
out for him.
Every single morsel was delicious. The fruits were fresh even though many weren’t in season, the
breads still warm from the oven, the potatoes seasoned with fresh herbs, the meats of highest
quality. And once again the tea tasted just as he remembered from Camelot. Merlin’s doing once
again, he thought. Just like the rest of it.

Arthur leaned back in his chair, sipping a cool glass of sweet juice of some kind.

He stretched out his legs in front of him, and slouched a bit in his chair. Utterly, and completely,
relaxed.

Arthur watched the dust motes dance through the rays of afternoon sunlight shining through the
rooms, and listened to the birdsong beyond the open windows, and felt the lovely warm summer
breezes upon his face that moved the curtains by the windows.

I can’t believe I was napping, he thought. Right in the middle of the day.

When was the last time he’d done that without it being from an illness or injury? He couldn’t
remember a single day in his adult life.

And come to think of it, what day was it? he wondered. He’d never lost track of such things
before. He’d either always been told, or had known by his meticulously kept and constantly busy
schedule.

Which he no longer had. Not anymore.

No counsel meetings to attend, he thought. No feasts to plan. No strategy sessions to lead. No

diplomatic envoys to meet. No endless arguments by visiting nobility who couldn’t see beyond
their own castle walls.

Nothing, in fact, to do.

I should be bothered by that, Arthur thought. I really should.

And yet, he wasn’t.

In all his years as king, he’d never enjoyed that part of leadership. All that pomp and bother of
courtly expectations, all the hassle of managing castle life. That had all just got in the way of
ruling Camelot. He’d foisted off as much of it as he could to his Counsel, or to Gwen, or to Merlin.

Still, there had been much he hadn’t been able to avoid. His duties had routinely consumed his
entire life, from dawn until dusk, without cease, day after day after day…

So the absence of all of it, really, was… a relief.

I should feel guilty for feeling that way, Arthur thought, as he sipped the cool juice. I really
should.

But he didn’t. Just as he didn’t feel guilty for sitting slouched in his chair, listening to the birds,
enjoying the warm summer breezes, with only his own desires dictating what his day should bring.

Because when, in all his life, had he ever been able to do what he wanted to do?

The picnic, Arthur thought. Father had taken him and Morgana and all of their attendants to the
fields beyond the castle. And after Arthur had eaten his fill of the wonderful foods prepared for
them, he’d gone exploring into the woods, just far enough to feel as if he were off on some grand
adventure. He’d lost track of time in the forest. They’d had to come and find him. He hadn’t
wanted to go home.

Yes, he thought. That was the last time I felt like this.

He’d been ten years old at the time.

Arthur rested his palms on the table. Tapped his fingers upon the wooden table top.

“I could lie around all day if I wanted,” Arthur said, as if making a royal decree. “In fact, I could
do absolutely nothing at all. All day. For as many days as I want.”

It felt like a singular heresy, just saying it.

But it also felt damn good.

Arthur grinned to himself, glancing back at his bed, at the rumpled covers that still looked like
puffy clouds.

“I could even,” Arthur informed the bed, “take another nap if I wanted-”

“Excuse me sire,” came Merlin’s voice by the door, startling Arthur into sitting up straight and
grabbing hold of his plate with both hands. “But did you want me to get the javelin as well as the
mace and the target and your armor and the training sword?”

The whining in Merlin’s tone was a delight to hear. “Swords,” Arthur corrected him, and helped
himself to another scone. Because although the idea of going back to sleep was appealing, the idea
of training was better. Especially if it involved tormenting Merlin a bit. “You’ll need a sword as
well. And armor.”

At the silence, Arthur turned to find Merlin gaping at him in open horror.

“I don’t like the idea any more than you do,” Arthur informed him, which was an absolute lie.
“It’ll be like training with a willow branch. Now go.”

With an audible huff, Merlin retreated from the door.

Arthur counted to five in his head in the perfectly silent room, then yelled “I heard that!”

“I meant for you to!” Merlin yelled back from down the corridor.

“Knew it,” Arthur said, and stuffed a scone in his mouth.

 days of then, nights of now
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Merlin landed hard on his back upon the grasses by the lakeside, the wooden target dropping
heavily onto his face, his breath rushing from his lungs.

“Honestly, Merlin,” Arthur said, for the tenth time since they started training.

Merlin screwed up his face under the wooden shield, feeling sweaty and sore and thinking of a
dozen retorts he couldn’t make because he couldn’t catch his damn breath.

“Did you practice no form of physical exercise while I was gone? I’ve used my sword against
shrubs that gave me more trouble than you.”

Merlin shoved the target from his face. But his anger diminished the second he saw Arthur in his
chainmail and armor, his blonde hair mussed and shining in the late afternoon sun, a grin lighting
his blue eyes.

It’s unfair, Merlin thought bitterly. Just ridiculously unfair. I can’t even stay mad at him. Not as
much as I want to. Not with his stupid face and his stupid hair and his stupid everything.

“You could try and hold back a little!” Merlin managed to bite out, though his tone was far less
venomous than he’d wanted.

Arthur’s expression reflected the absurdity of that idea. “Stop being such a girl’s petticoat,” he
said, and strode off, whirling the mace in figure eights in the air.

Merlin climbed to his feet, the heavy wooden target in hand. His tunic and breeches clung to his
body in every single place imaginable. He was covered in dirt and sweat and even his own blood
from where he’d scraped his arm with the target.

Damn mace and damn target and damn training exercises, he thought miserably.

Arthur had been right about one thing. If he’d worn his modern clothes for this, he would have
split his trousers right up the back by now. And once more his neckerchief was coming in handy,
to sop up the sweat from his neck and his face.

“Come on, let’s go,” Arthur told him.

Merlin hauled the target up to his shoulder, ducking his head. “Hate the damn mace,” he
grumbled.

“What was that?”

Merlin lowered the training target to give Arthur a grin that was all bared teeth and narrowed eyes.
“I said I can’t believe how much I missed being nearly beaten to death by you for your
entertainment, my lord,”

“It is quite an honor, so I should think so.” Arthur dropped into a fighting stance again, mace lifted
and spinning furiously.

The thought of all that power landing upon his aching shoulder had Merlin lowering his training
target, and pointing to the pile of training equipment he’d brought down from the third story
storage room in his tower.

“Oh look,” Merlin said. “There’s a shield and a training sword. Just waiting to be used. Can’t
forget to practice with those, can we?”

Arthur straightened up and gave him a look of clear exasperation. “You just don’t want to train
with the mace anymore.”

“Just trying to keep your sword skills from getting rusty, sire,” Merlin said, staggering a bit as
Arthur grabbed the training target from him, and threw it to the side.

“Go put on some gear then.”

“Do I have to?” Merlin said, and then cringed at the whine in his voice.

“Do I have to?” Arthur repeated, clearly mocking him.

Merlin huffed at him and went to drag the chainmail over his clothes. It made his sweaty tunic and
breeches stick to him even more than it already did. He had no idea how Arthur was holding up so
well in this heat, especially with his padded jacket under his chainmail and armor,

“The rest of it too,” Arthur said, gesturing to the armor with his training sword.

“Arthur, it is sweltering. I’m not putting on more metal for the sun to bake me in like a roast.
Besides, they’re training swords.”

“Fine, take your chances. But I seem to remember someone hurting themselves before with a
training sword.”

“Your fault,” Merlin muttered, as he took the shield Arthur held out to him. “What am I supposed
to do with that?” he asked, and nodded to the sword.

Arthur gave him one of those looks that suggested Merlin was a small, daft, child. “Plow a field,
Merlin. What do you think you’re supposed to do with it?”

“I mean, why should I bother with it? Can’t I just use the shield and let you practice?”

“My opponents don’t come at me with shields, Merlin. And in any case, you need to keep up your
sword skills. Such as they are.”

“I know how to use a sword,” Merlin insisted.

Arthur just stared at him.

“I do!”

“I’ve seen you use a sword, Merlin. You look like you’re wielding a tree branch. While
blindfolded. And drunk.”

Merlin grabbed the sword from him. “Why do I need to worry about a sword? I have magic.”

“Merlin?”

“What?”
Arthur smacked him in the forehead with the flat of his training blade.

Merlin’s hand flew up to press against his head. “What was that for!”

“If you knew how to use a sword properly, you would have been able to block the blow,” Arthur
said sweetly. “You were looking straight at me and you had your blade two inches away from
your face, for the love of god.”

Merlin huffed at him, but gave up the argument as lost when Arthur stepped backwards, sword in
one hand, shield in the other, grinning wildly at him in the late afternoon sunlight.

For the next fifteen minutes, Arthur practiced rudimentary attacks and blocks to work on his form.
To his own astonishment, Merlin was able to remember most of them, from all his years spent on
the edges of the training grounds.

But very quickly, Merlin found himself barely able to lift the shield to meet Arthur’s rapidly
increasing attacks. He was woefully out of shape, he realized. Breathlessly he raised his shield for
a high guard, only realizing he should prepare for a low strike instead when the flat of Arthur’s
sword took his legs out from under him.

This time when Merlin fell in a heap to the ground, he knocked himself on the forehead so hard
with his shield that he saw stars.

As Merlin lay on the ground swearing to himself, he noticed Arthur step to his side.

“Here.” Arthur moved Merlin's sword and shield aside, then gently pushed his sweaty hair away
from his forehead with his gloved fingers. “Barely a scratch. You’ll be fine.”

Merlin just lay there as Arthur walked away. His head was spinning less from the fall than from
the attentiveness. Back in Camelot Arthur would have just laughed and left him to lie there.

As he wondered why that was, Merlin stared up into the clear blue late afternoon sky. He wished
it would rain as it had wanted to last night. He hoped he hadn’t shifted the weather too much. He’d
hate to think this heat wave was his fault.

It felt like his skin was going to melt off under his chainmail. He couldn’t imagine how Arthur
was still so unaffected. But then, Arthur had always been ridiculously at home in the garments of
a knight.

Next time I’ll make him wear his cape, Merlin thought, as he lay on the ground, watching Arthur
taking long gulps of bottled water. Actually, it really would be nice to see Arthur in his cape
again. Alive and moving around. He always did look good in red.

Merlin stared up at the clouds, wondering how hard he’d hit himself in the head, to let himself
think such things. He’s your king, he told himself. He’s your king, and you’re his servant, and
you cannot think of how good he would look in his cape, or how noble in his armor, or how his
hair right now looks like it has a crown of sunlight-

Merlin moaned on the ground, and pressed his palms into his eyes.

By the pile of equipment, he heard Arthur call out a greeting. Danyl and Heath were walking down
the grassy slope from the darkened manor, both of them smiling, Heath with a mobile in his hand,
pointing at them both.

“Are you all right?” Danyl called. “Eleanor nearly called Emergency Services twice before she left
for the day. We only barely stopped her.”

Merlin got to his feet with a glance over at the stone circle. Judging by the shadows, it was going
on seven. No wonder their training hadn’t drawn a crowd. Everything was long since closed.

“She made Danyl promise to call if things got too rough,” Heath added, as he tucked his mobile in
his pocket. “And hello to you, by the way,” he said Arthur.

Danyl nudged him smartly in the ribs. “None of that.”

“Just saying hello,” Heath said, but gave Danyl an apologetic look, and butted his shoulder against
him, before turning to where Merlin unsteadily approached. “Cor, you look awful.”

“Well that’s good because I feel awful.” Merlin shot Arthur a look, but received a long-suffering
shake of his head in response. “Arthur, this is Danyl and this is Heath. They work for me in the
Apothecary.”

“And help with business marketing and social media promotion,” Heath added.

Merlin raised an eyebrow at the grinning young man as he picked up a bottle of water for himself.
“I haven’t given you an answer about that yet.”

“Oh you will, seriously, because he,“ Heath pointed at Arthur, “would be fantastic for business. I
mean, sword fighting? On the shores of Lake Avalon? People would love it. I mean, we’d need
to get someone to fight with him who can actually use a sword-”

Merlin choked on his water. “I can use a sword!”

“You really can’t,” Arthur said. “Even he can see it. And he hasn’t been trained in swordsmanship.
Have you?”

“Not yet,” Heath said quickly, “but I’d like to.”

“You have the build for it,” Arthur told him. “I could show you a few things.”

Merlin looked from Heath to Arthur and back again. “Wait. What?”

“You give sword training?” Heath said. “Could you do that here?” He gave Danyl a strong elbow
in the ribs. “Can you imagine it? Sword training by a guy named Arthur!”

“Now hold on,“ Merlin said.

“Hey,” Heath said to Arthur, “do your students ever call you King Arthur?”

“They call me little else. With some exceptions,” he added, with a stern look at Merlin.

“Would you seriously be interested in training people?” Heath asked Arthur.

“It would be a welcome change from training with someone who uses a sword as if it’s part of a
tree.”

Merlin huffed at the lot of them. “I’m standing right here.”

“My brother would love to do it,” Danyl said to Heath. “He already takes those martial arts
classes-“
“And I can think of at least three guys from rugby.” Heath turned back to Arthur. “When could we
start?”

Arthur stepped backward, twirling his sword in the air, grinning first at Merlin’s astonished
expression, and then back at Heath. “No time like the present.”

Heath smacked Danyl in the arm in his excitement, then jogged over to grab a sword and shield
from the pile of equipment.

“Merlin, give him your chainmail.”

Merlin stared at Arthur in something of a daze. Seriously, what was even happening? Arthur was
going to train Heath, of all people? Heath, who believed that sitting upon a chair watching Danyl
do all the work was how best to do his job?

“Are you sure this is a good idea, sire?” Merlin asked.

“Don’t tell me that you’re missing being nearly beaten to death for my entertainment already,”
Arthur said, his blue eyes flashing with amusement.

“Of course not, but-“

“Then go sit down,” Arthur told him, and gestured with his sword to where Danyl sat by the
training equipment. “And drink something before you collapse.”

Merlin pulled off his chainmail and handed it to Heath, then watched in amazement as Heath
hauled it over his head and dashed over to Arthur.

“Sit, Merlin,” Arthur commanded.

Merlin dropped himself to the ground beside Danyl. “Yes, my lord,” he snapped, aggravated at
himself for reacting to Arthur’s regal tone so quickly.

At Merlin’s side, Danyl gave him an amused look. “My lord?”

Merlin felt his face flush. “It’s-“

“Ready?” Arthur called to Heath.

“Ready, sire,” Heath said, flashing a grin at Merlin.

“Oh the hell with it,” Merlin grumbled, and he flopped back onto the grass, dragging a training
shield over his face.

‘Sire’ and ‘my lord’ both, he thought. Right in front of his employees.

“Just make sure they don’t kill each other,” he muttered to Danyl.

For several minutes he could hear the clanging of swords and shields, interspersed with Arthur
instructing Heath about swordsmanship and what it meant to be a knight.

It reminded Merlin of the times the young sons of visiting nobles had come to the training field.
He’d forgotten how patient Arthur could be with the young ones. For so long Arthur had been
nothing but savage on the training grounds and the battlefield. He’d forgotten Arthur could be like
this, as well.
“Merlin?”

“Hmm?”

“I was wondering. If you. Um. Had any armor? For Heath to use?”

Merlin pushed the shield off of his face and sat up by Danyl’s side. Arthur stood facing Heath,
sword held out in front of him, demonstrating the response to a forward attack.

“I do,” Merlin said.

Danyl glanced over at him, then back at Heath, his cheeks coloring. “That’s… good. He would
look. Nice. In armor. I think.”

“They always do.” Merlin leaned back on one elbow on the grass, stretching out his legs, watching
his king do what he did best. Which was lead others to a better version of themselves. He’d never
seen Heath so intent on what he was doing.

“So. You and Arthur?” Danyl asked in a low voice.

Merlin looked at him sharply.

Danyl gave a small smile, his dark hair blowing in his eyes, his pale round face still a bit red in the
cheeks. “Are you two…?”

“No.” Merlin sat up straight, straightening his tunic, adjusting his belt, brushing at the dirt on his
breeches. “No, we’re- No. I’m just his-”

Friend? Merlin thought. Servant? Sorcerer? Protector?

None of them felt like enough.

None of them ever did.

“I don’t mean to pry,” Danyl said. “It’s just. Whenever I see you with him, you’re …”

“What?”

Danyl just shrugged, hugging his knees to his chest, resting his chin upon them, as he went back to
watching Arthur and Heath.

Merlin stared into the distance, at the water reflecting off of the lake, frowning at himself. His
eyes dragged up to the island in the middle of the water. To the ruins of the tower. The sunlight
caught on them, casting it in a golden glow. A disturbing reminder of his dreams.

One quickly banished by the sound of Arthur’s laughter, at something Heath had said. Merlin
watched the two men circle one another, Heath trying out some of the things he’d been shown, as
Arthur lectured him on form and motion.

Merlin watched them for a while at Danyl’s side, until Heath came over to pull Danyl to his feet.
After some deliberation between them, Heath transferred his chainmail to Danyl, and pressed a
sword and shield into Danyl’s hands.

Merlin watched with a smile as Arthur showed Danyl the same techniques as he had shown Heath,
with Heath standing nearby, smiling at the scene. Danyl mimicked Arthur carefully, reserved as
always, until at one point, he reproduced Arthur’s technique with a rather vicious upper cut that had
his sword whistling through the air.

Arthur nodded his approval, glancing over at Merlin with eyebrows raised. “Best watch out for
this one,” he told Merlin, and pointed at a blushing Danyl.

“Watching Danyl is my job,” Heath said, and he grabbed Danyl around the waist, pulling him in to
kiss him quite passionately, and for long enough that Merlin gave a low appreciative whistle.
Heath released Danyl with Danyl’s sword in his own hand, then tapped the flat of the weapon
against Danyl’s backside.

“That’s not playing fair!” Danyl said, laughing, as he grabbed for his sword.

“Careful!” Merlin called. “You can still hurt yourselves with those things!”

“How can you hurt yourself with this?” Heath said in disbelief, has he succeeded in grabbing
Danyl’s shield from him as well.

“There were extenuating circumstances,” Merlin informed him. “Involving a-“ griffin was the
next word, but that was no good, so he finished with “-wild animal.”

This time when Heath grabbed Danyl around the waist, he spun them away with the shield held up
between them and where he and Arthur were.

Merlin rolled his eyes and picked up a bottle of water for Arthur. “Never seen a shield used that
way on the training grounds,” he said, as he climbed to his feet and walked over to Arthur.

He held out the bottle of water. When Arthur didn’t take it, Merlin turned to him.

Arthur was staring, an utterly stunned expression on his face, at where Heath and Danyl stood
hidden behind the Pendragon shield.

Oh, Merlin thought. That’s right.

In all their talks of history, in all their discussions about the changing world, they hadn’t yet gotten
to this.

Time for that talk then, Merlin thought. Not something he was looking forward to, honestly. But
he couldn’t avoid it now, especially not with Arthur staring in a way that was bordering on
offensive.

“Arthur,” Merlin said. And then nudged him with his elbow. “C abbage head.”

Arthur’s gaze snapped to him. “What?”

Heath lowered the shield, and leaned forward to press his forehead against Danyl’s, as the two of
them grinned stupidly at each other in a heart wrenching display of affection.

Arthur had begun staring again.

“Ror gora idos silus arnint!” Merlin hissed at him.

“Nid spi oed inos silus arnint!” Arthur snapped.

“Yes you are,” Merlin said.

“No I’m not,” Arthur told him.

“What language is that?” Heath asked, as he and Danyl approached.

“Just something from back home. You done for the day then?” Merlin asked them all, hoping
desperately that the answer was yes.

“Yeah, I best be getting back to Gran’s house to help with the horses. Boy does she like you, by
the way,” Heath told Merlin.

“I noticed. Can’t you do something about her?”

“She’s usually not that bad. But she says you remind her of Emrys. And she’d been wanting to get
a leg over with your Uncle for years-”

“Stop, seriously, just-“ Merlin shuddered and pulled a face, then glanced at Arthur, who was
smirking at him. Better than his earlier expression anyway. “What about you, sire? Are you done
training?”

“Sire,” Heath said softly to Danyl.

“Shut it,” Merlin snapped at him.

“It’s enough for today,” Arthur pronounced, and strode towards the house, of course carrying
nothing at all.

With the help of Danyl and Heath, they managed to carry everything up to Merlin’s residence in
one trip. Merlin had them throw everything through his front door before sending them off.

“What time tomorrow will you be having training again?” Heath asked Arthur.

“After lunch,” Arthur told him. “Wear something with more give to it than that. The drills require
more flexibility than those clothes will allow.”

“Great. I look forward to training with you, sire,” he said, so sincerely that Merlin was sure he
actually meant the title.

“And you, Heath, Danyl.”

“Sire,” Danyl said, with a shy smile.

Only Arthur could get people to call him by his title without asking them to do so, Merlin thought.
He had no doubt Arthur would have the entire café calling him sire before long.

As they walked into his flat, Merlin drew in a deep breath of cool air. “So much nicer in here,” he
said, as he piled all their supplies to the side to deal with later.

Arthur followed him into the livingroom, pulling a glove off and casting it onto the pile, before
pulling at his arm guard with sweaty fingers.

Merlin swatted away Arthur’s hands and took over the task of removing his gloves and arm braces
and armor. Arthur was silent as he worked, his eyes downcast, his breathing still a bit fast from the
exertion, his face red from the heat, his hair drenched with sweat.

“You can have the first go in the washroom,” Merlin said. “You need it.”

No response to the comment. Arthur just kept his eyes downcast, eyebrows drawn slightly
together, deep in thought.
Merlin stepped behind Arthur to remove his armor. “It’s acceptable now,” Merlin said.

“What is?”

“For two men to be in a romantic relationship. Or two women. Or anyone really.” Merlin pulled
at a stubborn buckle, focusing on that, because it was hard enough to talk about this. “They can
even marry. If they want to.”

Silence in response. For once, Merlin was glad he couldn’t see Arthur’s face.

“Danyl pined after Heath for months,” Merlin went on, as his fingers pulled loose the buckles and
ties. “That boy was so in love that it was painful to watch. Especially when Heath was seeing that
girl. Even before Danyl realized that Heath was… open minded about such things. The two of
them only just got together last week. I’m glad they finally did. Even if they have been late for
work ever since.”

Merlin pulled off the remaining armor, then grabbed at the chainmail. “I just thought you should
know,” he said, as he lifted the chainmail over Arthur’s head.

When he was free of it, Arthur pulled open his padded jacket and tossed it atop the pile of armor.
His shirt was drenched through, sticking to Arthur as if he’d just emerged from the water.

A horrible thought that drove all thoughts of anything else from Merlin’s head. “I’ll take care of
all this, and then bring up your dinner. Unless you’ll be needing anything else, sire?” he finished,
the phrase of every royal servant falling without thought from his lips.

“No, that will be all,” Arthur said absently, then wandered off, through the livingroom and into the
bedroom, to return to his chambers.

Merlin stared after him, before shaking himself from his thoughts. He had things to do before he
could get himself cleaned up. He may as well do them.

After settling the equipment into a pile for tending to later, he retired to his own chambers upstairs
and waited for his turn in the washroom. Once Arthur was done, he showed and dressed himself,
then returned downstairs to prepare dinner.

He was waiting downstairs at his dining table for the tea to finish brewing when Arthur joined him
in his flat. Arthur approached him silently on his bare feet, dressed casually in a loose white tunic
and dark breeches.

“What’s that?” Arthur asked him, gesturing at the laptop open on the table before him.

Merlin finalized the order of clothing and a new mobile for himself, then leaned back in his chair.
“Laptop,” he said, because any other explanation was far too long to begin.

Arthur walked behind Merlin, then leaned forward, hands on the back of Merlin’s chair, peering
over his shoulder. Merlin could smell the vanilla soaps of Camelot radiating from the heat of
Arthur’s body, inches away from his cheek.

“I haven’t been able to find any news of things going wrong in the world,” Merlin said absently,
trying desperately not to lean towards Arthur. “Well. Not more wrong than usual. Nothing to
explain you being here, I mean.”

“How does it do that?” Arthur asked, and reached out to poke the display with a finger.
Merlin caught his wrist and moved his hand away. “It’s called a computer, and you won’t learn
about those until the last few chronicles.”

Denied his ability to poke at the screen, Arthur leaned closer, his chest pressing against Merlin’s
shoulder, peering over the edge of the laptop screen at the other side, reminding Merlin of a cat
he’d once had who had never been able to understand that there was nothing on the other side of
the mirror. “Where are the images coming from?” Arthur asked. “Is it a scrying stone like in that
cave you told me about?”

“Actually, it can show images of things far away,” Merlin said. “Though only what’s already
happened. Or is happening. But it’s not magic.”

“Technology,” Arthur said, nodding as if he understood, his chest still pressing against Merlin’s
shoulder. “Why are there images of tunics?”

Merlin swallowed and tried to lean a bit away. He honestly couldn’t remember if Arthur had
always been quite as tactile as he’d been these past few days. He didn’t think so. Perhaps it was a
side effect of being dead? he wondered. Whatever the reason, it was both wonderful and horrible
in equal measure.

“They’re called shirts now,” Merlin said, and then had to clear his throat, because his voice had
gone a bit rough. “And breeches are called trousers. I’m getting us both some of them. Most of my
clothes look like an old man would wear them, and most of your clothes…”

Arthur stood up, looking offended. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

“Nothing, if you’re in Camelot. Or walking around the manor grounds. But I thought… If you
wanted to blend in anywhere else…”

“I’m not wearing anything that makes me look like I’m a half naked tropical bird,” Arthur
informed him, and rounded the table to sit haughtily in a nearby chair.

“Don’t worry, I’m getting you things as close as possible to what you already you own. Nothing
but boring plain colors and loose shirts. Only they’ll be softer, and with elastic,” he added, and
succeeded in getting a least some of the aggravation off of Arthur’s face. “How’s your reading
coming along?”

Arthur crossed his arms over his chest, the very image of a petulant royal child. “I’m still wading
through an endless century of poorly behaved kings who thought killing their families and
intermarrying with other countries was more important than ruling their own lands.”

“I’m afraid things don’t get much better there for quite a while,” Merlin told him.

Arthur snorted at that piece of information. “There has got to be a faster way to get from learning
about a bunch of ridiculous so-called kings to knowing what that is,” he said, jabbing a finger at
Merlin’s laptop.

“By reading faster?” Merlin closed his laptop and set his old mobile atop it. He’d located the thing
in the pockets of one of his old coats. He’d received two hundred and five text messages on the
mobile he’d used as Emrys, most of them yelling at him for disappearing as abruptly as he had. He
hadn’t even started dealing with that mess yet.

“I have an idea,” Arthur said, in the voice that meant that Merlin was not going to like whatever it
was. “You read the chronicles to me, and just tell me the highlights.”
“The highlights? Of fifteen hundred years?“

“Eight hundred years, I’m up to the twelve hundreds.”

“More happened in those eight hundred years than in all the years before!”

“Merlin,” Arthur said, and the name was an entire paragraph, including such things as ‘don’t
bother arguing’ and ‘you’re wasting your breath’ and the word ‘idiot’.

Merlin sighed, loudly.

“I’ll go back and read them myself after we get to the part where I can understand what that is,”
Arthur said, and poked at Merlin’s laptop. “Would that make you happy?”

“You’re honestly such a child,” Merlin said, as he went to add the tea to the tray of food.

Arthur rose from the table to follow Merlin upstairs. “Well then it makes sense that you’re going
to read to me then,” he said. And then he stopped, and frowned at himself.

Merlin smirked at him over his shoulder. “That didn’t quite come out the way you’d intended, did
it.”

“Shut up,” Arthur told him, and nudged him toward the staircase.

As it turned out, Arthur’s suggestion wasn’t entirely awful. Once they’d finished dinner, Merlin
began doing as Arthur had asked, telling Arthur the most important bits of history from his
chronicles.

He’d actually forgotten how awfully royalty had behaved. It was painful to even skim over.
Arthur must have been nearly murderous reading it word for word. And even just listing the
highlights, most of Merlin’s summary still sounded very much like “and then this one killed the
other one because that one had killed someone else”.

The whole process of reading to Arthur became even less objectionable once they’d sat by the dark
hearth in their chairs, two bottles of wine on the floor between them. Merlin left the drinking to
Arthur tonight, because he couldn’t risk repeating what had happened before. Especially not with
Arthur reclining in his chair close by his side, his bare toes wiggling as Merlin read, his face softly
lit by all the candles burning around them.

The air was warm tonight, a gentle breeze moving the curtains as it blew in from the open
windows. Somehow it had gotten late, and Merlin yawned as he snapped another book closed, to
set it atop the tall pile by his chair.

“Idiot kings,” Arthur said derisively, and took a long drink of wine. “They should have just let the
Picts live in peace in their lands up north. The Gaelic people on their island as well. That was just
a stupid waste of resources.”

Merlin laughed long enough that he got a bleary eyed but curious look. “No, it’s just… you’re
going to be a very popular man in those lands with that opinion someday. It’s what they’ve always
said as well.”

“What about the Black Death,” Arthur said. “All of our people dying… Was there nothing you
could do for them?”

Merlin rested his hands on his lap. “By that time, I’d learned that some things needed to take their
own course.”

Arthur pushed himself up in his chair, and leaned heavily on the arm closest to Merlin. “A third of
the population died. You consider that things taking their course? What would Gaius have said to
that?”

“Gaius was the first to tell me to use my magic when I should,” Merlin said. “And it… It just felt
wrong for me to interfere. I can’t explain it. It was something that came from the earth. That
sickness was…” Merlin shook his head, leaned back in his chair. “I wasn’t supposed to interfere. I
could just tell.”

“I don’t know that I could have restrained myself.”

Merlin picked up another book. “It probably helped that I was still recovering at the time. From a
few lost years. Or. Well. Decades, actually.”

“Your time talking to me,” Arthur said in a low voice.

Merlin pressed his fingers into the book cover, trying not to remember the years that had blended
into each other, the haze filling his mind, the magic keeping him barely alive, the sounds of
screams in the night, and Arthur always at his side, perfect and regal and shining and beautiful,
always speaking to him, always keeping him from vanishing into the magics of the world, always
calling him back-

“Merlin.”

His head snapped up. Arthur was holding tightly to his arm. So tightly that it hurt, in fact. He
wondered how long he’d been trying to get his attention.

“What?” Merlin said, through a dry throat.

“Stay with me,” Arthur told him, and rubbed his hand over Merlin’s arm.

“Sorry,” he muttered, and opened the book on his lap with a slightly shaking hand, skimming
through the writing of the first page. With a small smile, he closed the book again. “Right, well
this one’s going to be better. It has lots of art and science and discovery. And it’ll get you closer to
the technology you’re so interested in.”

“Is this the summary that you’re doing right now?” Arthur said, and he slid his foot along the floor
to poke Merlin in his bare ankle with his toes.

“This one you honestly should read yourself. I put some letters in from people I wrote to during
this time. Brilliant men, the Italians. Astonishingly talented. I have some works that I
commissioned from them in the library.”

“Will reading every single word of that book get me to understand the metal boxes or the bits of
stone with the moving pictures or elastic in shirts?”

Merlin sighed loudly. “Arthur.”

Arthur sighed right back at him. “Merlin.”

“Fine. But not tonight. My eyes are crossing.” He stood up and stretched. Arthur watched him
quietly, gaze half lidded and clearly a bit drunk, his wine glass in hand. “Come on,” Merlin said
fondly, and took the glass from Arthur, but not before Arthur downed it to the bottom. “I’ll tell
you all about the Renaissance after breakfast.”

“Before training,” Arthur said, as Merlin hauled him to his feet and dragged him towards the bed.

“Yes, before training, I can’t wait for even more training.” Merlin pulled down the sheets and
adjusted the pillows, then turned to Arthur, who was standing by the bedside, studying him
strangely beneath half closed eyelids.

“Don’t do that thing,” Arthur said, and flopped a hand towards his head.

“What?”

“To your hair.”

Merlin felt the breath rush from his chest as Arthur reached up and ran the fingers of both hands
through his hair. Not roughly like before, but gently, soothing the strands forward, just as he’d
worn it long ago.

“Your clothes are…” Arthur paused in his motions, his eyes sliding down and up his body, rather
intently Merlin thought, until he began patting again at the top of his head. “But this… No.”

Merlin couldn’t help it, he felt his eyes close, felt his breathing speed up. God. Arthur’s fingers
sliding through his hair. He felt his face burning hot as it filled with blood. And then realized his
body was sending blood elsewhere as well.

“All right,” Merlin said hoarsely, ducking away, soothing his hair forward as Arthur had been
trying to do. He had to turn his back on Arthur, because one thing the old breeches definitely did
not do was hide any signs of arousal. He could not wait until he could wear jeans again. “Just let
me- I need to use the washroom.”

“Candles,” Arthur said.

Merlin glanced around the room, at the lit candelabras.

“Leave the windows open though. Come on then.”

Merlin nodded. “Acwe-“

“Stop.”

Merlin drew in a sharp breath of surprise. “Don’t interrupt me in the middle of a spell, Arthur, you
remember what happened in the-”

“Yes, sorry, you’re right, of course,” he heard Arthur say, and then Arthur stepped right in front of
him, dear god far too close, his eyes thankfully fixed on his own. “Now,” Arthur said. “Go
ahead.”

He wants to see, Merlin thought. He wants to watch me do magic. He wants to see it in my eyes.
Either that, or he knows that I’m fighting not to snog him within an inch of his life, and he’s trying
to torture me to death. I wonder if I could die that way. It feels like I could die that way. God,
what a way to die-

“Come on,” Arthur said.

Merlin clenched his hands at his sides into fists. It took every ounce of his willpower to gather his
thoughts. Which was ridiculous, because the spell was child’s play.
But then he remembered what happened at the meadow. And his focus returned. “ Acwence þa
ligen,” he said, and with a surge of magic, the candles all extinguished, plunging the room into
darkness.

“Perhaps just leave the ones by the bedside lit,” Arthur said, his voice low and close and good lord,
was he actually leaning towards it? He forced himself backwards a step.

“Forbaernan,” Merlin said, his voice breaking a bit, with a nod towards the candles by the
bedside. They flickered into life, casting enough of a light so that Merlin could see Arthur’s sleepy
and clearly drunken grin.

“Wonderful,” Arthur said, and turned to stagger to bed. “And hurry it up, will you? I don’t want
you waking me when you come back.”

“Right,” Merlin said, and he headed for the door.

“And don’t lay on top of me again when you come to bed,” Arthur added. “It’s hot as blazes in
here tonight.”

Merlin bumped into the edge of the table, caught himself, and leaned heavily on the tabletop.

Don’t lay on me again tonight? Merlin thought frantically. Oh god. Was that what he couldn’t
remember? No, that was… That was…

Not fair is what it was, he thought. And then he frowned at himself. Wrong is the correct word,
you idiot, he told himself. That was wrong-

“Go on,” Arthur said.

Merlin nodded, fully in a daze, as he wandered somehow from the room.

He very intentionally took his time finding a tunic and breeches to sleep in. And then he took an
even longer amount of time than that in the washroom.

He couldn’t help it. Some things just needed tending to before he could return to Arthur’s
chambers. And probably would need tending to again in the morning. Because apparently he was
sexually a teenager again, even if his body was in its twenties, and his soul was well over a
thousand.

By the time he returned to Arthur’s chambers, Arthur was, fortunately, asleep. Although
unfortunately, he was laying shirtless and lengthwise across the entire bed.

Merlin moved to the bedside, grabbed Arthur’s body where he was sprawled, and hauled him over
onto his side of the bed. Arthur made vague noises of protest as Merlin dropped him with his head
onto his pillow, then covered him up with blankets.

And because it was his destiny to suffer, when Merlin approached the other side of the bed, Arthur
shoved the blankets and sheets down with one sloppy sweep of his arm.

He’s intentionally trying to torture me, Merlin thought. He knew somehow that I was intending to
sleep on top of the bedding. And he’s trying to torture me.

Why was this even still happening? he wondered. Why was Arthur letting him sleep with him
every night? Well, not sleep with him. But sleep with him. Which they had never, ever, done
before.
“Get in for the love of god Merlin so I can go to sleep.”

The tone of command had Merlin sliding under the covers without thinking. I’ve really got to do
something about that, he thought miserably, as he stretched out flat on his back. Stupid reflexes
reacting to that stupid royal tone from my stupid king.

In the silence of the room, Merlin stared up at the canopy above him, careful not to move a single
inch closer to where Arthur lay on his side facing away from him.

Trolls, Merlin told himself. I’m thinking about trolls. Big, hairy, putrid, stinking, trolls. What an
awful smell they made. Like a cesspool combined with a bog. That was an awful stench, hey?
Took ten washings to get it out of Uther’s linens.

“Saw Gwaine once,” came Arthur’s slurred voice.

“What?”

“In the stables. With Percival.”

He began to ask what was so unusual about that. But then realized what Arthur meant. By ‘with’
Percival.

“There was a woman with them too. Not a stitch on her.”

Merlin turned his head on the pillow to stare in horror at the back of Arthur’s head.

“But she was just. Watching them.”

Oh my god, Merlin thought.

“She didn’t see me,” Arthur continued sleepily. “None of them did.”

This is not happening, Merlin thought frantically. Not now, in bed with Arthur, while he’s half
naked, and drunk-

“I left,” Arthur went on, because the universe truly hated Merlin, he was sure of it. “Once I got
over the. You know. Surprise.”

There it is, Merlin thought. There’s the visual in my head. Of Arthur, standing in the stables in
surprise – and how long did he stand there watching? a truly filthy voice in his head asked – and all
the while Gwaine and Percival were-

“That’s interesting,” Merlin burst out, blinking away that mental picture, because it would lead
him on the path to ruin.

But it actually was interesting, wasn’t it. Because it confirmed some things he’d often wondered
about Gwaine.

Arthur rolled over to face Merlin, so close that Merlin could feel his body heat against his left
side. Thankfully, Arthur did not open his eyes. A fact for which Merlin was profoundly grateful.
Because he had no idea what expression was upon his own face, or how visible it was in the light
of the remaining few candles.

“Did you ever?” Arthur asked, his words slurring.

Merlin felt as if someone had physically sat upon his chest. “Ever?”
“Catch them at it?”

“Oh. No. Well. Not them.”

“Others?”

“A few times. In the castle after a feast. When there had been a lot of drinking.”

Arthur was silent for so long that Merlin thought he fell asleep.

“Did you ever?” Arthur asked.

Merlin lifted his gaze to the top of the canopy. Right, he thought. He’d promised he wouldn’t lie
anymore. Why in the hell had he done that? Oh, that’s right, because he was the world’s biggest
idiot.

“In Camelot?” Merlin asked. “No.”

Arthur made a brief humming noise that sounded to Merlin like approval, which was both
worrying and confusing, because he’d not shown any sign of disapproval about Gwaine and
Percival. So why should he be different?

“Me neither,” Arthur said.

Merlin felt his eyebrows raise. He couldn’t remember the last time Arthur had volunteered
anything of such a personal nature. He’d always had to drag such things out of him.

“Crown Prince… then King…” Arthur shrugged his shoulders.

Crown Prince and then King what, Merlin wondered. But Arthur didn’t elaborate.

“What about not?” Arthur asked.

“Not?”

“What about not in Camelot?”

The crisp ‘t’ sounds on his words made Merlin wonder how drunk and how sleep-muddled Arthur
really was.

“Not in Camelot,” Merlin repeated.

“Yes.”

“I… That’s… personal,” Merlin said, feeling more like a coward than he had in centuries.

“That’s a yes, then.”

Merlin closed his eyes and tried not to hyperventilate. “Yes.”

“Your friend Will?”

Hearing that name after so long was so startling that Merlin’s gaze snapped to Arthur. Arthur’s
brows were pulled together over his closed eyes, his lips pressed thinner than they should be if he
were relaxed.

“Will?” Merlin repeated.

“You seemed… close.”

“We were. Yes. But not… not like that.”

He watched Arthur’s features relax. Saw his small nod against his pillow. And that same small
humming sound of approval.

“After Camelot, then,” Arthur said. As if that was fine. But the idea of Will was not.

“Yes,” Merlin said, without really thinking, because he was too busy being perplexed by Arthur’s
reactions. “You know he wasn’t a sorcerer, right? That was me? What happened in Ealdor?”

“Yes,” Arthur said. “I know.”

“Right,” Merlin said. So that wasn’t it, then. Arthur’s problem with Will. It wasn’t about magic.
And why would it be? He’d seen how Arthur reacted to his own magic.

“So those companions of yours then. After Camelot. Them.”

Merlin frowned up at the canopy, unable to begin to imagine why Arthur was asking all of this.
“Not- I mean- Some of them were… men. Yes. But not all of them. I just… after living so long, I
guess, I’m just… open minded.”

“Like Heath,” Arthur said.

“Yes.”

“But not Danyl.”

Merlin lifted himself up onto his elbows, frowning down at Arthur now. “Why are you asking me
this?” he asked, because he couldn’t help himself.

“Seemed relevant,” Arthur said.

Which was even more aggravating than no answer at all, Merlin thought. He lay back down on the
bed, completely dazed.

Relevant? he wondered. Relevant to what? To Heath and Danyl? To living in the modern day?
Or-

In a moment of horrible clarity, Merlin saw the situation through Arthur’s eyes. And worse, he
saw what it would probably mean for them both.

He won’t want me in his bed anymore, Merlin realized, and it felt like a kick to the stomach. Now
that I’ve told him that I’ve been with men and women both, he’s not going to want me to do this.
This… whatever this is. Which they were not talking about during the day. But which they did
every single night.

Oh my god I am an idiot, he thought desperately. Whenever I die, and honestly now would be a
good time for that, then this will be my epitaph. Here lies Merlin of Ealdor, the Greatest Idiot to
Ever Walk the Earth. Also could do magic.

Why had he even said anything at all? Why hadn’t he laughed it all off? A funny joke between
them, like always. Why did he have to go and be honest for once and practically guarantee that he’d
have to sleep in the corridor outside Arthur’s chamber door and have to turn away when Arthur
changed clothes and not be in his rooms when he-
Merlin’s entire body jolted as Arthur’s hand rested atop his shoulder under the blankets, warm and
solid.

“It’s not for anyone else to say who we are,” Arthur said. “Not anymore. We are who we are.
That’s all.”

Merlin had no absolutely idea what Arthur meant by any of that. But it sounded like an
acceptance. Which was more than he’d dared hope for.

“Go to sleep, Merlin,” Arthur said, squeezing his shoulder. Then leaving his hand there.

Merlin had no doubt that Arthur could feel his breaths heaving from him. He squeezed his eyes
shut. Forced himself to calm. Deep breaths in. Deep breaths out. Calming himself. An effort
which was complicated because Arthur had still not moved his hand away. He could feel his
fingers pressing against his skin through his tunic.

“Do you want to hear a story about the last dragon’s egg?” Merlin said in a strangled voice that he
was sure fooled no one in the room into thinking he had calmed.

“Is that the name of a tavern?” Arthur said, and his tone was wry, and relaxed, because damn him,
even when he was drunk, and even when he’d just had a horribly personal conversation, Arthur
Pendragon was still the most resilient man in all of Albion. Being dead over a millennium had
apparently only made him more so.

“I don’t know anything about taverns,” Merlin said. “On account of how I never actually went to
one except for with you, if you’ll remember.”

“That’s right,” Arthur said into his pillow. “Because you were off causing problems in my
kingdom.”

“I was off solving problems in our kingdom,” Merlin said haughtily, and smiled at the twitch of
Arthur’s lips.

For the first time, Arthur opened his eyes, just halfway, and he did smile at him then,
breathtakingly beautiful in the candlelight with his hair mussed and his face half hidden in the
pillow.

If this is the last moment I have before I die, Merlin thought, then I will die a happy, happy man.

“Go on then,” Arthur said, and closed his eyes again. “Tell me your story. I’ll try not to snore too
loudly.”

In a soft voice, Merlin told him the tale, not really caring if Arthur was listening or not. He’d
barely gotten to the part where he’d helped to steal the Triskellion from the vaults when he could
hear Arthur snoring into his pillow.

There was nothing attractive about it, the way that Arthur snored like a wild boar, with his mouth
hanging open and drooling a bit onto his pillow. But Merlin smiled stupidly at the sight, and
watched him a long time, before finally following Arthur into sleep.

When he saw the tower in his dreams this time, he was standing knee deep in the lake.

The water froze his skin, and the rocks of the lakebed dug into his feet. Arthur was at his side,
holding tight to his hand, fingers threaded through his own.
Light poured from the tower onto the lake surface, gold and blue both, rushing towards where they
stood.

Merlin tried to move, but his feet were joined to the earth, his breath to the air, his blood to the
water.

He couldn’t escape. But Arthur could. There was still time.

‘Run, Arthur!’ he said to him, and he tried to pull his hand from Arthur’s grip.

Arthur didn’t let go. He just smiled, a crown of magic upon his head, a cape made of light flowing
over his glittering chainmail and armor.

Merlin watched the wave of magic roar towards them, relentless, unstoppable. ‘Arthur, run!’

“Merlin!”

Merlin snapped awake and he surged upward, only to be shoved down against the mattress by
Arthur’s hand on his chest.

“Are you all right?” Merlin breathed up at him. “Was I using magic? Did I hurt you?”

“You were dreaming,” Arthur told him, his voice still rough with sleep. The night was still dark
beyond the windows, though the bedside candles still burned. “There was no magic. It was just a
nightmare.”

Merlin pressed his hands into his face, drawing in breath after breath, his body trembling upon the
mattress, images from his dream fresh in his mind.

The same dream, always the same dream, he’d never dreamed like this before, not like this, never
like this-

Merlin twisted away from Arthur, curling up on his side, legs pulled to his chest, forehead pressed
into his knees. “No, no, no,” he moaned, his voice shaking, because a name kept repeating in his
mind, a name of a person who had gone through something exactly like this before.

Morgana.

This is how she must have felt, Merlin realized frantically. This is what it must have been like for
her when she woke from vivid dreams that weren’t dreams at all, but premonitions of the future.

“No,” Merlin choked out, again thinking of Arthur, of the magic strangling him, of his own
helplessness to stop it. “It can’t be…”

He felt Arthur’s hand on his shoulder. “Merlin, breathe, come on-”

“I’m becoming like her,” Merlin choked out. “Like Morgana.“

A pause, worrying in its length. “That’s not true,” Arthur said, but his voice was not at all as firm
as it should be if he truly believed it to be so.

“Kill me,” Merlin told Arthur in a low and shaking voice. “Promise me, please, if I become like
her, you’ll kill me, to stop me, before I can hurt anyone, before I can hurt you, god, I can’t hurt
you, Arthur, please-“

Merlin’s breath huffed from him as Arthur pressed his bare chest against Merlin’s back and slid an
arm around his waist, his palm pressing hard over Merlin’s pounding heart.

“Listen to me,” came Arthur’s voice, low and intense and so close to his ear that Merlin could feel
his warm breath upon his skin. “Are you listening?”

Merlin felt Arthur shake him, a nearly violent motion that shook them both on the bed. He nodded,
swallowing hard, focusing on Arthur’s arm, tense and strong and anchoring him to the world.

“You will not become like her,” Arthur told him. “It will not happen. I will not let it.”

Merlin grabbed hold of Arthur’s forearm with both hands. You can’t stop it, he thought
desperately. And if it happens, I don’t want you to try. I can’t let you be hurt. Not again. Not
because of me.

“Swear to me,” Merlin said, his hands squeezing Arthur’s wrist. “That if I become like her. You’ll
take Excalibur. And you’ll put it through my heart-“

“Stop it-“

“You don’t understand,” Merlin said, his voice breaking, his chest heaving against the body
behind him. “I could rip the world apart. I’m too old. I’m too powerful. If I became like her, I
wouldn’t just destroy Camelot. I could destroy everything.” He bowed his head as best he could,
squeezing Arthur’s wrist while curled up like a child. “Please… you have to promise…”

He felt Arthur’s forehead land upon his shoulder. His exhalation of breath was loud in the silence
of the dark room.

“You are maddening,” Arthur said wearily.

“I am dangerous.”

“As am I, if you remember.”

“I do remember. That’s why it has to be you. Only you can do it.”

A shake of Arthur’s head, a small movement upon his shoulder. “Only you would beg for death in
the hopes of saving others from a threat that doesn’t even exist yet.”

“You say it like you haven’t done it before yourself,” Merlin said bitterly.

A huff against his shoulder.

And then, for a long time, silence. After a time, Merlin felt his breathing return to normal, and felt
his trembling cease. Arthur stayed where he was, chest pressed against Merlin’s back, palm
pressing over Merlin’s heart.

“All the people we’ve lost, Merlin,” Arthur said softly. “For you to ask this of me...”

“For your people.”

“For our people.”

“Yes. For our people. To keep them safe. You must promise me.”

Arthur lifted his head. “Even with all your power, Merlin, it is still not within your right to force
such oaths from your king. But I will grant you one thing,” Arthur added, when he saw Merlin
start to protest. “I will promise you that I will do whatever I must to protect the people of Albion,
and the greater world, no matter the cost.”

Merlin let out a breath, resigned. He knew that tone. There was no arguing with Arthur when he
used that tone. “Yes, sire.”

“All right,” Arthur said, with some of the calm from before, though there was still something there,
an echo of the fear. “Now tell me what you saw in this dream.”

Merlin rested his head against his pillow, still holding onto Arthur’s arm. “It’s always the same.
It’s magic. Coming from the tower. Coming after you. I tell you to run. But you don’t. Why do
you never run when I tell you?”

“The same reason you’ve never run when I’ve told you.”

“Because we’re both idiots?”

Arthur gave gentle huff of a laugh that Merlin could feel against his neck. “You know that’s not
why.”

Yes, he thought. He did know. And it’s exactly what had gotten Arthur killed at Camlaan. His
honor. His bravery. His heart. And his blind faith in those he trusted.

“Please run if I tell you to,” Merlin whispered.

“You know I can’t do that.”

Merlin made a broken noise, and pressed his face into the pillow.

“Fine. We’ll both run then,” Arthur said, his voice soft, and very close to his ear.

“All right, Fine.”

“Good.”

They laid there for a while in the dark of Arthur’s chambers, not speaking, not moving.

“You’re such a liar,” Merlin finally said. “You never run from anything.”

“I’ve run on occasion.”

“Not from anything important.”

“The same could be said of you.”

“Because we’re idiots.”

“Again, I don’t think you’re choosing the right word there.”

Merlin felt himself smiling despite everything. “Fine. We won’t run. We’ll fight.”

“Together,” Arthur told him.

“Together.”

Merlin closed his eyes, trying to memorize the moment. Arthur pressed against him, warm and
solid and alive, his arm still tight around him.
 He couldn’t remember ever feeling more at peace than he did right now. Even with the
nightmares. Even with the magic. Even with the imminent threat to Albion itself. He’d never felt
the way he did now. Lying here in Arthur’s arms.

I love him, Merlin thought, and he had to hold his breath to keep a swell of emotion in check,
because Arthur would be able to feel it if he let out the sob that was trapped in his chest.

“Feeling better?” Arthur asked, right at his ear, his breath moving the hairs at his neck.

If I say yes he’ll move away, Merlin thought wretchedly. If I say no to keep him here I’d just be
lying to him. Again. And I promised not to lie to him anymore.

Merlin swallowed hard, and tightened his grip on Arthur’s arm, trying to draw the strength to make
any kind of reply at all.

To his amazement, he felt Arthur’s chest slide against his back as Arthur lowered himself to the
mattress behind him.

“I’m sure you’ll feel better in the morning,” Arthur said against the back of his neck.

I’ve died, Merlin thought, as he felt Arthur leaning forward against him, warm and solid and alive
and holding him in his bed dear god he’s holding me in his bed and I’ve definitely died and this my
reward for fifteen hundred years of waiting.

Merlin closed his eyes, forcing himself to relax, because his thoughts were running in all
directions, and he wanted to savor this, truly savor it, these moments in Arthur’s arms in his bed in
his chambers.

“Good night,” Merlin said, “my lord.”

And he couldn’t help it. The title came out sounding to his ears exactly as it felt in his heart.

Good night, my lord.

Good night, my love.

“Go to sleep,” Arthur said. “We have a lot of training to do tomorrow. And you have a lot of
reading.”

If I don’t die from joy first, Merlin thought, and fought as long as he could to stay awake, so that
he could feel Arthur’s breathing as he slid into sleep, until at last Merlin followed him there.

Chapter End Notes

Author's Note:

This is an excellent time to pause in reading the story, if you've been binge reading and
need some sleep.

(but before you drift off to happy Merthur dreams, if you’re enjoying the read, it
would be really great if you could hit the little kudos button)
;)
 lost and found
Chapter Notes

Author's note: Just want to remind everyone about this story's rating for this chapter.

It was hot in the stables. Arthur could feel the links of his chainmail sticking to his chest. Nothing
lay between his flushed skin and the warm metal.

Merlin hadn’t dressed him properly. He needed to yell at him about that.

Arthur rounded a corner and saw Percival leaning against a stable wall. His thick arms were
crossed over his chainmail. He was smiling into the horse stall. Arthur stepped closer to discover
why.

“Oh hello Arthur,” said Gwaine, from where he lay naked on the straw, moving over a man
reclining beneath him.

“Where’s Merlin?” Arthur asked.

“Merlin is a bit busy right now,” Gwaine said, with a wink and a grin.

Beneath Gwaine, Merlin turned his head on the straw and smiled up at Arthur, dark hair mussed
and blue eyes half lidded.

Arthur strode forward, pulled Gwaine up, and shoved him at Percival.

“Easy, Arthur,” Gwaine said, wearing full armor now, looking astonished at his behavior.

Arthur bent down and pulled Merlin to his feet, brushing straw from the clothes he now wore. But
they were the wrong clothes. Tight and dark and in the modern style. “Your hair,” Arthur said.
“What did I tell you about your hair.”

Arthur slid his fingers around to the back of Merlin’s neck, up into his thick hair. Instead of setting
it to rights, he grabbed a handful of it, and pulled Merlin’s head back, exposing a long stretch of
pale neck.

Arthur wanted to smell him there. So he did.

He smelled of vanilla, and sweat, and spice, and of Arthur’s bed. Just as he should.

“Why are you here?” Arthur asked.

“I got lost,” Merlin said.

Arthur pulled a row of metal links from his chainmail. He bared an arm, pressed it against
Merlin’s arm, then wrapped the chain around them both, binding them together. “Now you won’t.”

Merlin looked delighted. “That’s a wonderful idea.”

Arthur pulled Merlin against him, no clothes between their bodies now, no armor, just skin to skin,
the metal chain tight around their joined arms.

“Now they’ll see,” Arthur said. “Now they’ll know. That you’re mine.”

“I’ve always been yours,” Merlin said. “Didn’t you know?”

Arthur crushed his mouth to Merlin’s, to soft lips that yielded as he pressed his advantage and took
what was his.

“Could be better,” came another voice.

Arthur looked over.

Heath and Danyl stood arm in arm where Percival and Gwaine had been.

“Bit of a brute,” Danyl said.

“Doesn’t know any better, does he,” Heath said.

“He can learn. Can’t he, Merlin.”

Arthur discovered a shield in his hand. He raised it between the two young men and where he and
Merlin embraced.

Merlin gazed at him in perfect adoration. “I know how,” he said.

“Show me,” Arthur told him.

Merlin nodded, obedient for once, and leaned forward, his head tilting, so he could slide his full,
wet lips against Arthur’s. Arthur gathered Merlin into his arms, holding him close, as Merlin fitted
himself against Arthur’s body as if he belonged there.

Arthur slid his hands over hot bare skin as Merlin kissed him like a lover, passionately and deeply,
his tongue lapping into his mouth. Arthur felt Merlin’s long fingers trailing over his skin, leaving
sparks in their wake, as they moved their bodies together, slick with sweat, hard and unyielding.
Pleasure swelled in him as they ground together, until Merlin slid a hand between his legs, palm
moving over him in a steady rhythmic pace that had sharp spikes of pleasure surging up and up and
up-

“Merlin,” Arthur moaned.

And startled himself awake.

Arthur huffed into a face full of pillow, stilling his body in alarm, realizing that he’d been grinding
his erection into the mattress.

It was dawn, and the windows were open, the room hot, the birds singing outside. Next to him on
the bed, Merlin stirred, obviously waking up.

Arthur squeezed his eyes closed and forced himself to keep still, because gods, he was so bloody
close, just two thrusts against the mattress would do it, he knew it would, and it would be amazing,
but Merlin was right there-

And good lord, Arthur thought, Merlin had been in his dream. He’d been the one who Arthur had
been ravishing- and oh god that was wrong in so many ways- but he could still remember how his
mouth had felt so wet and his skin so hot and his neck so smooth and- what the hell was he
thinking-?

“Whassit?” Merlin muttered, his voice low and husky, as it had been in his dream, when he’d said
‘I know how’.

Arthur shoved his forehead into his pillow, a shudder moving through him.

Merlin rolled onto his back, turning his head on the pillow, half asleep and licking his lips – which
really were ridiculously full, Arthur realized, and some lust crazed part of his brain actually
wondered if they would feel just as good as they had in his dream if he kissed him right now-

“Whu?” Merlin asked, blinking sleepily at him.

Arthur tried desperately not to stare at Merlin’s mouth, which meant of course that he stared
Merlin’s mouth, which was shining with moisture, lips parted, and oh god he had to stop thinking
like this why was he thinking like this-

“Breakfast!” Arthur choked out.

Merlin gave him a look of irritation and incredulity. Then he rolled away. “It’s just dawn. Go
back to sleep.”

Arthur accidentally moved his hips against the mattress, and the resulting shock of pleasure made
his entire body spasm. So close so close so close- “Now, Merlin!”

“Too early,” Merlin whined, and burrowed back under the blankets.

Arthur twisted in bed, swearing at the friction, and planted both feet on Merlin’s backside, then
shoved him out of the bed.

Merlin went tumbling to the floor, yelping in surprise. When he got to his knees by the bedside, he
was a spectacular sight. His face was red and his eyes were wide and his hair was sticking up at all
angles, more wild now than ever it had been.

“Arthur! What the hell!” Merlin yelled.

Arthur pulled the blankets over his head and rolled away, cringing because his body utterly refused
to calm down. “Go get breakfast!”

“What is the matter with you this morning!” came Merlin’s voice, combined with the sound of his
bare feet padding across the stone floor. “Did you take arrogant royal prat tonic last night?”

“Go!” Arthur yelled from beneath the covers.

“I’m going, you arse! Oh my god what a giant spoiled brat of a child you are!”

And the sound of the door slamming shut.

Arthur shoved down the covers and looked around the bed, searching for a discarded tunic, or
sock, or rag. He spotted a hint of color on the floor, scooped it up swiftly, then fell back on the
bed, groaning.

It was Merlin’s red neckerchief.

No, he thought at it, as he pressed it into his face. No, no no…

But the smell of it - vanilla and sweat and spice and Merlin - brought back all the sensations from
the dream. Of a firm body, and a warm mouth, and wet lips, and slick tongue, and hands all over
him, and what was he doing, thinking about Merlin like this, but it was too late to stop, because
Arthur was already rolling onto his stomach, his breeches shoved down, to wrap his hand and the
cloth around his erection.

Damn Gwaine and damn Percival for not locking the stable door that night, and damn Merlin’s
friends for making him remember it after all this time, and damn him for mixing Merlin up in those
memories.

Merlin, who was apparently open minded.

A dozen images of all the things that could possibly mean filled Arthur’s mind, each one filthier
than the last, and Arthur pressed his face into his pillow, mouth open and breaths heaving, his toes
digging into the bed, as he moved his hand on himself, faster and faster, until his body went rigid,
shuddering helplessly as his release surged through him, and he spent into the cloth, a moan
bursting from deep in his throat.

For several glorious moments he felt as if he were floating, his body still twitching in pleasure, his
muscles tensing and relaxing with each fading wave of release.

When at last he collapsed to the mattress, he felt dizzy and lightheaded and the room was spinning
a bit. Something that hadn’t happened since he was a teenager.

First time doing that in fifteen hundred years, Arthur thought. That’s why it had been so intense. It
had nothing to do with what he’d been thinking about. Or who he’d been thinking about.

Because really. Merlin. Of all people. That was just… It was…

Arthur rolled onto his back and readjusted his clothes, frowning at himself. When he went to tie
his breeches, he realized he still held the red cloth tightly in his hand.

Merlin is never getting this neckerchief back, Arthur thought. Never, ever, ever. In fact, it would
probably be for the best if he shredded it. And then burned it. And then buried it deep in the
ground.

Arthur dragged the blankets over himself, exhausted from his exertions. A bit more rest, he
thought. That’s what I need. I’m sure things will make more sense after that.

After burrowing into his pillows, Arthur let himself drift back to sleep.

A loud clatter of dishes and glasses and metal woke him with a start. He sat straight up in bed,
flailing a bit, blinking dazedly into the room, his heart pounding.

“I’m so sorry,” Merlin yelled, his voice loud enough to be heard in every corner of the five
kingdoms. “Did I wake you?”

There came a crack of a plate being slammed to the wooden tabletop. And then another. And then
another. Followed by several more. And then a loud, metallic cacophony, as quite a lot of
silverware fell from what had to be a great height onto the table.

“For the love of god, Merlin,” Arthur groaned, and flopped back onto the bed.

“Come on, Arthur, no sleeping in today, let’s rise and shine, up out of bed sleepyhead, let’s get up
and at’em, let’s have you lazy daisy-”
“Shut up.” Arthur dragged a pillow over his head and rolled onto his stomach. He was being
punished, he thought. For doing what he’d done this morning to Merlin’s neckerchief. Merlin was
going to torture him with every single horrible morning ritual he’d ever performed while yelling
every single brainless proverb he’d ever learned.

“Early bird catches the worm!” Merlin called out, proving Arthur’s theory. He yanked the pillow
off of Arthur’s head and threw it across the room, before pushing open the curtains even farther, so
the sun shone right in Arthur’s eyes. “Don’t put off tomorrow what you can- Is that my
neckerchief?”

Arthur sat up and shoved the cloth behind his back. He scowled up at Merlin, who stood by the
bedside, wearing his old clothes from Camelot, even a faded blue neckerchief around his neck.
“What?” Arthur asked.

“My neckerchief.”

“No. What?” Arthur shoved it into his breeches pocket. “No. Of course not.”

Merlin thrust out a hand with an impatient huff. “Give it here.”

“I need it to blow my nose.”

“Ugh, that is disgusting. Now come on. I’m doing the washing today. Give it.”

Arthur ignored him, sliding to the other edge of the bed, subtly yanking the string of his breeches
tighter, before walking to the breakfast table.

Upon the long table were seven scattered plates, a pile of silverware that had mostly fallen onto the
floor, a hard boiled egg in a cup of weak tea, some soggy potato bits floating in a bowl of orange
liquid, and a burned crust of bread covered in globs of dust, as if it had been dragged repeatedly
along the floor.

Merlin stepped to Arthur’s side, hands clasped behind his back, humming to himself, rocking
forward on the balls of his feet, then back onto his heels.

Arthur crossed his arms over his bare chest. “Truly impressive,” he said. Because this, right here,
was truly an act of petulance of the absolute highest order.

“Quite the spread, isn’t it,” Merlin said proudly.

“No.”

Merlin pressed a hand to his chest, affecting astonishment. “No?”

“No.”

“I can’t imagine what could be wrong with it. My lord.”

Arthur tamped down an urge to cuff Merlin on the head. Because he was not going to touch
Merlin’s hair. Not ever, ever again.

Although he didn’t need to, did he. Because Merlin had styled it just as he should.

Which was absolutely none of his business, Arthur thought quickly. Because it was Merlin’s hair.

Arthur returned his attention to what could only laughably be called breakfast.
“I suppose the entire café was out of scones and sweet breads,” Arthur said.

“Hard to believe, isn’t it.”

“And no sausages or proper eggs?”

“Quite sad.”

“And no tea or juice or coffee?”

“What a strange Thursday.”

Arthur turned to him, eyes narrowing. “I think, Merlin, that if I go look for myself downstairs, I
just might find all of those things.”

Merlin turned to meet his gaze, narrowing his eyes as well. “That would require you actually
getting your own breakfast.”

“Something any idiot can easily do.”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you.”

Arthur glared at him.

Merlin glared back.

“All right then,” Arthur said, and he strode from the room, closing the door behind him.

“Oi!” Merlin called from his chambers. “You can’t go to the café dressed like that!”

Arthur took off down the corridor, barefoot and bare chested and slipping on the stones as he took
the turn by the stairwell. Merlin charged after him as he dashed through the downstairs bedroom,
out into the residence, and over to the café door.

Arthur had only just managed to yank it open when Merlin fell upon his back, grabbing him around
the waist from behind.

“You can’t go out there!” Merlin yelled, which of course attracted the attention of everyone within
earshot in the cafe.

Arthur planted a bare foot on the doorframe and pushed back, sending them both to the floor.
Arthur scrambled to his feet first, making a run for the doorway, his speed hindered by the laughter
rising in his chest.

Merlin jumped on his back again, arms wrapping around Arthur’s neck, his body a heavy weight
upon him. “You can’t go out there!”

“And why not?” Arthur demanded.

“You’ll frighten the customers!” Merlin said, but he was laughing now as well.

Arthur turned and slammed Merlin against the wall just hard enough for him to give a surprised
grunt. “Are you insulting my looks?”

“Yes! You’re horrifying!” Merlin laughed, which was reason enough for Arthur to flip him to the
floor.
When Merlin got to his hands and knees, Arthur dropped himself onto his back, flattening him to
the floor. “You’re the one who’s horrifying!”

“I am not! It’s you! I can’t even bear to look at you!” Merlin flailed an arm backwards and cracked
Arthur in the cheek with an elbow.

Arthur got an arm around Merlin’s neck and shoved forward until Merlin’s face was pressed into
the floor. “Take that back!” Arthur laughed in his ear.

“No!” Merlin pulled at Arthur’s arm, his legs scrambling all over the floor to try and push himself
up. “Royal pain in my arse!”

“Shoddy excuse for a manservant!”

“Get off!”

“Take it back first!”

“A-hem!” came a voice nearby.

Arthur’s gaze snapped up, and then Merlin’s too, so swiftly that the top of Merlin’s head knocked
painfully into Arthur’s jaw.

Eleanor stood in the doorway to the café, arms crossed over a violent pink dress with a dizzying
array of polka dots. Her thin face was set into a disapproving scowl, her eyebrow arched so high
that Arthur flashed back to being a child in the presence of a younger and scarier Gaius.

Behind her, he saw several of the café employees staring through the doorway at where they both
lay on the floor in a tangle, breathless and red in the face.

Arthur held onto his breeches and climbed to his feet by virtue of planting a hand on Merlin’s back
and pushing him back down to the ground.

Merlin swore at him and climbed to his feet as well, breathless and red faced, yanking at his tunic
and belt and neckerchief to straighten them.

As Arthur was tightening the string of his breeches, his elbow knocked into Merlin’s arm. Merlin
knocked his elbow back in response. So Arthur shoved at him with his shoulder. Merlin shoved
back harder.

“Honestly,” Eleanor said, her voice ending the horseplay. “How old are the pair of you?”

Next to Arthur, Merlin lifted an eyebrow, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

Arthur choked back a laugh, then forced his face into lines of severity, pushing his shoulders back
and his chin forward, as if he wasn’t half naked in front of a good number of people and hadn’t just
been caught wrestling on the floor.

“How old are we again?” Arthur asked Merlin curiously. “I’m afraid I’ve lost count.”

“Oh, we’re quite old,” Merlin told him.

“And look at you both,” Eleanor said. “Wrestling on the floor like small boys. And what was all
that on the lawn yesterday? Scared the life out of me! All that nonsense with the swords. Are you
all right?” she asked Merlin, with a sharp glance at Arthur.
“I’m fine, really. It looks worse than it is. And I’m afraid you’ll have to get used to it. We’ll be
doing that again occasionally.”

“Daily,” Arthur amended.

Merlin sighed, loudly.

Arthur gave him a look.

“Daily,” Merlin said, in a very put-upon voice.

Eleanor made a tsking noise. “Worse than my boys, the both of you. And you,” she said to
Merlin, “left Arthur’s breakfast dishes in the café. I brought them in and put them in your kitchen.”

“How about that,” he said sweetly to Merlin. “They did have sweet breads after all. Wasn’t that
nice of Eleanor to get them? Thank you, Eleanor. Merlin honestly would be lost without you.”

“Not more than you’d be lost without Merlin, Arthur Pendragon,” Eleanor stepped into the
doorway, shooing away the other café employees. “Now keep it down in here,” she told them
both, and closed the door smartly, leaving them staring after her in her wake.

Merlin looked at Arthur. “She called you by name.”

Arthur nodded. “We had a chat yesterday.”

“Oh.”

“Yes.”

Arthur and Merlin stared at the door a moment longer.

“Terrifying woman,” Arthur said finally.

“She really, really can be.”

“Does she ever remind you-?“

“-of Gaius?” Merlin finished. “All the time.”

“It’s the eyebrow.”

“And looking at you like she knows all the mischief you’ve got up to.”

“A shame they never met. They’d have liked each other.”

Merlin snorted. “Or killed each other.”

“Or fallen madly in love.”

“You,” Merlin said, “are far too fascinated by Gaius’ love life. Which, by the way, ugh.”

Arthur shoved at him with his shoulder. “Come on. Breakfast first, then you have some reading to
do.”

“Reading to you to do, you mean. Because you’re a giant child.”

“I believe Eleanor established that we’re both giant children.”

Merlin gave him a smug smile. “And that you’d be lost without me.”

Arthur made a derisive noise as he headed into the kitchen. “You’re the one who’d be lost without
me,” he said.

And then he remembered the dream. Of Merlin, staring at him in adoration. Of the chain binding
them together. ‘I got lost’, he’d said.

“What is it?” Merlin asked.

Arthur cleared his throat and picked up the plate full of scones. “Books,” he said, his voice a bit
rough. “After I eat and wash and dress. Then afterward, lunch, and training, and dinner, and more
books.”

“Yes, my lord,” Merlin said behind him, and followed him with the rest of the breakfast foods up
the stairs.
 do not let them forget

Hours later, Arthur found himself staring at Merlin again.

They’d moved the history lessons to Merlin’s vast library room, beyond his bed chambers. It was
cooler here, without the heat that had poured through his own chamber windows. But even within
these round stone walls, he’d had to shed his jacket and push up his sleeves to stay comfortable.

Dust and the smell of old parchment filled the air as Arthur sat with Merlin at a long wooden table
in the middle of the room. Books were simply everywhere; in stacks upon the floor, on wooden
shelves, and on stone outcroppings set into exterior walls.

Arthur watched Merlin lean forward, elbows upon the table, head bent over the open book before
him, reading aloud from what he insisted was text of great importance.

Arthur had stopped listening some time ago. He’d been too distracted by Merlin’s sharp profile,
and the line of his neck, and the movements of his lips.

He looks the same, Arthur thought. His hair is a bit longer. And sometimes when he looks at me
there’s that hint of great age. But everything else is the same. Right down to his clothes. There’s
absolutely nothing different. Not at all.

And yet, Arthur couldn’t stop staring.

It was the damn dream’s fault, he decided. Although yes, he was also willing to admit that Merlin’s
admission about being open minded had piqued his curiosity.

As had Merlin’s friends, Danyl and Heath. Who were apparently in a romantic relationship
together.

He’d known, back in Camelot, that his men sometimes found comfort together in darkened stables
and battle encampments. But he’d never imagined it could be more than that. He’d certainly
never thought such things could reflect a lifelong commitment like a man and wife.

Not that such things would have been permitted him, he thought, either as Crown Prince or as
King. He had to pass on the royal bloodline. Not that he’d managed to do that himself, he thought
grimly.

“Arthur?” Merlin said into his thoughts.

Arthur sat up a bit straighter in his chair. “What?”

“I said, isn’t that horrifying?”

“Yes. Absolutely. It is.”

Merlin half turned to him, an eyebrow raised. “Oh? And what was I talking about?”

Arthur scratched his head to hide a glance at Merlin’s book. “The French Revolution.”

“Right,” he said slowly, in both surprise and suspicion. “So. Where was I…” He tapped his long
fingers on the page. “Oh yes. The Enlightenment.”

Several minutes into whatever Merlin was talking about, Arthur realized he was staring at Merlin’s
fingers as they slid down the sentences on the page.

For god’s sakes, Arthur thought at himself, and he grabbed at an open book he’d been browsing
through, to give his eyes something else to do.

Within his book he saw a sketch of a telescope. Next to it, Merlin had sketched the moon. Arthur
pulled the book closer, studying the intricate drawing.

As a child, he’d been fascinated by the moon. Even as an adult, when the moon only held value as
a help or hindrance in a march to battle, Arthur had loved the sight of it. He would have very much
enjoyed a telescope such as this, if only to find out for himself if there really was a man in the
moon.

“Strange that they call them seas,” Arthur said, half to himself.

“What?”

“These regions of the moon. If there’s no water on them, then why call them seas?”

Next to him he heard an extremely loud, extremely exaggerated, sigh.

“Yes, Merlin, I’m listening to you,” Arthur said, as he studied the illustration.

“This is actually a very important thing for you to know.”

The low voice, and the serious tone, had Arthur closing his book and turning in his seat to fully
face where Merlin sat, frowning at him with disapproval.

“All right. I’m listening. What’s your very important thing for me to know?”

“This point in history,” Merlin poked at his book, ”is when people realized they could govern
themselves. The ideas of Rationalism and the Enlightenment had spread everywhere, and
education was available to a new class of merchants and tradesmen. It had been a long time
coming. But the seventeen hundreds is when it really happened. When many countries abandoned
the old monarchies, and moved to governance by the people.”

“Was Albion one of them?” Arthur asked.

“Eventually. Yes. I mean, there is still a royal family. But they don’t do any actual… ruling,”
Merlin finished, looking apologetic.

Arthur leaned back in his chair. “If Albion has no kings, then what purpose could I serve here?”

“You’re here to save Albion at the time of her greatest need,” Merlin said.

“Whatever that is.”

“Yes.”

“Your confidence would be more reassuring, Merlin, if you had even the slightest idea of what lies
ahead. Is there truly no way you can find out?”

“No,” Merlin said, but his brows pulled together, the slightest bit.

Lying, Arthur thought. Or concealing something, at the very least. “What about those crystals you
told me about?” Arthur pressed. “They show visions of the future, don’t they? Couldn’t you use
them?”

“The crystals are…” Merlin pressed his palms to his legs, eyes lowering. “Deceptive.”

“How?”

Merlin didn’t respond. He just stared at his fingers pressing into his legs, his fingertips turning
white from the pressure.

Falling into memory again, Arthur thought, when Merlin sat still for so long that he finally had to
put a hand on Merlin’s shoulder and speak his name to rouse him.

Merlin blinked at him. “What?”

“You were saying the crystals are deceptive.”

“Yes.”

“And so we can’t use them?”

“No.”

Right then, Arthur thought. Moving on. “What about the other beings of magic? Can’t you ask
them for advice?” Arthur pressed.

“Most beings of magic left Albion long ago.”

“Left? Left to go where?”

“Some died out, like the dragons. Others stopped being born, like sorcerers. And still others
rejoined the ancient magics of the world of their own choice. I helped quite a few to do it. The
vilia were very nice about asking for my help, even though I’d owed them a favor for helping me
long ago.”

Arthur nearly let himself get distracted with the questions that every single one of those statements
had brought to mind. “But there must be some still here,” he persisted. “Someone brought me
back, after all.”

“Yes.”

“The Sidhe, you said.”

“Yes.”

“And you can’t ask them?”

Merlin turned back to the table and closed his book. “They don’t talk to me.”

Arthur could see pain pinching Merlin’s features. His shoulders had fallen into a slouch, his head
bowed, his back rounded.

Old, Arthur thought. He looks so very old right now. It was easy to imagine the white hair, the
long beard, the robes hanging upon a frail body.

“Wasn’t right,” Merlin was saying, his voice so soft that Arthur wondered if he knew he was
speaking aloud. “Shouldn’t have done it.”
Arthur placed his hand on Merlin’s shoulder again. “Merlin.”

“I was so sure,” Merlin said, frowning down at the book.

“Merlin.”

Merlin’s head snapped up and he stared at Arthur, disoriented. “What?”

“I said-” Arthur paused, changed his mind. “That we should have lunch.”

“Lunch?”

“Yes. Food, Merlin. You’ve heard of it?”

“Yes, I…” He frowned at Arthur. Gaze lowering. Memories clearly still pulling at him.

“That’s very good that you’ve heard of food,” Arthur said, pitching his tones into the royal
condescension that he knew drove Merlin insane. “Because I’ll be practicing my skills with the
mace again later. Which means you’ll have the honor of holding the target once again.”

“I still have bruises from yesterday!” Merlin protested.

“Then you’ll definitely be needing a good meal to keep up your strength. Come on. Have at it.”
Arthur opened a random book and began examining its pages, definitively ending the discussion.

Merlin got up from the table muttering to himself that no one used the bloody mace anyway. As he
strode from the library, he added several insolent statements that would have easily gotten him
thrown in the stocks.

“I really need to make him build some stocks,” Arthur said to himself.

“I heard that!” Merlin called from the next room.

Arthur’s laughter echoed from the stone walls.

By the time they’d eaten and Merlin had got Arthur into his armor, the heat of the afternoon was
nearly unbearable.

Outside on the grasses by the lakeside, the sun beat down upon Arthur’s armor, drenching him in
sweat. After only a half hour demonstrating rudimentary skills to Heath and Danyl, perspiration
was running in streams down his neck.

By then, Danyl and Heath both looked about to collapse, swaying slightly as they stood in their
chainmail. When Arthur called a break, they both went and collapsed onto a blanket where they’d
spread out some food and drink.

Arthur sat down with Merlin beneath a nearby tree. He was a familiar sight in this unfamiliar
world, clothed as if he’d stepped out of Camelot, a polishing kit in his lap, a pile of training swords
on the grass beside him.

“I don’t remember it ever being this hot. Not even in the Perilous Lands.” Arthur took a long
drink and turned his back to Merlin. “Take off my armor and chainmail. I’ll work basic skills with
them instead.”

Merlin yanked at the buckles at his shoulder. “Ugh, I forgot about this smell. Sweat and hot
metal and soaked cloth all at once. You stink like a pig in a bog.”
“I’m sorry, Merlin,” Arthur said haughtily. “Is the smell of actual physical activity bothering you?
“

“I’m just saying that a shower will do you a world of good,” Merlin said, and pulled off the armor
from his body, before throwing it on the ground.

“How curious, because I was just thinking the same about you. Here. Why don’t I help you with
that.” Arthur turned around, smirking tightly, and dumped his water bottle over Merlin’s head.

Merlin squeezed his eyes closed as the water ran down over his hair and face and clothes. When
Arthur had shaken out the last drop, Merlin wiped his face, and gave Arthur a wide earnest smile.
“Very refreshing. Thanks. That’s much cooler now.”

“You’re welcome,” Arthur grumbled, because Merlin actually did look like he felt better. “Now get
this off.”

Merlin had just freed him of his chainmail when Heath and Danyl approached. “You know there’s
a lake right there,” Heath pointed out. “You don’t have to waste your bottled water to get wet.”

“The lake is too cold for swimming, though,” Danyl added.

“That’s right,” Heath said, frowning curiously. “It is too cold for swimming.”

Arthur glanced out over the sparkling water. “I’ve never actually seen anyone swimming in the
lake. Nor any boats.”

“Water’s too cold,” Heath said.

“For boats?” Arthur asked.

“Too cold on the water,” Heath said, in a distant tone of voice.

Arthur glanced at Merlin, who was doing a very good job of looking like he wasn’t paying
attention while he was actually paying attention. “Have either of you ever been to the island?”
Arthur asked Danyl, chasing a suspicion.

“Too cold on the island,” Danyl told him, in that strange tone of voice again.

“Really.” Arthur turned to Merlin. “What have you to say about that?”

“Seems to be the general consensus around here,” Merlin said, the perfect picture of innocence. To
anyone who wasn’t Arthur, in any case.

“I wonder why that is,” Arthur said.

“It’s a mystery,” Merlin told him.

They returned to training without the trappings of armor and metal, but even with the lighter
clothing, Arthur didn’t keep them at it much longer. Both Heath and Danyl looked ready to
collapse by the time he sent them back to work at the Apothecary. And even Merlin was soaked
with sweat as he gathered the equipment, though he urged Arthur to use the washroom first to clean
up.

“I need to work in the Apothecary later today anyway,” Merlin told him. “I’ll see you for dinner.”

Hiding something, Arthur thought, though he wasn’t sure why. But Merlin had smiled brightly at
him, and Arthur had let it drop.

So he took full advantage of the shower, standing under the cool water to recover from the heat.
But by the time he’d finished dressing, he was covered in sweat once again, from the heat that
poured in his chamber windows.

There had to be somewhere cooler, he thought, and he wandered downstairs into Merlin’s
residence, and then outside, to the lake, hoping for a breeze.

After a glance back at the manor, Arthur sat down at the edge of the lake, pulled off his boots and
socks, pushed up his pant legs, and sank his feet and calves into the wonderfully cool water.

“Oh that is much better,” he said, as he lay back on the grass, an arm across his eyes.

The secret to enjoying the lake, Arthur told himself, was to not think about what lake it was. It
was just a lake, like any other, made of cool water, with gentle waves moving around his calves.

It didn’t have anything to do with magic, or with fifteen hundred years of death, or with the loss of
everything he knew.

Arthur pressed his palms into his eyes. No, he thought. Stop. Try again.

It was just a lake, he told himself. Just a lake like any other…

This time he kept control of his thoughts, and he relaxed, lulled by the heat. He was still tired from
the unrest last night. He hadn’t been sleeping well at all. But then, neither had Merlin.

Merlin, who was dreaming, every night.

What can I do? he wondered. What can I do about his dreams…?

‘You are a king, Arthur Pendragon.’

Arthur pushed himself to his elbows, startled by the voice.

The water moved around his ankles, like fingers brushing against skin. Arthur sat forward, stared
down into the water, and saw a woman’s face dancing in the ripples.

Arthur turned and looked behind him. But no one was there.

‘Do not let them forget,” came her soft words, like water whispering to shore.

Arthur twisted around, peering back into the water. But the ghostly image was gone.

“Who are you?” he said to the water.

But there was no response.

Merlin, he thought. Merlin would know.

He pulled on his stockings and boots, shoved down his pantlegs, and strode to the Manor, moving
through the café, straight to the Apothecary.

When he pushed through the Apothecary door, he found himself in a large room filled with
freestanding shelves packed with bottles and boxes. Heath sat behind the counter, looking startled
at his approach.
“Where’s Merlin?” Arthur asked him.

“In the greenhouse on the roof with Danyl. Up that staircase, last door towards the top. Oh, and
before you go, can I invite a few of my mates to sword training?”

“Yes, fine,” Arthur said, moving to the stairwell.

“Tomorrow at one? Just like today?”

“Yes, fine.”

“Thank you, sire,” Heath said, and though Arthur knew the young man had no idea that the title
was deserved, he still found it quite reassuring to hear it.

The stone stairwell had small glowing orbs set into the wall every few paces. Every floor had a
small landing with a door that probably lead into the South Tower.

When Arthur reached the end of the stairs, he pushed open the door, and stepped out onto the stone
roof of the Manor house.

The entire rooftop was covered by a glass peaked ceiling made of many small windows, almost all
of them open. It was high enough above his head that he couldn’t hope to touch it, but low enough
that it wasn’t visible from the ground. Even lowest points of the stone embrasures along the edge
of the manor roof rose above its top, blocking it from view from the ground below.

Long tables stretched the entire length of the roof. Potted plants covered them, lush and full and
alive. More plants hung from the ceiling, others standing in pots on the floor, some bearing fruits.
On the ground, long tubes leaked water in places onto the stones. Above, spinning metal circles
moved air around, keeping the enclosed space tolerable in the heat of the summer.

“Oh, hello Arthur!” came a bright voice.

Danyl stood between two of the rows of tables, at a section empty of plants. In front of him were
the familiar tools of mortal and pestle, glass bottles and sachels.

Arthur walked down the rows of plants, fingers brushing over soft leaves. Flowers of all colors
were set amongst the vegetables and growing things, some with visiting bees and butterflies. Even
a few birds had made their way indoors.

“First time up here, then?” Danyl asked.

“It’s beautiful.”

“I love it up here. So peaceful. And the smell is so sweet. You can pick one of those if you like,”
he added, noticing that Arthur was staring at a miniature peach tree.

“Perhaps later,” Arthur told him. “First I need to find Merlin.”

“He’s up in his greenhouse,” Danyl said, gesturing to the other end of the room. “Somewhere on
the North Tower roof.”

“Somewhere?”

“No one else is allowed up there. Emrys was the same way. Not sure what either of them have
growing up there,” Danyl said, with a clearly curious eyebrow, as if he was imparting a secret that
perhaps he shouldn’t. “I can’t imagine that it’s anything illegal. But…” He shrugged.
Arthur looked up at the metal ladder built into the tower’s outer wall, then started across the
rooftop towards it.

“I don’t think people are supposed to go up there,” Danyl called after him.

Arthur gave him a look over his shoulder.

“But I’m sure it’s okay for you,” Danyl added.

Arthur had nearly climbed the ladder to the top when a powerful wave of dizziness hit him. He
felt his fingers tighten of their own accord on the metal rails, a strong compulsion to climb back
down sweeping over him.

Arthur squeezed his eyes closed. “Merlin!” he yelled.

After a few heartbeats, the dizziness vanished, his fingers released, and Arthur could finish his
climb to the top. He hauled himself up onto the exterior wall, then swung his legs over and
dropped down onto the tower roof.

A freestanding glass structure stood in the middle of the circular rooftop, its walls steamed up from
the heat and the sun. It wasn’t even as large as Arthur’s chambers, and only took up a small
percentage of the open space.

Arthur passed through its door, and had to immediately duck under thick vines. The space here
was even more cluttered than the rooftop below. Strong smelling plants lined the walls and sat
upon wooden shelves, a threatening mass of greenery.

In the center of the room was a large worktable, behind which Merlin stood, his sleeves rolled up,
his tunic wet with sweat, his hair plastered to his face.

He held a thick mortar in one hand, a stone bowl in the other. “Sorry about the dizziness,” Merlin
said, as he ground at the substance in the bowl. “It’s best to keep some extra magical protections
on access to all this.”

Arthur wandered towards a group of colorful plants, reaching out to touch one of the flowers.

“Don’t!“

Arthur jerked his hand away, turning to Merlin.

Merlin gave him an apologetic smile, lifting his kerchief to mop at his neck. “Sorry. But I keep
these plants separate for a reason. Some of them are a bit…”

“Hazardous?”

“Fatal.”

Arthur joined Merlin at his table, very careful not to touch anything. Merlin stretched out his back
at his side, tipping his head backward in a way that drew Arthur’s eyes to his long stretch of neck.
“And you keep them why, exactly?”

“Many of these plants are extinct everywhere else. You can’t make an antidote to a poison some
idiot left lying around in a vial, if the plant used to make it is gone.” Merlin pointed to a plant
behind Arthur. “Do you remember that plant, incidentally?”

Arthur walked to the group of plants Merlin had indicated. “The Mortaeus flower,” he said,
touching the small blossom, because he knew from experience this one was safe.

“Thanks again for that,” Merlin told him.

Arthur turned to find a fond smile on Merlin’s face. “Just returning the favor. You saved my life
first, after all.”

Merlin just shrugged, and went back to grinding whatever he had in his stone bowl.

Arthur thought back to the perilous climb he’d made to retrieve the flower. “That was you, then.
The glowing light in the cave. Guiding me to safety.”

A wry smile this time, one eyebrow arched high. “Can’t really take the credit for that one. I was
unconscious when I did it. Can’t even remember what I did.”

Astonishing, Arthur thought. He was simply astonishing. “A little help with the giant spiders
would have been nice.”

“You heard the part where I said I was unconscious, right?”

Arthur laughed softly, stepping to Merlin’s side. Upon the table he saw a diverse collection of
leaves and flowers and seeds, all spread out in careful groups. “So what is all this then? Don’t tell
me someone’s been poisoned by all of these different plants.”

Merlin went still next to him, tapping his fingers on the mortar he held in his hand. “No,” he said
slowly.

Arthur knew that tone of voice. “Merlin, what, exactly, are you doing?”

“I’m just… making something to help me sleep. That’s all.”

Arthur stared into the very full bowl of crushed greenery Merlin held. “You said these plants were
fatal-“

“In certain doses-”

“-and you’re making something to help you sleep using them?”

“In small quantities it should be perfectly safe.”

“And do what to you exactly?”

A small pause, and a guilty glance over at him. Then a rush of words. “It will induce a light coma
state which will slow my heart rate and my breathing and will keep me sedated enough so that I
won’t be able to dream and I won’t be able to use my magic.”

And then Merlin went back to grinding the plants in the bowl, as if he hadn’t said a word of the
insanity he just had.

Arthur wanted to throttle him. “Are you completely out of your mind?”

“It’s not like it could actually kill me, even if I made a mistake.”

“No, it could only make you wish you were dead!”

“I’ve been nearly poisoned to death before,” Merlin said, as he ground at the plants with somewhat
frantic motions. “A few times. It’s not pleasant. But it’s better than the alternative.”

Arthur grabbed Merlin’s wrists, stilling his hands. “No.”

“I have to-”

“And what happens if there’s a crisis in the middle of the night, and I can’t wake you?” Arthur
asked.

Something Merlin hadn’t considered, judging by the look on his face. “I could make up an antidote
you could give me.”

“You are not doing this,” Arthur said, and he took the bowl from Merlin, and dumped its contents
onto the floor.

Merlin stared with a pained expression at the scattered leaves, the half crushed flowers.

Desperate, Arthur thought. Afraid.

“This is not the way, Merlin.”

“I could hurt you,” Merlin said to the floor.

“I’ll wake you before you can.”

“For how long? What if the dreams never stop? What if they-“

“One battle at a time.” Arthur looked around the room, at the plants surrounding them. “I cannot
believe you were going to do something so dangerous without telling me first.”

“I was going to tell you before I actually took it,” Merlin protested.

Arthur just stared at him.

“Sorry,” Merlin muttered. “Old habits.”

Arthur thought of Eleanor, of the world beyond the castle walls, of the people to whom he would
have to lie about who he was. Just as Merlin had needed to do so for over a thousand years.

“It’s all right,” Arthur said. “Now come on. I have a feeling that I’ve been poisoned by quite a few
of these things, and I’m not looking to revisit old memories.”

Merlin followed Arthur from the rooftop and down the ladder. When they reached the manor roof,
Arthur remembered why he’d been seeking Merlin in the first place.

The woman in the water.

“What is it?” Merlin asked.

Arthur found himself remembering the woman’s words. ‘You are a king, Arthur Pendragon... Do
not let them forget…’

“Where is my crown?” he asked, surprising himself, because that hadn’t been what he’d intended
to say.

Merlin looked similarly caught off guard. “It’s in the vaults.”

Arthur drew his shoulders back. Straightened his spine. “Take me there. Now.”

“Yes, sire,” Merlin said, and turned to lead the way.

 Slowly, silently, now the moon
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Arthur followed Merlin back through the Apothecary and café, into his residence, to the stairwell
leading to their chambers.

Instead of climbing the stairs, Merlin faced the brick wall opposite the steps, and said: “ Onwréon
mé þá durue.”

The wall melted into vapor, revealing a thick wooden door. Beyond it lay a dark winding
stairwell, lined with torches that sprang to life as they descended. The air smelled of dust and
rock, cool and stale just as Camelot’s vaults had been. Total darkness met them at the stairs’
bottom, but only for a moment, before dozens of torches flared to life along the exterior walls of
the room.

The vast chamber they illuminated stretched the length and width of the entire manor above.
Enormous stacks of belongings filled the chamber from stone floor to high ceiling, organized so
they formed narrow passageways through the clutter.

Arthur recognized some of the things from Camelot’s vaults, others from his castle. Still others
were wholly unfamiliar, bearing druidic writing and runes.

“Over there,” Merlin said, gesturing to the far end of the room.

Set apart from the clutter sat two thrones on a raised dais. Dusty pennants hung behind the empty
chairs. Cobweb laden candelabras stood at their sides.

All had been set out to be a replica of his seat of power, Arthur thought, and he ventured towards it,
only to stop, staring at something he’d never thought to see again.

A very large, very round, wooden table.

“How…?” Arthur asked, his voice echoing in the stone room.

“It wasn’t easy.”

Arthur walked around the enormous table, eyes moving over the names engraved by each empty
chair, until he came to his own name. He slid his fingers over his title, ‘KING’, feeling the sharp
edges of them against his fingertips.

All these seats, he thought. And no one left to sit in them. Only the ghosts of the dead.

It felt like a tomb in here. Dank and dimly lit by the flickering flames. A distorted nightmare of
the dream of Camelot.

Arthur turned from the memories of the dead to approach his throne, his bootsteps echoing in the
room.

He stared at his dust covered throne a long time.

And then, even longer, at the throne of his queen.

“I’m sorry they’re not in better condition. I should have taken better care of them.”

Arthur didn’t answer, distracted by the wooden box that sat at the foot of his throne. He crouched
down, brushed the cobwebs from it, then opened it.

Within it was the crown he had worn as king. The circlet he’d worn as Crown Prince was there as
well. By its side, the ring bearing the Pendragon royal seal. And next to that, his mother’s sigil.

He moved to Guinevere’s throne, and opened the box sitting by its foot as well. Her crown sat
upon a pillow, its jewels shining like stars. In its center was the ring he had given her, his mother’s
ring, the one he himself had worn for so long.

Arthur picked up the thick band and held before his eyes, remembering her small house in the
lower town, her soft smile in the morning light.

What would you say about all this? he wondered. If you knew what has happened to me, if you
knew of the uncertain future I face, what would you have to say?

Almost immediately, Arthur felt his lips twitch into a smile.

She would start, he thought, by scolding me, at length, for feeling sorry for myself. And then she
would remind me that I’m not alone. That I have Merlin with me. That I should rely upon him, as I
always could.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin said into his thoughts.

Arthur placed the ring back into the box and snapped it shut. “It was a long time ago.”

“It was less than a week ago.”

Arthur stood up, frowning at the empty thrones. Yes, he thought. It was, wasn’t it. It was less
than a week ago.

He could remember it all quite vividly. His life in Camelot. His daily routine. His castle. The
faces of his friends, his family, his people.

And yet, standing here, in this tomb of a place, the truth was undeniable.

His throne, covered in cobwebs.

His crown, in a box.

History, Arthur thought. Ancient, distant, history.

Arthur grabbed the box that held his symbols of power. When he turned, he saw that Merlin stood
a distance away, his shoulders rounded, his hands clasped behind his back, his head lowered, his
gaze at his feet.

The old posture he’d assumed as a servant in Uther’s court.

“Stop that,” Arthur snapped.

Merlin’s head jerked upward. “Stop what?”

It’s this crypt of a place, Arthur thought bitterly. These ancient dead things. They’re not good for
either of us. They pull us in the wrong direction. Backward, not forward. And forward is where
we must go. Forward is where the fate of Albion lies. Where our fate lies.

“We’re done here,” Arthur said, and he strode from the room, the dusty box in his arms, without
once looking back.

He didn’t slow down until he was upstairs in his chambers. Even then, he marched over to his
wardrobe, shoved the box onto a shelf, then slammed the doors closed on it.

He stood with his palms pressed against the wood. Just breathing.

I am here now, he thought. I am here, and my past is gone. I have to let it go. I have to move past
it. I have no choice-

“We can take supper outside,” Merlin said, his voice quiet, and from over by the door. “On the
lawns. It should be cooler there.”

“Later, Merlin.”

“Yes, sire.”

And then footsteps moving away.

Arthur waited a few minutes. And then he retrieved his crown from its box.

He paced the room, turning the heavy round circle around and around in his hands. Watching his
distorted reflection in the gold.

Thinking of prophecy. Thinking of the voice in the water. Thinking of this new world ruled by its
own people. Thinking of the children of Camelot spread around the earth.

Never let them forget you are king, the voice had said.

He would have to find a way to remember it himself, first.

As the afternoon stretched on, he found refuge in Merlin’s books, in the list of inventions that had
sprung from the years described within. So many of them gave clues to wonders he saw all around
him. He’d seen photographs and moving pictures upon the black slates. And locomotives seemed
a close cousin to the moving metal boxes everywhere.

By the time Merlin returned, Arthur was full of questions.

“I’ll tell you about it over dinner,” Merlin said, sounding more than a bit pleased at Arthur’s
excitement.

Outside, Merlin spread a blanket under a tree by the lake, where a slight evening breeze stirred the
leaves. The lawns were empty, the café and shops closed, and the sky filled with the reds and
pinks of evening.

Merlin poured a glass of wine for Arthur as he read out loud from his book. Arthur took a
sandwich from the basket of food Merlin had prepared, and listened in wonder to the many
inventions of man.

The discovery of electricity was of particular interest to Merlin. He went on and on about it, giving
what Arthur thought was far too much detail about how it all worked.

Instead of interrupting him, Arthur stretched out on his back on the blanket, and watched Merlin
speak

Once again, Arthur found himself staring. He simply couldn’t stop himself.

It’s just Merlin, Arthur told himself. The same man you knew. Nothing has changed about him.
Yes, his hair is a bit longer. But everything else is the same.

Same eyebrows arching with delight at whatever nonsense he was saying, same blue eyes turning
into crescents with his amusement, same ridiculous cheekbones sharpening with his smile, same
full ears half hidden by his thick black hair, same long pale neck exposed above his neckerchief,
same full lips that were probably soft, yes, they’d been quite soft in his dream, hadn’t they, soft and
warm and wet and slick-

Arthur startled from his thoughts.

“-and it was that way for the longest time, if you can believe that,” Merlin was saying, with a wry
lift of one eyebrow.

What is it about him? Arthur wondered, falling immediately back into distraction. There’s
something, isn’t there. Something I can’t put my finger on…

“Are you even listening to me?” Merlin asked.

“Edison?” Arthur ventured.

“I moved on from Edison five minutes ago.”

No irritation in Merlin’s tone. Just bemusement, as he closed his book and stretched out upon the
blanket, his shoulder pressing against Arthur’s.

Close, Arthur thought. He does like to be close to me.

For several minutes they lay side by side under the tree, staring up at the leaves moving against the
darkening sky above.

It would have been entirely peaceful, if they had been on the shore of another lake. He never
could completely relax by the lakeside. Not with the Tower watching him.

Which was a strange thought. That the tower was watching him. But it felt true. It felt very much
as if they were not alone, here on the shores of Lake Avalon.

There was someone else there too. Watching. Waiting.

“I hate to admit it,” Merlin said, “but it’s worked out well, hasn’t it. My reading to you.”

“I told you it would.”

“I bet you missed half of the eighteen hundreds though. Daydreaming like you have been tonight.”

“I wasn’t daydreaming,” Arthur said, far too quickly.

“Of course you weren’t.”

“You can hardly expect me to be able to pay attention in this heat, especially when you prattle on
about a thousand irrelevant details I don’t need to know.”
“Oh, so it’s the heat’s fault, then, is it?”

“What other reason could there possibly be?”

“Maybe the fact that you’re a total turnip head?”

“People can’t possibly say that anymore. If they ever did to begin with.”

“They do around here.”

“That’s only because you’re around here.”

“I never said that wasn’t why.”

Arthur laughed, nudging at Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin nudged gently back. They wound up
pressed together even more so than they had been before.

“You’re right about one thing,” Merlin said. “It is ridiculously hot.”

“I’m starting to think Heath was right about taking a swim in the lake,” Arthur said.

His words caught up with him only when he heard Merlin’s sharp intake of breath.

Dammit, Arthur thought. “I didn’t mean-“

“It’s all right.”

Arthur turned his head on the blanket. Watched the muscles of Merlin’s jaw twitch, his chin
pushing out. “No. It was thoughtless of me.”

“It’s not your fault I panic like a child when you go near the water,” Merlin said bitterly.

“It won’t be that way forever. Just like me and sleeping alone in the dark. It won’t last. We’ll
both soon be over these battle wounds.” Next to him, Merlin had gone quite still, pain twitching
his features. “What’s wrong?”

“So that’s… that’s the reason why we’ve been… why I’ve been… keeping you company? At
night? Your difficulty with the dark?”

Arthur started to say no. Which made no sense. Of course the answer was yes. What else would
the answer be?

“Yes,” he said, but he could hear the doubt in his voice, as he said it.

“Oh,” Merlin said softly.

“And because of your dreams, of course.”

“My dreams.” Merlin sounded hoarse. “Right. Because why else… would…”

In one swift motion, Merlin climbed to his feet and began piling the dinner plates and his books
into his basket.

Arthur pushed himself to his elbows. “Where are you going?”

“I need to do some work in the library.”

“Now?”

“Yes,” Merlin said, and he strode off without another word.

“Merlin!” Arthur called.

But to his surprise, Merlin didn’t look back, and he didn’t stop.

Arthur stared after him until he vanished through the North Tower door. Then he lay back down
on the blanket, wondering what the hell had happened.

He thought about it for a while, going over and over what they’d said. But before long, the
oppressive heat muddled his thinking. He found himself drifting in and out of uneasy sleep, until
finally he awoke to near darkness. The moon had risen amid a handful of stars, and shone ghostly
upon the tower, a faint glow upon the water.

Arthur dragged himself and the blanket back upstairs to his chambers. Merlin had already
prepared the room for sleep. Candles burned by his bedside. His sheets had been pulled back. His
sleeping tunic and breeches lay upon the bed.

No sign of Merlin anywhere.

Arthur changed into his sleeping clothes and went searching for him, finding him at last at a table
in his library. Books surrounded where he sat slouched forward, elbows upon a large open tome,
his head propped up with his hands, pale fingers dug into his hair.

“Still working?” Arthur asked.

Merlin jerked in his chair and nearly fell out of it. “Don’t you know how to knock?”

Arthur burst out laughing, then raised his eyebrows pointedly at the question.

“Oh,” Merlin said, and he gave a small smile, abashed. “Right. I do see how that’s funny, coming
from me.”

“On account of the many thousand times that you-“

“Yes, yes, I know-“

“I’d wager that you still don’t bother knocking, do you.”

Merlin ignored the question, which was answer enough. He just stood and stretched, his loose
white sleeping tunic shifting on his shoulders, revealing a pale collarbone, a sliver of abdomen.
“Everything all right? I thought you’d be asleep by now.”

Every single one of Arthur’s replies sounded of ‘aren’t you coming to bed?’, which was something
he would say to a lover, not to a friend.

The entire issue of them sleeping together - well, not sleeping together, he amended, but sleeping
together - was a tangled confusing mess. All he knew for certain was that he was tired, and
wanted to sleep, with Merlin beside him.

“It’s too hot in my chambers,” Arthur said. “Is there nowhere in this castle of yours where it’s
cooler for us both to sleep?”

Merlin noticed the choice of pronouns. Which had been Arthur’s intention. The tension in his
body eased, and he seemed to consider. “Actually… I think I have an idea.”

“Oh wonderful,” Arthur said.

“Oh shut it. It’s a good idea. You’ll see.”

The idea apparently involved collecting two stacks of bedding and pillows from Merlin’s
wardrobe, and marching them downstairs, through the café, into the Apothecary, and all the way
up the South Tower stairwell, to a trapdoor set above the stairs’ end.

Merlin pushed the trapdoor open, then climbed through it with his bundle of bedding in his arms.
Arthur followed him, emerging onto the warm night breezes upon the South Tower roof.

As Merlin closed the trapdoor behind him, Arthur wandered past piles of things covered in tarps, to
the edge of the roof. Through a low embrasure, he could see the nearby park. The stone circle was
lit by the moon, casting soft shadows upon the earth.

A memorial to my death, he thought. That’s what Merlin had said. A way to mark the time. And
a way to remember why he was marking it.

“These should work,” Merlin said, as he pulled what looked like two folded up cots from a pile.
He dragged them to the middle of the stone roof, flattened them, then began to spread the bedding
upon each of them.

Arthur looked up at the tall trees nearby, listening to the leaves rustle, feeling the air moving
against his skin. Merlin was right, he thought. Coming up here was a good idea. Not that he was
about to tell him that.

“Most of this stuff is Solstice Festival supplies,” Merlin said. “But there’s something else I think
you’ll like. It’s that tall thing over there. Take the tarp off and have a look.”

The object Merlin had indicated was nearly his height, bound with ropes to keep on its protective
cover. Arthur loosed the knots, then pulled the cloth away.

The metal black cylinder shone in the moonlight atop its three thick wooden legs. He recognized it
at once for what it was. He’d stared long enough at the illustration in Merlin’s book.

“It’s beautiful,” Arthur said, running his fingertips along the cool metal of the telescope’s tube.

“A little different than that drawing. But it still works the same.”

Arthur peered into the end of the telescope’s tube, at the startlingly simple array of mirrors inside.
“You’d think it would be more complex than this,” he said to himself.

“It’s not very fancy, I know,” Merlin said, misunderstanding. “Just a ten inch refractor, not even
motorized. But pretty powerful with the Barlow lens. Here. Let me set it up.”

Arthur watched Merlin step to the device, one arm wrapping over the metal tube, the other
wrapping under. His long fingers worked levers and knobs, then he swung the device up to point
overhead. After peering through a smaller sighting telescope on the barrel’s outside, he locked the
telescope into place.

“Here, take a look,” Merlin said, waving him over, eyes sparkling in the moonlight with obvious
excitement.
Arthur leaned forward, peering into the eyepiece.

A blindingly bright white landscape filled his sight, pock marked and smooth in turns, spotted with
light greys and darks, geographic features sharp near the shift from light to shadow. And the entire
thing was moving, quite swiftly, as he watched.

Arthur lifted his eyes to the moon high above, astonished that what he saw above and what he’d
seen in the telescope were the same thing. He peered back into the eyepiece, but saw only
darkness. “Where did it go?”

“It moved. The moon does that,” he added, smiling at Arthur without a trace of mockery. “Here,
let me show you how to get it back.”

Merlin stepped next to his body, a warm solid presence. Arthur felt him grab his hands, moving
his left to one dial below the cylinder, his right to another above. “Your left hand controls
ascension,” Merlin said, his fingers moving over Arthur’s. “Your right, declension. Like this, see?
If you lose sight of what you’re looking at, just use-“

“The sighting telescope,” Arthur said, glancing over at where Merlin leaned forward over the
telescope, peering through the small tube.

“I knew you weren’t listening to me when I was telling you about the Enlightenment,” Merlin said
smugly. “You were studying that diagram of a telescope the whole time.”

“You can use a telescope to see the moon, Merlin. All the Enlightenment did was get a bunch of
spoiled royalty separated from their heads.”

“Really not the point.” Merlin straightened, but did not move away. “Try now.”

Arthur peered through the eyepiece, amazed once again by what he thought he’d known his whole
life. “They used to say a man lived in the moon. Do you remember that?”

“No one lives there yet. Though men have walked upon it before.”

“You’re making that up,” Arthur said. The moon had vanished from his view again. He tried to
move the telescope to follow. “Dammit, it’s- Show me again.”

Merlin pressed close to his side, sighting through the smaller telescope, fingers upon Arthur’s,
turning the dials with him. “I’m not making it up. It happened about fifty years ago. They’ve sent
machines to Mars, too. We know what it looks like from the ground.”

“Still sounds made up,” Arthur said, because he was still having difficult grasping the children of
Camelot spreading around the world. Now apparently they were travelling beyond the Earth as
well. “What about Mars? Have people been there yet?”

“Not yet. But soon, I think. Here, keep turning this dial to keep it in sight.”

Arthur watched the view shift through the eyepiece as Merlin pressed his warm fingers to
Arthur’s. Merlin’s body was warm and solid against his side, his voice rumbling from him in the
soft night as he spoke.

“They’ve come so far in the past hundred years,” Merlin said. “It won’t be long before they
colonize space just as they colonized the Earth. Think of it, Arthur. The children of Camelot.
Stretching out into the universe. Travelling from star to star.”
Arthur lifted his gaze from the eyepiece, to find Merlin looking at him, smiling softly. Their noses
were inches away, Merlin’s face lit by moonlight. Arthur felt his breath catch, seeing Merlin’s gaze
flit from his lips, to his eyes, and back again.

He’s different, Arthur thought abruptly. He’s different, and I’m different, and this between us is
different. Moments like these. They never went on this long before. We never let it. Either of us.

Emboldened by the knowledge, Arthur allowed his gaze to slide down to Merlin’s mouth, before
tracing the contours of his face back to his widening eyes.

Merlin straightened so abruptly that it jostled the telescope. He stepped unevenly backward,
clearing his throat, before retreating to sit upon his cot.

Arthur returned his gaze to the eyepiece. His heart was beating against his chest. “What else can
you see in the sky with this?” he asked, to try and find some normalcy after what had just passed
between them.

“Lots of things. Saturn’s rings. Jupiter’s moons. Even Venus and Mars, though they’re not very
impressive through a telescope this size.”

After a few minutes working the telescope in silence, studying the landscape of the moon, Arthur
withdrew from the wonders of the heavens, and reclined upon his cot.

As with the bedrolls in the meadow, Merlin had set the two cots very close together. Barely an
arm’s width apart.

“All those planets up there,” Arthur said to the sky. “All those moons. How in the world do they
keep from crashing into one another? I can’t imagine it.”

For a while, silence. And then, soft words.

“Cume fýrcynn, átýdre tungol aen dægcandel, aen frícen gesamnunga.”

A flare of light next to him had Arthur’s head turning on his pillow, to see Merlin lying upon his
side, facing Arthur, one arm extended between them, palm upturned.

A small flame danced upon his palm, sending sparks into the air. The glowing embers rose in an
orderly line, to form a small sparkling sphere. As Arthur watched, it began to spin, then rose still
higher, to circle above.

“Earth,” Merlin said, nodding upward. Another line of sparks rose from the flame in Merlin’s
palm, forming another small globe, also spinning, also lifting to rotate along a smaller circular path
and at a different speed. “Venus,” Merlin said. Another smaller more rapidly spinning globe of
sparks, rotating in an even smaller circle. “Mercury.”

Again and again Arthur watched spheres made of glowing sparks rise spinning into the air, each
taking a different place to rotate around a central point. When there were eight spheres, the flame in
Merlin’s palm grew into a small rotating ball of fire. It spun as it rose, to take its place in the center
of the spinning spheres.

“The sun,” Merlin finished.

Arthur sat up on his cot, eyes wide in the night, watching each of the spheres pass overhead. Small
rings danced around Saturn. Patterns of swirls decorated Jupiter.
“Amazing,” Arthur breathed, at the heartbreakingly beautiful magic above.

Like the meadow, he thought. Like the strawberries and the butterflies and the flowers. All that
beauty. Pouring from Merlin’s hands.

Arthur reached up to touch a glittering sphere as it flew by. Sparks danced upon his fingertips,
melting away like snowflakes on his skin.

“Beautiful,” he breathed, and he looked over at Merlin, who lay with his arm tucked under his
head, watching him.

Moisture sparkled in Merlin’s eyes, lit by the soft moonlight, by the spheres above, by the golden
starlight of his magic within him.

“Just… beautiful,” Arthur said to him.

Arthur saw Merlin’s smile falter. His brows twitched, and he waved a hand. A weary motion.
The spheres above began to fall apart.

Arthur raised a hand to catch a cluster of sparks as it fell. When it touched his palm, the sparks
flared brighter, then pooled in his hand like water. When he pointed his fingers heavenward, the
light flowed down his wrist in small rivers, sliding around his arm, before falling to the ground and
disappearing.

“What was that?” Merlin said sharply.

Arthur watched him lunge from his cot and grab at Arthur’s wrist. He tried to pull away, but
Merlin held on tighter, staring down at his skin. “What are you doing?”

“Did you see it?” Merlin breathed. “The ropes of magic? Binding you?”

“Nothing was binding me.” Arthur grabbed Merlin’s wrist to still his hand. “I’m fine. Calm
down. You’re just sleep addled and seeing things. Go on, lay back down.”

With obvious reluctance Merlin retreated back onto his cot. He lay down upon his side facing
Arthur, frowning the whole time, obviously worried.

Arthur stretched out upon his back on the cot, gazing at the moon above. It had dipped behind one
of the enormous trees surrounding the manor. But its glow still lit the rooftop with soft blue light.

Arthur flexed the hand where the magic had pooled. His skin still tingled from it. “I have a
request for tonight’s story,” he found himself saying.

“What is it?”

“Tell me about the circumstances of my birth.”

A very long silence.

“You’re sure you want to know?”

“I deserve to know, don’t you think?” Arthur asked, more bitterly than he’d intended.

An exhalation of breath, loud in the peaceful night. “What Morgause told you was partly a lie.
But it was also partly true. Uther did tell Gaius to go to the Isle of the Blessed, to ask the High
Priestess of the Old Religion, Nimueh, for Ygraine to bear a son. But Uther didn’t understand that
the ancient magics would demand a price. A death, for that life, to restore the balance of the
world.”

“My mother’s death.”

“Yes.”

Arthur clenched his hands into fists, his fury at his father returning as strongly now as it had the
day he’d put his blade to his father’s throat. “So it’s true. I was born of magic.”

“You were born because of it. Yes.”

“What’s the difference?” Arthur snapped.

“If you were born of it, you would be like me. I look like I’m… but I’m not really…”

“Not really what?”

“Human.”

Arthur turned his head on his pillow. Pain in Merlin’s eyes, pinching his brows together. “What
nonsense is that? What are you if not human? A cow?”

“I’m a creature of the Old Religion, Arthur,” Merlin said in a voice so soft that it was almost lost in
the rustling of the leaves. “Just like the dragons or the Sidhe. I look human. But I’m not. I never
was.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Arthur told him.

“I don’t like it either, but it’s something I’ve had to accept,” Merlin said wearily.

“It’s nonsense.”

“Are you intentionally being daft?” Merlin snapped, sounding more like himself. “I’m trying to
tell you something important about me that you really need to understand-“

“You’re trying to liken yourself to beings who have not one second’s thought for our people, and
not one ounce of your heart or your bravery, and I’ll not hear it,” Arthur interrupted firmly.
“Human is more than how you’re made, Merlin. It’s what you are in your heart. It’s what you
stand for. What you believe. How you act. And you, Merlin, are the most human person I think
I’ve ever met.”

Above them the wind rustled through the trees as a warm breeze picked up to stir his hair.

“Besides,” he said, “if you’re not human, then what does that make me? All those years sleeping in
the arms of magic. All that time being dead… What am I, after all that?”

I’m not the same, Arthur thought. I can feel it in my bones.

“You’re something new.”

Arthur turned his head on the pillow. “Something new?”

Merlin smiled at him, a sad, soft little thing that he would have missed if he’d not been looking for
it. “You’re something that’s never been. But that’s nothing new with you. You’ve always been
one of a kind. Right from your birth.”
My father’s fault, Arthur thought. All of this. Though the forces of magic had played their part.
And Gaius. And Merlin, for that matter. His whole life, threaded through with strands magic,
holding him fast. Even now.

“All those years my father taught me to hate and fear magic,” Arthur said bitterly. “And he’d used
it himself for his own selfish ends. Such a hypocrite.”

“He thought he was protecting his son from his mistakes.”

“How can you defend him? You of all people.”

“He loved you, Arthur. As much as he could love anyone. He was just… broken. After the death
of your mother, all he had left was his hate.”

“It’s no excuse.” Arthur rubbed his hands over his face, weary with the past, with its mistakes, with
the destiny it had spun out behind him, around him, before him.

“Arthur…“

“Get some rest, Merlin.”

Above the rooftop the wind rustled through the leaves of the trees, as the moon shone down on
them both. Arthur gazed up at the stars a long time. He was still awake with his thoughts after
Merlin had fallen asleep. When the dream began.

Merlin jolted on his cot, a cry choking from him. The moonlight had grown brighter, casting sharp
shadows onto his body as he thrashed, his back arching off the cot.

A flare of light, from all directions it seemed, had Arthur pushing himself at once out of bed to grab
Merlin’s shoulders, and shake him awake.

“Arthur!” Merlin surged upright, hands grabbing onto Arthur’s arms, his eyes wide.

“Just a dream.”

“Did I-?”

“No,” Arthur said, looking around to make sure he was right. Light usually meant magic, didn’t
it? But nothing seemed out of place. And the light had gone. “It’s all right.”

Merlin collapsed forward, legs crossing beneath him, palms pressing into his cot. “I can’t keep
doing this… I need a sleeping draught…”

“That is not an option.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“Yes.”

“What, knocking me unconscious?” Merlin muttered. But then Arthur saw him look up with an
expression that suggested this insanity was also a completely sensible idea.

“Just like you to suggest a siege engine when a sword would do.” Arthur got up and pushed his cot
against Merlin’s. He lay back down upon his cot on his side facing Merlin, then extended an arm,
in obvious invitation. “Come on then.”
“You have got to be kidding,” Merlin told him angrily.

“It worked last night, didn’t it?”

“You don’t know it had anything to do with-“ Merlin gestured vaguely at Arthur “- that.”

“I know that I was able to wake you up twice last night, right as the dreams started, and that you
had no recollection of them the next day.”

Merlin’s reaction of total outrage shouldn’t have amused him, not under the circumstances. “You
told me I didn’t dream! I asked you!”

Arthur choked back a completely inappropriate smile at having gotten Merlin so riled up. “Yes,
and I lied to you,” he said sweetly. “Fancy that for a change. Now come here and lay down.”

Merlin crossed his arms and glared at him. “I’m not some weepy princess in need of saving by the
King of Camelot!”

“I never said you were a weepy princess-”

“You’re acting like I am-”

“I am not-”

“Yes you are-”

“I’m acting,” Arthur snapped, “like someone who can’t get a good night’s sleep, because his idiot
friend is determined to have nightmares all night, instead of doing the one thing that lets him
sleep!” Arthur thrust out his arm again. “Now for the love of god will you shut up and lay down!”

Merlin stared at him for so long and so furiously that Arthur was sure he would get up and leave.

Instead, Merlin flopped back onto his cot, then turned away onto his side with a great deal of
jerking of arms and kicking of legs, all the while muttering angrily to himself.

“Arse,” Arthur said, because Merlin hadn’t moved toward him, so he had to push himself forward
instead. He dropped his body heavily behind Merlin on his narrow cot, intentionally kicking
Merlin in the leg as he slotted himself against Merlin’s back.

“There’s not enough space-“ Merlin complained, and shoved an elbow back at him.

“Then move forward,” Arthur said, pushing at him.

“Can’t believe I’m doing this…”

“Shut. Up. Merlin.”

Merlin heaved a sigh that could probably be heard in Avalon.

Arthur got himself settled, a bit more carefully now, his chest warm where it pressed against
Merlin’s hard back on the narrow space.

“So stupid,” he heard Merlin mutter, as Arthur settled his head on Merlin’s pillow, his nose
pressing into Merlin’s hair.

“Shut it.” Arthur reached his arm around Merlin’s waist, his hand lifting to press his palm against
Merlin’s chest.

“Do you have to do that?” Merlin asked softly.

“It’s to help you sleep,” Arthur said.

And then he thought at himself: Liar.

“It isn’t going to work.”

“It will.” Arthur drew in a deep breath to relax, but wound up only beathing in the smells he’d
come to associate with Merlin. Vanilla, and spice, and sweat, and the linens of Arthur’s bed. Just
as it should be, he thought. Then wondered at himself.

He felt Merlin’s warm back press against his chest as Merlin drew in a deep breath, then let it out
in a nearly soundless sigh.

“It’s going to work,” Arthur said, and as he spoke, his lips unintentionally brushed over the skin of
Merlin’s neck.

He felt a shudder move through Merlin’s body.

“I hate you,” Merlin said, sounding pained and exhausted and as if the weight of the five kingdoms
were upon him.

“No, you don’t.”

Again no response, as Arthur lay holding him, surrounded by the warm breezes and the moonlight
and the rustling of the leaves in the trees around them.

And then Merlin placed his hand atop Arthur’s, where it rested against his chest.

“If I use magic against you in my sleep-“ Merlin began.

“I’m starting to think that knocking you unconscious wasn’t a bad idea.”

A huffed laugh in response.

“Go to sleep,” Arthur told him softly.

“Yes, my lord,” Merlin said. And then he slid his fingers between Arthur’s, to clasp his hand.

Arthur pressed his forehead into the back of Merlin’s neck, covering Merlin’s fingers with his own,
before lowering their hands to rest upon the cot.

It took some time before Merlin’s breathing calmed. Longer still before he fell asleep.

Arthur knew it did, because he spent the entire time paying attention to how it felt to have Merlin
pressed so closely against his body.

Liar, Arthur thought at himself again. When he asked you why you want him in your bed. When
he asked you why you put your hand to his chest. You lied to him.

It’s not because of the darkness. It’s not because of the dreams.

It’s because of him.

 Arthur closed his eyes. Breathing in the scent of Merlin’s hair. Feeling his body against his own.
Warm and solid. Sharp bones and strong muscles. Long and thin and unmistakably male.

Damn dream, Arthur thought.

And damn me too.

Chapter End Notes

Based upon this chapter the talented maryluis of tumblr has created this wonderful and
heartwarming piece of artwork of Arthur and Merlin laying in one another's arms.
 all the points of weakness

Damn birds, Merlin thought, at the cacophony of birdsong that pulled him from sleep. He shoved
his face into his pillow, shifting on the hard surface beneath his stomach, barely able to move from
the heavy weight upon his sweat covered back.

He opened his eyes to the South Tower roof, bright with the light of early dawn. Arthur lay upon
his back, his nose shoved into his hair, his breath hot on his neck.

I should shove him off, Merlin thought miserably. He doesn’t want to be here. He's only here
because of my stupid dreams and his stupid fears. When he finds someone else to share his bed,
when I find a way to stop my dreams, all of this will stop.

Merlin grabbed the side of his cot to push himself up.

Arthur made a noise at the movement, his fingers sliding up Merlin’s back and into his hair. He
turned his head, mouth dragging over his shoulder blade, before resettling himself with a sigh.

Merlin collapsed back onto the bed.

Just a moment, he thought desperately. Let me have this with him. Just for one single moment that
should please, please, never end…

A rush of dizziness.

And then silence.

Arthur drew in a deep breath, lifting his head. “Merlin?”

“Yes?”

Arthur adjusted position, sliding sideways, raised upon his elbow, a warm weight against his side.
Merlin rolled himself onto his back, looking up at where Arthur lay squinting against the daylight,
his blond hair a mess, dark circles under his eyes.

“What’s happened?” Arthur asked.

Merlin stared up at the world around him. Everything had stopped. Not a leaf moved. Not a bird
sang. Several bees hung in mid-air near the telescope.

“What did you do now?” Arthur asked in exasperation, as if Merlin had misplaced his armor or
spilled wine on his best tunic.

“I didn’t mean to?”

“You mean this was an accident?”

“It was-“ Merlin broke off, staring at a motionless object high above.

Arthur followed his gaze. “Is that an airplane?”

“No. It can’t be. I couldn’t have possibly…“

“Couldn’t have possibly what? What’s going on?”

Thirty thousand feet, Merlin thought. Planes fly at thirty thousand feet.

“Merlin.“

“Wait- Just- I need a moment.”

Merlin closed his eyes. Turned his gaze inward. Yes, he could feel it now. His magic, stretching
out from him, resting upon the surface of the world like an onion skin. He drew in a deep breath,
and when he let it out, he simply let go.

Birdsong and leaves rustling and distant car engines filled the air around them, as everything slid
into motion.

“Sorry,” Merlin breathed, as he struggled not to panic at what he’d done.

“What just happened?” Arthur asked, sounding not at all worried, but merely curious.

“I stopped time?”

“You stopped time.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

Arthur gave him a highly dubious look.

“Although,” Merlin amended, “I may have been thinking that I wanted to… stay in bed… a bit
longer this morning.”

“You stopped time in order to have a lie-in?” Arthur asked, in offended incredulity.

“Not on purpose, I swear.” He cast a worried look heavenward, scanning the skies.

Arthur watched the plane disappear behind the trees. “This is new, then, is it? Affecting things so
far away?”

“Yes.”

“Since when?”

“Since you got back?”

Arthur stared at him with enough scrutiny that he began to feel like a strategic map laid out upon a
table, or an opposing army standing upon the plain.

“Sorry?” he said again, out of reflex.

It earned him a raised eyebrow and exasperated sigh. “Only you could apologize for stopping time
as if you were saying you’re sorry for knocking over a chamber pot. Now get up. I want
breakfast.”

Merlin watched him stand, thinking that only Arthur could yell at him for stopping time and then
tell him to fetch breakfast in the same breath.

He was about to say so when Arthur stretched his arms heavenward, his tunic riding up to expose a
thin waist, his breeches sliding low to reveal strong hip bones and the curve of a muscled backside.
“Breakfast,” Merlin said, and quickly collected the bedding from their cots. The clammy morning
heat already had him sweating, his clothes sticking to him.

The bundle of bedclothes in his arms, he lead Arthur downstairs by way of the South Tower
Museum. When they reached the ground floor, Arthur paused beside the round table of the ancient
kings. “You brought this here too,” he said.

“Of course I did. I know how much it means to you.”

Arthur looked at him a long moment, a thoughtful expression on his face, seeming as if he were
about to speak. Instead, he left through the museum door, to cross the dew covered lawns to the
North Tower.

Once they’d returned upstairs to the corridor to their rooms, Arthur stopped to list his plans for the
day. “We’ll take breakfast downstairs to escape this damned heat, then go through more of your
infernal books. After lunch it’ll be training on the lawns, and then we’ll take supper again
downstairs, unless by some miracle the weather breaks.”

“Tonight, actually, I’ve already promised Danyl that his family can use the café for his birthday
party. We can have supper on the lawn again. Well. Unless…”

“Unless what?”

“They did say we could join them?”

Arthur looked delighted. “Excellent. We’ll do that instead. It should provide a wonderful
opportunity to find out a multitude of embarrassing stories about you.”

“I have embarrassing stories to tell about you too, I’ll have you know.”

“All of your stories involve magic,” Arthur said smugly. “So you can’t tell them.”

Merlin watched Arthur walk away, thinking of story after story that involved his king’s
humiliation. All of them did involve magic. “Damn,” he muttered.

“Told you,” Arthur called.

After they’d both freshened up for breakfast, they went downstairs. The moment Merlin opened
the door to his café from his residence, a rush of cool air swept over him.

“Oh that is wonderful,” Arthur said, pushing past him, jostling his armful of books.

Merlin watched Eleanor approach with a teapot in her hand, happily fanning cool air onto her face.
“It’s going to cost a bit extra, this. But I thought it worthwhile.”

“It was a good idea,” he agreed, looking around at the portable air conditioning units placed around
the great hall.

“Doing some light reading over breakfast, are you?”

Merlin shifted the stack of books in his arms. “Only for a few more days, hopefully.”

“You’d best go get a table, before those young ladies steal your reading partner.”

In the café, Arthur was chatting with two women seated by the glass wall. Both were gazing up at
him nearly starstruck, as if they knew he was the returned King of Albion.
Or, he thought morosely, as if they were attracted to him. Because Arthur was, as always, a striking
sight. His face was flushed from the heat, making his hair blonder and his eyes bluer. His red
tunic, breeches and boots should have looked out of place amid people in modern dress. But
instead, he looked regal. Noble.

At the table, both women laughed overly loud at something Arthur had said.

Merlin clutched his books, and strangled back the urge to set something on fire.

“Oh my,” Eleanor said.

He knew that tone. And he knew that expression too, he thought, when he looked over at her
narrow face, at the thin pinched eyebrows beneath the white hair, the worried wrinkles around her
eyes. “Eleanor…“ he sighed.

“It’s all right, dear,” she said, patting his arm. “I won’t say anything.”

She knows, Merlin thought. Of course she knows. She’s Eleanor. She doesn’t miss a damn
thing. She didn’t when I was Emrys, so of course she doesn’t now, either.

“He misses you,” Merlin said softly.

“Who’s that?”

“Emrys. He misses you. You were a good friend to him. He always thought so. And he’s sorry
he hasn’t spoken to you. But he is happy, Eleanor. Happier than he’s been in all his years. And
he’s glad you’re here. Looking after me.”

A smile lit up her face, taking away the decades he’d seen leave their mark upon her. “Well you
tell him,” she said, in a voice choked with emotion, “that I still have a mobile, and that it still
works. I’m not leaving one more message for him until he calls.”

“I’ll tell him. I promise.”

“Good. Now go on. I’ll have someone bring you both your breakfast for a change. It’s not right,
you waiting on Arthur all the time, like some kind of servant.”

Merlin burst out laughing, startling her. She swatted at him, and shooed him away.

Together he and Arthur found an empty table at the far end of the hall. They sat together eating
breakfast, until finally Arthur nodded to the pile of books that sat nearby.

With reluctance, Merlin spread out the books on the table, opening their pages to one subject only.

The history of war.

In as few words as possible, Merlin recounted the events around and brutality of the first world
war, with its trenches and mustard gas. Without pause, he moved to the next great war, with its
bombs falling from the skies, battles upon the seas, and its millions of dead in camps and upon
battlefields.

Through it all, Arthur sat still and silent, his jaw tight, his hands clenched upon his legs.

It wasn’t until Merlin showed Arthur an illustration of a mushroom cloud, and spoke of the
casualties, that Arthur surged to his feet, striding away, fingers clawing through his hair.
He stopped by the wooden wall separating the café and the Apothecary. Just stood there radiating
silent fury.

And then he drove his fist into the wall.

Merlin cringed, but didn’t move. He sat and waited. Watching Arthur’s shoulders rise and fall
with harsh breaths. Watching him clench and unclench his hand.

It took several minutes before Arthur slowly walked back to his seat, and sat down heavily upon it.

“Do you want me to go on?” Merlin asked, because so much blood had filled Arthur’s face that he
looked ready to burst from it.

“Finish it,” Arthur ground out. “And be done.”

In clipped phrases and as few words as possible, because he honestly wasn’t sure how much more
of this Arthur could take without taking his sword to the world around him, Merlin described the
world’s flirtation with nuclear destruction. Biological warfare. Automated weapons of war.
Massive attacks by a militant few. Battles still being fought.

When he was done, Merlin closed his books, one after the other. Wishing he could have done more
to stop any of it. Wishing he could erase the pain from his king’s face.

“It makes no sense,” Arthur said.

“Wars never do.”

“No. I mean, it makes no sense that I’m here. Now. What use am I against any of it? They aren’t
even lead by kings in battle.” Arthur’s eyes drifted to the glass wall. To the tower upon its
rounded isle. “They waited too long. To send me back. I’m of no use in this world.”

Merlin found himself remembering hiding in the caves from Morgana and Agravaine’s immortal
army. Of sitting in the Forest of Essetir on the run from the Southrons. Arthur had sounded just as
defeated then. Just as hopeless. Only this time was worse. Because there was no reassurance he
could think of. And no one to ask for help.

“Morning Merlin, Arthur!” came Danyl’s cheerful voice.

Both Danyl and Heath were flushed from the heat as they approached, faces ruddy even in their
lightweight summer shorts and shirts.

“Morning, sire,” Heath said to Arthur. “I’ve got everything set up for lessons after lunch. Should
be a dozen people, if Dan’s brother brings the martial arts blokes he knows.”

“I just hope no one passes out from the heat.” Danyl lifted his mobile and poked at it. “It still says
it’s supposed to hit 38 C. Only here, though. Just our luck, right?”

“What do you mean, only here?” Merlin asked.

“They’re calling it the Avalon Heatwave,” Danyl said proudly, and held out his mobile.

Merlin stared at the temperature map of England. “Oh hell.”

“What’s wrong?” Arthur asked.

“Tell you back in the flat,” Merlin said in a low voice, and gathered up his books as quickly as he
could.

When they’d retreated to the stifling heat of his residence, Merlin pulled out his laptop and sat
down with it at the dining table. Arthur sat beside him, watching the screen as he pulled up a
weather website, and a satellite image of the country.

“Bloody buggering hell,” Merlin said, leaning back hard in his chair.

“What am I looking at?” Arthur asked.

“It’s a map of the country, taken today, from space. This is us. Right where there’s the only
absurdly high temperature in the country, below a perfect circle of clear skies.”

“That’s Albion right now? Is there someone up there taking this photograph? How is it getting
onto here? Are those the actual clouds?”

Merlin watched Arthur pull the laptop closer to peer at the screen. “Do you not understand what’s
happened?”

“Yes, yes, you broke the weather, and now you’ll have to fix it. Now how did you make the picture
change? Is it with this thing?”

Merlin watched Arthur pick up the mouse and squint at the light beneath it. “This is a serious
problem!”

“Yes, Merlin, I know,” Arthur said, in a tone which suggested his royal patience was being tried.
“It’s not exactly the first time you’ve affected the world without meaning to, is it. And it’s hardly
more impressive than stopping time, for god’s sakes. Now come on. Make it show me Albion
again. I want to see the shape of the five kingdoms. I never could get a decent map.”

Merlin stared at him in total incredulity.

“If you don’t know how to do it,” Arthur said.

“I know how,” Merlin snapped at him.

“Then show me.”

Merlin watched Arthur glance at him sharply, then back at the laptop, his gaze suddenly very
intent on the screen, color rising in his cheeks.

“You are utterly unbelievable,” Merlin muttered, and wound up spending the next half hour
showing his king how to use the internet in order to view his kingdom.

Only after Merlin had shown him the areas of the five kingdoms in detail did Arthur reach out to
close the laptop lid. Something he hadn’t known Arthur had figured out how to do.

“The heat in here is ridiculous,” Arthur said, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Go fix the weather,
then fetch the supplies for training.”

“Go ‘fix the weather’,” Merlin repeated, feeling strangely offended.

“No,” Arthur said, drawling out the word. “I said, go fix the weather, then fetch supplies for
training. We’ll need twelve sets of chainmail, shields and swords, as well as water and food. Bring
some of those fruited drinks. And scones. I’ll need them set out upon the lawn by the time
the students arrive. But tend to the weather first. It’s sweltering in here.”
Merlin stared at him, his mouth falling open, his brows raising.

“Is there a problem?” Arthur asked, clearly irritated that he hadn’t yet moved to do his royal
bidding.

Merlin surprised himself by laughing.

Because for fifteen hundred years he’d wondered what his life in Camelot would have been like, if
Arthur had known about his magic sooner.

And here was his answer. It would have been exactly this.

It would have been Arthur, giving him an even longer list of daily chores, including not only ‘muck
out the stables’, but also ‘stop that army of the undead at the border of Mercia’ and ‘there’s a
magical beast on the rampage take care of that before you bring my lunch’ and finishing up with
‘my best shirt still has a wine stain honestly Merlin isn’t your magic good for anything’.

Arthur peered into his face in clearly feigned concern. “Are you experiencing some sort of mental
affliction?”

“You are amazing,” Merlin said, in utter disbelief.

“Are you attempting to flatter me to get out of your chores?”

“As if you need more people flattering you,” Merlin said, thinking of the women in the café, and
ignoring Arthur’s smug smile as he got up. “Let me go find a spell to ‘fix the weather’,” he
finished, barely restraining himself from using air quotes, the sarcasm of which Arthur wouldn’t
have understood anyway.

“Why do you need a spell for that?”

“I just do,” Merlin muttered as he left.

It took a couple of hours in his library scouring through books to find what he needed. Not only a
few spells for the weather, but another spell as well. For the training field.

Merlin was still smiling faintly to himself, plotting exactly how to use that spell, when he returned
with a tray of sandwiches to Arthur’s chambers.

Arthur sat at his desk, leaning back in his chair, closing the book he’d been reading. His tunic was
wet with sweat from the oppressive heat, his face flushed. “Tell me that you found what you need,”
he said, as he pushed his shirt sleeves up his arms.

“One of these spells should do the trick.” Merlin set out the lunch plates then pulled off his
neckerchief and wiped at his face and neck. “This heat is ridiculous,” he grumbled, throwing the
cloth upon the chair back. “Is it all right if I go ahead and- What?” He put a hand to his neck,
where Arthur was staring. “Do I have something on my neck?”

Arthur’s eyes snapped to his face. “What? No. How should I know?”

“I think the heat’s getting to you,” Merlin said, as he walked to the lakeside window, pulling a
folded paper from his pocket.

“Of course it is. It’s boiling in here. Are you going to fix this damn weather or not?”

“I was about to ask you if I should.”

Arthur got to his feet, following him to the open window, to the oppressive heat pouring in. High
above the castle, the sun beat down from cloudless blue skies. “Why can’t you undo your mistake
without a spell? It’s what you did this morning.”

Merlin spread out the paper upon the window sill. Ran a hand over the hastily scribbled words.
“No need to get fancy about it if a spell will work.”

“You’re worried about your control of the ancient magics.”

“Better safe than sorry,” he said, glancing sidelong at where Arthur stood with arms crossed,
frowning.

But Arthur didn’t say anything more. Just nodded toward the window for him to proceed.

He stretched an arm out the window, up to the sky. “Ærgestréon drýláca álæteaþ éower færgripe
þá hæðan,” he said. His magic surged forth, only to dissipate at once. “All right. Then how about
this. Cume mec célnessa blæstas, ágénbewendaþ lyfta, ábæraþ célnessa wederá.” Again a call to
his magic, and again a surge of power that dissipated. Frowning up at the sky, he tried the next
spell. And the next. And then there were no more to try.

“Not working?” Arthur asked.

“No.”

“Not with spells.”

Merlin sighed. “I think I liked it better when you didn’t understand magic.”

Arthur gave a low mirthless laugh. “You’re not the only one.”

A hot wind blew through the open window, stirring the curtains, even thicker with humidity and
heat than before.

“There’s no choice, Merlin.”

“I know.”

“What, exactly, are you worried about?” Arthur asked, sounding genuinely curious.

Losing my mind, Merlin thought. Destroying the manor. Ripping the world apart. Turning into-

“Could you do something for me, sire?” Merlin asked, without looking away from the merciless
blue sky.

“What’s that?”

“Get your sword.”

He heard Arthur heave an enormous sigh.

“If I knew you were safe,” Merlin said, “it would be easier for me to concentrate.”

When no answer came, he turned to look at his king. Pain shone from Arthur’s eyes. But there
was a resolve there, too. With an exhausted shake of his head, he went to get his sword.

Merlin waited until Arthur rejoined him at the window.

“Better?” Arthur asked bitterly, hefting the blade, before pointing it at the floor.

“Much.”

“Simply maddening,” Arthur muttered, and nodded at the window for him to begin.

Merlin took a deep breath, and with as light a touch as he could manage, reached out to the ancient
magics of the world.

They washed over him at once, a wild river finding a new path to the sea, dragging him under,
dizzying and intoxicating and too much too much too much-!

Merlin felt a body press against his back, an arm wrapping tight around his chest, a hand pressing
over his heart. Another arm wound around his stomach from the right, a closed fist pressing into
his stomach, bringing with it a promise, and a threat.

“Focus,” Arthur commanded, lips brushing his ear, breath hot on his skin.

Merlin grabbed onto Arthur’s arm and held on with all that he was. Clinging to the strong
presence behind him, he reached deep into the churning ancient magics above.

The tangle he’d caused was obvious. The damage easy to undo. He pulled, loosed the knot of
energies. Felt them ease back into natural patterns. Energy flowed high above. Unspeakably
ancient. Immeasurably powerful.

But only a pale echo of the power beneath his feet.

Avalon, he thought, and he wondered how he’d never felt it before, this vast churning sea of the
purest magic he’d ever felt, immeasurably deep, reaching down to the core of the planet, stretching
up to the lake, yet trapped there, beneath the surface.

Not right, he thought, it wasn’t right, it shouldn’t feel like that. He began to reach deeper to find
out why-

“Stay with me!” Arthur yelled.

Arthur, he thought, and reached back towards the radiant golden presence of his king,
but felt something wrong there too, horribly wrong. He could find out what it was, he knew he
could, if he only looked deeper, let go-

“Merlin!”

Merlin jolted back into his body, heaving in a deep wheezing breath, the expansion of his lungs
unnatural within his ribs. His legs gave out, and he slumped back against a strong body, his head
landing with a thump upon a shoulder.

His own body felt far too fragile and far too small to contain him. A terrifying thought, coming
from that part of him that was not human, and would never be human-

The clatter of a sword upon stone had him blinking up at the ceiling, snapping fully back to
himself. He felt Arthur move him forward, leaning him against the windowsill. Merlin pressed
his hands to the stone, staring wide eyed out the window, a cool breeze moving over his face.

He squeezed his eyes closed, shaking his head, and when he opened them, he once again saw the
lake and the tower and the hills as real things again, instead of forces of magic, or lines of power.
A gasp behind him made him look over his shoulder. Arthur had backed away from him, his sword
lying at his feet, his blue eyes wide and staring at a hand he had raised in front of his eyes.

He’d dropped his sword, Merlin thought. He couldn’t remember that happening before. Not ever.

“Arthur?” he choked out, his voice hoarse and still strange to his own ears.

Arthur straightened, his distress only partly vanishing behind a hard stare, his arms dropping to his
sides. He rubbed his palms to his thighs, as if scraping something from them. “Are you all right?”
he demanded.

Merlin watched him pick up his sword, nearly lose his balance, and grab hold of the canopy of his
bed. “Are you?”

Arthur gave him a scathing look, and walked around his bed, to return his sword to its scabbard.
“Did it work?”

Merlin forced his legs to support him. Something was wrong, he thought. Something that had
happened during his magic. He knew what Arthur looked like when he’d been truly shaken. He
looked just like this. “Did something happen to you?”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Arthur moved to his dining table and sat down at his plate, grabbing
several sandwiches.

“And I’ll take that as a yes, too,” Merlin said sharply. “Arthur, tell me what happened.”

A brief flicker of something on Arthur’s face as he started to take a bite his food. He shook his
head, grabbing for the pitcher instead. “Nothing to be concerned about.”

Merlin watched Arthur’s hand shaking as he poured himself water. “I can tell now too, you know.”

Arthur set down his glass, glaring at his own hand, as if willing it steady. “Tell what?”

“When you’re hiding something from me.”

Arthur looked over at him, his gaze murderous. “I was going to wait until I figured it out to tell you
about it.”

“And have you?” Merlin snapped, echoing Arthur’s own words from the meadow.

“No.”

“Well then?”

“Well nothing.”

Merlin fought back the urge to throw something. “If it’s to do with my magic, I deserve to know!”

Arthur slammed his cup to the table, rattling the plates. “Just as I deserved to know about my own
kingdom all those years you were keeping your secrets!”

Merlin clenched his fists by his legs, feeling as if Arthur had actually run him through with his
sword. Where was this unexpected attack coming from? What in the world had happened?
“What is wrong with you?”

“I’d like to eat my lunch in peace, is what’s wrong with me,” Arthur said, all narrowed eyes and
white knuckled grip on his dinner plate. “If you don’t want to eat, then fine. Go occupy yourself.
Somewhere else.”

“Fine!” he growled, and stormed from Arthur’s chambers, slamming the door behind him so loudly
that he heard the windows shake.

It took him until he’d hauled all the training equipment down from the third floor and out to the
lawns before he could calm down. He hated that Arthur was hiding things from him. And about
his magic! But Arthur was right. He had no right to demand the truth. Not after all of his years of
lying. No matter what his reasons for doing it had been.

He was still muttering about stupid kings and the stupid unfairness of the world when Heath and
Danyl showed up with their friends. They were a young group, athletic and eager. At least none of
them would drop dead from heat, he thought, though that was finally easing up.

Merlin surveyed the small clouds that had returned to the sky, feeling a cool breeze moving his
hair. Nice to know I can still do magic without destroying anything, he thought. Though
something had apparently gone wrong. Not that Arthur was going to tell him about it.

“No, don’t tell me, of course not, why would you do that,” Merlin muttered, as he returned to
Arthur’s chambers. “I’m only the last bloody sorcerer on the face of the bloody earth. It’s not like
I’m an expert in magic after fifteen damned centuries of it. Royal pain in my arse…”

Without thinking, he shoved through the doors of Arthur’s chambers. “There’s a-“ he began, then
choked on his words, and turned his back so quickly that he slammed his elbow into the door.

“Will you never learn to knock?” Arthur asked.

Merlin could hear clothing being adjusted. “Probably not,” he said weakly.

I am never going to get the mental image of Arthur bent over pulling up his pants out of my head,
he thought. Yet another thing he’d forgotten about. That glorious round royal backside of his.
Good god-

“What’s so interesting that it required you bursting through my door?”

“What? Oh. It’s.” For several disorienting seconds he honestly couldn’t remember what the hell
he’d been thinking for the past several minutes. “Oh. There’s. A man. With a sword.” He
squeezed his eyes closed, swearing mentally, at even more suggestive mental imagery. ”Outside,”
Merlin said firmly. “There’s a man with a sword outside.”

“Yes, Merlin, well done, that’s very observant of you,” Arthur said, in that tone of royal
condescension that set Merlin’s nerves on edge. “We’re all going to have swords. That’s why it’s
called sword training.”

Merlin rolled his eyes, because he still couldn’t quite move on from what he’d seen when he
walked in. Keeping his gaze averted from where Arthur stood dressing, he wandered around the
room, picking up a tunic, only to discover three more scattered on the floor. Somehow, a sock had
found its way onto the mantle. And another in the hearth.

“How did you do this?” Merlin asked, realizing that there were bits of clothing everywhere. “I was
gone less than an hour!”

“It’s one of my many natural gifts,” Arthur said smugly.

“Along with being a supercilious prat.” Merlin grabbed a sock from a chair, and a pair of breeches
from the floor. He paused by his chair at the dining table. “Where’s my neckerchief?”

“How should I know?”

“I put it right here.” Merlin looked under the table, but only found only a sock and Arthur’s belt.
He picked them up, then cracked the back of his head on the table trying to stand. “You made this
mess on purpose,” he grumbled, risking a glance at Arthur.

Arthur gave him a look of pure innocence, blue eyes wide and eyebrows raised and even a hand
pressing to his chest. “Now why would I do that?” he asked.

“I have a few ideas,” Merlin grumbled at him, picking up an undergarment that had made its way
onto the top of the wardrobe.

“How wonderful for you. I’m so proud. Now come over here and ready me for training.”

With an enormous sigh, Merlin threw his bundle of clothes to the floor, and went to get Arthur’s
armor.

As it turned out, training involved far more talking and instruction than actual swordsmanship.
With no squires to help, the students had to be taught to dress themselves in chainmail and arm
guards and gloves. It took a while for Arthur to get them into any kind of formation, and even
longer to go through the most basic of moves.

Merlin watched the proceedings from the shade of a tree. He leaned back against its bark, his head
tipped forward, his hands folded upon his outstretched legs. All around him he felt the gentle sigh
of the earth, as the temperatures slowly cooled and the breeze moved across his face.

The sounds of clashing swords and the smells of sweet grasses lulled him into a light doze, and
brief dreams of castle spires and red capes. A loud laugh snapped him awake, and he sat up. Upon
the lawn, Arthur stood in tunic and breeches, sparring with a bald man in a white martial arts
uniform.

Thomas, he thought. The martial arts instructor of Danyl’s brother. He’d shown up quite early
with Danyl and his brother Wyatt, bearing a sword of his own.

Arthur was as fascinated by the blade as he’d suspected he would be. After sparring only a few
minutes, he called a stop to the session, and then after speaking with Thomas, he exchanged his
own blade for the one used by Thomas.

The difference in the weapon’s weight and length was enough to put Arthur at a disadvantage as
they began sparring together. He clearly didn’t mind, smiling as they engaged and retreated. Even
laughing as the blade was flung from his hand, landing inches from Merlin’s foot.

“Trouble hanging onto your sword, sire?” Merlin asked, as Arthur retrieved the weapon from the
ground. “Maybe I should give you some pointers.”

“You, give me pointers.” Arthur straightened, scoffing at him. “In what? How to fall down?”

Merlin picked up a training sword and shield from the pile at his side, and stood up.

“Seriously?” Arthur asked.

“Are you scared?” Merlin asked loudly.

Arthur glanced over to the group of men and women who stood taking refreshment by the table
Merlin had set out. “Oh, by all means,” he said, and gestured to the clearing.

While Arthur retrieved his training sword, Merlin strode down to the lakeside, his shield raised to
hide his face, his blade lifted, saying: “beþence gefyllan áflygennessa.”

A quick surge of magic, small and controlled, had him turning to where Arthur stood ready upon
the lawn, sword raised, a deeply smug and superior smirk upon his lips.

Merlin took his place facing him, raised his sword, and waited.

Arthur twirled his sword.

Merlin’s blade repeated the same motion.

Arthur stilled, frowning curiously at him.

“Don’t worry, I’ll try not to hurt you too badly,” Merlin said loudly.

Arthur rushed forward with an wide swing that had Merlin’s shoulder wrenching in its socket as
he twisted to meet Arthur’s strike. Again Arthur attacked, this time three rapid blows, Merlin’s
blade yanking his arm through the air to meet each one.

“Well done!” Danyl called.

Arthur glanced at the applauding crowd of students, then narrowed his eyes at Merlin. “What did
you do?”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Merlin informed him.

“Really.”

“Really.”

Arthur rushed forward again, this time using more advanced attacks, including a feint and half turn
with a follow up attack from behind that had Merlin’s arm yanking around painfully to meet
Arthur’s blade.

He staggered off balance, just in time to see the flash of recognition in Arthur’s eyes.

“You’re cheating,” Arthur said.

“How could I possibly cheat,” Merlin said loudly, and grinned at their audience.

“All right then,” Arthur said, in a low even voice. “If that’s how we’re playing it.”

And he attacked again.

Merlin found himself driven backwards, his arm jerking around so roughly and quickly to meet the
barrage of attacks that he had to throw his shield away and grasp the sword with both hands.

Arthur was ruthless, moving all around him, feinting and reversing as Merlin was yanked around
by the sword to mirror and repel all of his strikes.

Then quite abruptly, Arthur stopped, going still, eyes moving over him from head to foot and back
again. And then a thin smile pulled at his lips, an expression Merlin knew to be a harbinger of very
bad things.

Arthur sauntered towards him, bringing his sword around in an extremely slow movement.
Merlin’s sword did the same, until their blades touched gently between them, and they stood facing
one another with inches between their bodies.

“Enchanted the sword then, did you?” Arthur asked in a low voice.

“I told you I didn’t need to practice with a sword if I have magic,” Merlin said smugly.

“You did say that, didn’t you.”

“You going to admit I was right then?”

Arthur very slowly brought his sword back. Merlin’s did the same.

“Not today,” Arthur said.

And then he punched his shield into Merlin’s chest, knocking him flat to the ground.

Merlin hit the grass hard enough to jostle his blade from his fingers. Breathless and amazed, he
watched Arthur step over him, kick his blade away, then point his own sword at his throat.

Above them on the hill, wild applause broke out, and a few cheers besides.

“That was cheating!” Merlin rasped out.

He wanted to be angry. He really did. But he couldn’t manage it. Not in the face of such a
brilliant piece of strategy. He couldn’t believe Arthur had outwitted him. And in the face of a
magical attack, no less.

“That wasn’t cheating,” Arthur told him. “That was knowing your opponent.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Arthur grabbed his forearm and hauled him to his feet. “With you, there’s always only one
solution. One emotion-based, headstrong, poorly thought out solution. That’s your problem. You
never think through all the angles. All the points of weakness. You just rush headlong into
danger.”

“That’s… not true,” Merlin protested, though not with much certainty.

“It’s a common hubris of men of great power,” Arthur said. “They forget they’re not
invulnerable.”

Merlin couldn’t find the words to respond, too busy trying to process the compliment so clearly
stated beneath the criticism.

Arthur grinned at him, a lopsided thing full of affection. “From now on, leave the strategy to me.
I’m far better at it than you. Now go sit down. You look like a strong breeze could knock you
over.”

Merlin did so without argument, sweaty and winded from the sparring. He spent the next half hour
reclining against the tree, thinking about what Arthur had said, watching Arthur talking and
laughing with the men and women gathered by the lakeside.
By the time training ended, Heath had organized several more lessons for the group. Arthur agreed
to them without hesitation.

It wasn’t until much later, after they’d cleaned up and dressed and sat together in the dining room
of Merlin’s downstairs residence, that Merlin found out why.

“It’s amazing that people still train in the old ways,” Arthur said, as he watched Merlin browse
through news websites on his laptop. “Danyl’s brother has been training in the Eastern Arts since
childhood.”

“Is that so,” Merlin said absently, scanning through the stories, finding nothing unusual. Nothing
but the usual death and destruction. Nothing to justify Arthur’s return.

“Did you know that the warriors of the East were serving nobility before we even knew how to
make proper swords? Amazing weapon, the katana. No weight to it at all.”

“Hmm,” Merlin said. Something, he thought. I must be missing something.

“Thomas said that his students train just as much for discipline and fitness as they do for defense.
They don’t ever expect to see battle. Their training for it is the goal itself.”

“Not too dissimilar from why the lords sent their sons to Camelot.”

“They sent their sons to Camelot to defend the kingdom. Or to receive political favor. What they
got instead was death on the plains of Camlaan.”

Merlin looked over at Arthur, and found Arthur’s gaze lowered to the table, pain etching wrinkles
around his eyes, between his brows.

“What you gave them,” Merlin said, “was something to believe in. Something to fight for. Just
like you did for me.”

Arthur just shook his head, wiping a hand absently over the tabletop.

What will it take, Merlin wondered, for Arthur to stop doubting himself? What sacrifice would
finally do it, if not his own life?

“People come to you for leadership,” Merlin said, “because you’re brave of heart, and bold of
spirit, and fair and just and strong. They don’t only want to learn the way of the sword. They want
to learn how to be better. It happened back in Camelot. And it’s happening now too. Already.
After not even a week.”

Arthur looked over at him, giving him one of those nearly imperceptible smiles that let him know
he’d said the right thing.

Merlin smiled in response, watching Arthur’s smile grow, until it reached his blue eyes. Any
moment, Arthur was going to look away, he thought. Any moment, he would say something to
break the silence. To end the moment between him.

But he didn’t. Instead, Arthur just sat quietly by his side, his gaze sliding over his face, from eyes
to cheeks to lips and back again to his eyes.

Merlin found his thoughts wandering, going where they shouldn’t, to the way Arthur’s lips were
parted, and the moisture shining upon them. He wondered if they would taste like the sweet juice
Arthur drank outside. He’d only need to lean forward, just a little-
Next to him, he saw Arthur lick his lips.

The strength of his arousal at the sight was shocking. He drew in a sharp breath, turning back to
his laptop, his cheeks burning.

News stories, he told himself firmly, as he typed on the keyboard with trembling fingers. Yes.
That’s what he was supposed to be doing. Looking for news stories.

When the next website displayed, Arthur pressed against his side, peering at the screen.

I should push him away, Merlin thought. Or I could also move the laptop closer to him. Or I
could lean away. Yes, that’s what I could do. Then he wouldn’t need to sit so close.

Or maybe he would, he thought. He’s been touching me so much more often now than he ever
did. Hasn’t he? Or maybe it just seems that way?

“Next week Thomas will be come by to show me what he teaches his students,” Arthur said. “It’ll
be sometime in the morning before- What’s that there? Go back to that.”

“That’s a video advert for a series on telly. Trust me, you don’t want to get started watching
television. And who’s stopping by?”

“I don’t remember telly in your books. Is it like computers? Thomas is the kendo instructor,
weren’t you listening? And didn’t you say they have pictures of Mars? Show me those.”

Merlin couldn’t help but laugh. “Never would I have imagined King Arthur of Camelot to someday
become an internet addict with poor focusing skills.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my focusing skills,” Arthur said, but he glanced twice at the laptop
screen as he said it.

Merlin laughed at him again, earning a cuff to the back of his head. Still smiling, he did as his
king asked, and googled photos of Mars.

They were still at the dining room table, seated close together and looking at photos of the solar
system, when the door to the café opened.

“These came for you boys,” Eleanor said, stepping aside to let Heath and Danyl carry in stacks of
cardboard boxes. “Everything’s all closed up. Until tonight, of course,” she said to Danyl, and
handed her keys to him. “Frederick and I will see you then.”

“Thanks, Eleanor.” Danyl started to follow her out of the door, then turned to Merlin and Arthur.
“See you later?”

“We’ll be there,” Arthur answered, with a sidelong glance at Merlin that spoke of a multitude of
embarrassing stories to be told.

“Great. We’ll be having pizza at seven, and cake afterward-“

“And beer and wine all night long,” Heath said, as he stacked three more boxes atop the large pile.
“Remind me to show you the video I took of you both. It already has five thousand hits.”

Merlin’s head snapped up from the laptop screen. “You posted the video of us online?”

“Don’t worry. It’s on the café’s YouTube channel. So it’s all promotion for you. Come on, Dan.
See you tonight Merlin, Arthur!”
“What café YouTube channel?” Merlin called after him, but Heath just smiled over his shoulder,
and closed the door behind him.

“Do I want to understand any of whatever it is that has you so worked up?” Arthur asked.

“You really don’t, no.”

“Good.”

“YouTube channel,” Merlin muttered, as he got up to open the boxes.

“More gibberish,” Arthur said absently, as he poked at the mouse.

After opening all the boxes, Merlin made piles of clothing and shoes on the table. After closing
the laptop, Arthur moved to stand by his side and study the clothes. “Which ones are mine?”

“Those piles there. The ones that look like what you already own. Just without the laces and the
rough fabric.”

Arthur rummaged through his piles of clothes, messing everything up in the process. After
manipulating some zippers, and some velcro, he nodded approval at his new royal attire.

“Why don’t I have one of those?” he asked, pointing at the mobile that lay atop Merlin’s clothes.

“If you get one of these, then Albion is definitely lost. Because I cannot even express how much
more addictive a mobile is than a laptop.”

“Just because you have no willpower doesn’t mean that I don’t. Get me one. And more of these,”
he added, gesturing to his shirts. “But you can have these,” he added, throwing three pairs of what
Merlin had thought were very tactfully striped sleeping trousers at him. “They look like something
a court jester would wear. And what in god’s name are these?”

Merlin grabbed back the pants Arthur had pulled from his own pile of clothing. “They’re pants.
Underclothes.”

“Why in the world would you need them in such a bright color? And they’re clearly too small.
They couldn’t possibly fit.”

“They stretch.” He pulled the fabric as wide as it could go. “See?”

Arthur picked up another pair, pulling at it doubtfully. “Well. Perhaps they fit you,” he said in a
sly tone, casting a significant look towards the area of Merlin’s hips.

Merlin felt his face flush. “They’d fit you too, and I should know, because I’ve seen you-”

He choked on the next word, which was going to be ‘naked’, wondering how in the world he’d
wound up nearly talking about seeing Arthur climbing out of the bath.

To his surprise, Arthur turned pink in the face too, clearly uncomfortable. “They’re ridiculous,”
Arthur announced, flinging the pants at him.

Merlin shoved them deep in the pile of his clothes, then gathered up everything into his arms with
frantic motions. “If they bother you so much, I’ll send yours back!”

Arthur stared down at his pile of clothes in horror. “You bought them for me too?”
“Never mind!” Merlin yelled, and left the room as quickly as possible.

With the party in only a few hours, he laundered the clothes with the washer and dryer, feeling like
he was cheating by doing it. But it got him back in Arthur’s chambers with clean dry clothing with
plenty of time to spare, even allowing him time to fold and put away Arthur’s clothes in his
chambers.

Arthur reclined upon his bed as Merlin did so, books scattered around him. Occasionally he
grunted to himself, sometimes shaking his head.

Merlin smiled as he set Arthur’s new shirts into a drawer. “What is it this time?”

“These inventions in the nineteen hundreds. Just think of how much easier castle life would have
been if we’d had even a handful of these things.”

“I think of that all the time. Hauling buckets of hot water up all those stone steps... Makes my back
hurt just to think of it…”

“Which begs the question.”

Merlin patted Arthur’s new collection of socks in his drawer. “What question is that?”

“All the technology of this world. All the things that make life easier. Yet you lived up here all
this time. Why?”

Merlin looked around at the stone walls and the lit candles, the gently swaying curtains and the
stained glass. “It helped me remember. Who I was. What I was doing here. Because there were
times…”

“When you forgot.”

Merlin moved his fingers absently over Arthur’s socks in his drawer. “It was so easy sometimes,”
he said softly. “To get distracted by the events of the world. To get pulled into friendships and
relationships. Or into the magics of the earth. The longer you were gone… the harder it was for
me to find my way back when I got lost.”

He turned from the wardrobe, leaning a shoulder on it, his arms crossed over his chest. Arthur had
gone quite still on the bed. Watching him carefully. A little guarded. A little pained.

“I didn’t just build this place for you,” Merlin said. “I built it for me. Even more than Ealdor,
Camelot was my home. It will always be my home. It’s where I found myself.”

And it’s where I found you, he thought. And this time, I’m not going to let you go.

Arthur inclined his head forward. The barest of movements. A gesture of understanding, and of
sympathy, and of grief.

Only Arthur could put an entire paragraph into a nod, Merlin thought. Not even with the druids
had he felt such intimate voiceless communication.

“Your clothes are all ready,” Merlin said, to fight back a swell of emotion. “I was thinking of
dressing a bit more modern tonight?”

“As was I,” Arthur said. “Go on then. I’ll meet you in the café.”

It felt strange, Merlin thought, readying himself for a social gathering, without readying Arthur as
well. He kept expecting to hear Arthur bellow his name, or demand to know where his royal robes
had got to.

No royal robes tonight, Merlin thought, as he stood in the washroom, freshly shaved and dressed.
He cast a critical eye at his reflection. Not bad at all, he thought, as he soothed down his black
button down shirt, tugging at the open collar. He hauled up the waistband of his jeans, casting a
baleful look at his unused hair products. With a roll of his eyes, he styled his hair in the more
natural fashion he’d worn it in Arthur’s day.

Which was just stupid, he told his reflection. It wasn’t as if Arthur was actually going to notice his
hair.

After some final preening in the mirror, he joined the party in the café. The tables had been shoved
against the stone walls, the main space open for people to mill around together. Soft rock music
played from a speaker set upon the counter, and early evening light shone through the glass wall,
enhanced by the soft interior lighting above.

Merlin spotted Eleanor and her husband over by Danyl’s mother and father. He’d known both of
Danyl’s parents for decades. Danyl’s grandparents too. They were here as well, age heavy upon
them, both of them looking much older than he remembered.

They won’t know me, Merlin remembered. He’d forgotten all about that. Again. Tonight, he’d
need to reintroduce himself to all these people who he already knew. Pretending he hadn’t known
them all since they were children…

“Well don’t you look handsome.”

Eleanor had stepped in front of him, her cheeks rosy, a nearly empty glass of wine in her hand. Her
husband was by her side, a kind man with a round face and an easygoing disposition. The perfect
companion for Eleanor, he’d always thought.

“I see you’ve found your way to the wine,” Merlin said wryly, nodding at her glass.

“A daily drop of red wine is good for the health,” she told him sagely. “Merlin, I’d like to
introduce my Frederick. Doesn’t Merlin look like Emrys, dear?”

Frederick squinted at him. “Don’t see it, I’m afraid,” he said. “Pleased to meet you, Merlin.
You’re keeping my dove out of trouble, now, are you?”

“That’s definitely the other way around,” Merlin assured him.

Eleanor tsked at him, but gave him a fond smile. “Will be having the honor of Arthur’s presence
tonight? I never see the one of you without the- Oh, there he is.”

Merlin followed her gaze to his residence door. Arthur stood there, closing the door behind him.

The sight of him felt like a kick to the stomach. Because here was something else he had never
imagined. Arthur Pendragon of Camelot, looking every inch the twenty first century man, with his
red v-neck shirt stretched across his broad chest, and black trousers tight across his strong hips and
muscled legs, right down to his dark shoes.

Merlin watched Arthur survey the room, blue eyes narrowed under beautifully combed blond hair.
When Arthur spotted him, a broad smile lit Arthur’s features like the sun coming out from behind
the clouds.
“Bloody hell,” Merlin breathed, as warmth filled his face.

Next to him he heard Eleanor sigh.

He barely registered it, because Arthur was striding towards him, for some reason looking him up
and down and smiling, one eyebrow raising as if in appreciation for what he saw.

“Arthur!” called a voice, and then Heath was at Arthur’s side, talking with him, a few others
following to crowd around him.

The group pulled Arthur away, over to where Danyl stood with his parents.

Merlin watched him go, because dear god but those trousers fit him rather well, didn’t they, and
they didn’t leave much to the imagination at all, not that he needed to imagine anything, not with
all those times he’d seen Arthur climbing in and out of the tub-

“Freddie, dear,” Eleanor said, “could you get me some more wine?”

“Would you like anything?” the man asked Merlin.

Merlin couldn’t stop staring at Arthur. “I better not,” he muttered, because there was no telling
what he would do if he were intoxicated with Arthur looking like that.

“Be right back, dove.”

“Thank you, pet.”

Merlin dropped his gaze, fussing with his shirt, knowing full well what Eleanor was going to say.

“You should tell him,” she said, without preamble.

Merlin watched two more people join the crowd by where Arthur stood chatting with Danyl and
his family. Two of the women from training, he realized. Both lovely, both moving quite close to
him as he spoke.

“It’s not like that, Eleanor,” he said softly.

“I know he was married, but. Well. Heath had a ladyfriend too, if you remember. That’s no
indication these days.”

“In this case it really is.”

“The way he looks at you though…“

Merlin turned to her, picking up her hands, holding her thin fingers gently in his own. “Eleanor,”
he said. “My dear, dear friend. Thank you for what you’re trying to do for me. But please.
Don’t. I’m happy with how things are. So just this once? Let it be?”

“Now you really do remind me of Emrys,” she said, sounding not happy about it at all.

After Frederick returned with her wine, Merlin excused himself from their company. He moved
around the room, chatting with people, leaving Arthur to his social circle.

Merlin had just finished chatting with one of the men from the village when he felt a hand grip his
arm. Arthur stood at his side, giving him a look of utter exasperation.
“You do know this isn’t Camelot, and you don’t need to skulk about in the shadows like a servant,”
Arthur said.

“I wasn’t skulking like a servant,” Merlin protested, even as he realized to his own aggravation that
yes, that’s exactly what he had been doing.

“Well then come on,” Arthur said, and he pulled Merlin by the arm over to a group of people who
were apparently awaiting his return. Among them were a group of small children. Nieces and
nephews of Danyl’s, he realized, judging by the dark hair and thoughtful dark eyes.

“This,” Arthur said to the children, “is Merlin. The sorcerer.”

Merlin raised his eyebrows, as stunned by Arthur’s casual use of the word as he was by Arthur’s
playful smile.

“He’s not Merlin,” stated a ten year old boy. “He doesn’t have a beard.”

“Can you really do magic?” a younger girl asked him.

“Do you use a wand like Harry Potter?” ventured another boy.

“He doesn’t even have a magic hat,” the first boy protested.

“Why, that’s true,” Arthur said, sounding as if this were the most enlightening thing he’d ever
heard. “He can’t be Merlin if he doesn’t have a magic hat on. And magic robes, as well. But do
you know what? I think he could find some. Can’t you, Merlin.”

Merlin struggled to suppress a smile at the mischief sparkling in Arthur’s eyes. But he couldn’t let
him win that easily. “Sadly,” he said, “I have no idea where my magic robes or my magic hat have
got to.”

“Top shelf of the cupboard in the diningroom!” came Eleanor’s voice, from the back of the crowd.

“No more wine for you, Eleanor Godwyn!” Merlin called to her.

She was already heading for his residence door. “Oh fooey!” she called back.

“Why have I never sacked her?” Merlin said wistfully. “She never does what I tell her.”

“That must be indescribably aggravating,” Arthur said.

Merlin held in five sarcastic responses, mindful of the children nearby. “You know,” he told them,
“you don’t actually need a hat to do magic. Or a robe. Or even a wand.”

“Harry Potter uses a wand,” the girl insisted.

“Wands are for when you want to be showy,” Merlin said.

“And Merlin is nothing if not subtle,” Arthur told them.

“I am subtle. Although, mind you, a proper staff can come in handy. When you need to really
make a point.”

“Striking down armies with lightning from a mountaintop,” Arthur explained.

“Hypothetically,” Merlin said.

“Of course.” Arthur grinned across the room. “But oh look, Merlin. Here comes Eleanor. With
your magic clothing.”

“Did you know,” Merlin said to the children, in an attempt at some sort of retaliation, “that he is
the real King Arthur of Camelot?”’

All three children looked at Arthur, who froze with his wine glass halfway to his lips.

“He can’t be King Arthur,” said the boy. “Where’s his beard?”

“Where’s Excalibur?” asked the girl.

“And you don’t have any armor.”

Arthur crouched down amid the children. “I don’t have a beard because only barbarians don’t
shave,” he said to the first, “and my sword is upstairs because it’s much too sharp to be around
little fingers like yours,” to the second, “and my armor is in a pile in the corner of my chambers,
waiting to be cleaned by Merlin, who can’t do it right now because he’s going to put on his very,
very special magical sorcerer robes and hat, and conjure you each a butterfly.”

Eleanor proudly held up Merlin’s long blue robes with the stars and the moons with one hand, and
his tall pointy hat with the other.

Arthur handed his wine glass to Danyl, and took the hat from Eleanor. “Oh, yes, that is just…
Look at that,” he said, grinning wildly, as he placed the hat atop Merlin’s head, pulling it down a
bit too much, before stepping back to admire his handiwork.

“Not like that.” Merlin adjusted the hat properly on his head. “Like this.”

“Oh, that is…” Arthur pressed a fist to his mouth, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter, his
cheeks reddening with it.

Merlin pressed his lips together, wanting to feel aggravated, but utterly unable to do so. “Good, is
it?”

Arthur drew in a deep breath to steady himself. “It is one thing shy of perfection,” he said, and he
took the long blue robes with the stars and the moons from Eleanor, and held it against Merlin’s
shoulders.

“Better, sire?”

Arthur’s grin was bordering on manic. There were tears of barely restrained laughter in his eyes.
“Oh that is just… perfection. Now come along, Merlin. Put on your magic robes, and wear your
magic hat, and show us some magic.”

After Merlin donned his costume, it turned into a bit of a show. Everyone at the party gathered to
watch, as he sat on a chair in the middle of the room, and gave each child a chance to conjure a
butterfly. Even the smaller children ventured forth, bravely asking him to do the same.

The last little boy, a nephew of Danyl’s of six, was far less impressed with the butterfly than he
was by staring into Merlin’s face.

“Your eyes got sparkly,” he said curiously.

“That’s from the magic,” Merlin told him.

Next to him, Arthur choked on his wine.

“I told you,” Merlin said to Arthur, after the child had been lead away. “They never believe it’s
actually magic.”

Arthur smiled at him as Merlin pulled of his hat and robes. “You absolutely must wear that outfit
more often. Because that hat…”

“You and hats,” Merlin said fondly. “Where did you get that thing with the feathers, anyway?”

“Court jester of some visiting nobles,” Arthur told him.

“I knew it. Formal servant clothes of Camelot my arse.”

“You did look rather like an arse, come to think of it.”

Merlin shoved Arthur with his shoulder. Got an even harder shove in return. And together they
went to join where the others sat with their pizza and cake.

Once again, Arthur wound up surrounded by people. After a while, Merlin wandered off again, to
sit in a chair by the glass wall. Even with what Arthur had said, he still couldn’t keep from feeling
like he should be standing in the shadows, a goblet of wine in his hands. Old habits, he thought
wryly. He doubted he’d ever be rid of them.

“You’re Merlin, right?”

A young woman had stepped next to him, tall and athletic and beautiful, her long blond hair falling
over her t-shirt, her hands shoved into the pockets of her jeans.

“Weren’t you at training today?” he asked.

“I was. I’m Anne, Megan’s friend.” She held out her hand.

Merlin stood up to shake it. “You were good today. Arthur was impressed, I could tell.”

She smiled at him, clearly flattered. “Wow. Thanks. I’m really glad we came to class. It was a
great workout. Heath says Arthur will be doing more of them?”

“You’d best ask Arthur about that.”

“Megan’s doing that now, I think,” Anne said, glancing over at where a tall woman with dark hair
stood quite close to Arthur, her hand resting on his arm.

“Right,” Merlin said absently, watching the woman lean even closer to Arthur, and say something
right up against his ear.

“So is all this yours then?” Anne asked.

“Hmm?” If Megan were standing any closer to Arthur, he thought, then she’d be leaning on him.

“The manor. Is it yours?”

“Oh. Yes. It is.”

“It’s so beautiful. Honestly. Such a responsibility to have so young.”

Merlin turned his back on Arthur and Megan and his court of admirers. Outside the sky had turned
a deep indigo. Several of Danyl’s friends had gathered upon the porch, guitars in their arms,
playing music and singing together.

“I need some air,” Merlin muttered.

“That sounds like a great idea,” Anne said.

He’d meant alone, but he forced a smile, and gestured for her to lead the way outside to the group
of people around the tables upon the porch. He didn’t know the song the musicians were playing,
but they played it beautifully. So he sat down at one of the tables to listen, with Anne taking the
seat next to him.

Between songs, as the musicians discussed what to play next, Anne rested a hand on his chair,
leaning over to speak to him. “Is your name really Merlin?”

Heath turned at the next table, where he and Danyl sat with the guitar players. “Come on, Anne-”

“I’m just asking!” she protested.

“Yes, it’s really my name,” Merlin said wearily.

“Cor, mate,” said one of the guitar players. “Just how much shit have you taken in your life
because of that?”

“Centuries of it,” Merlin told him.

“That’s awful,” Anne told him. “And I swear I wasn’t teasing you about it. Honestly. It’s just.
You know how this town is. Everything ‘King Arthur’ all the time.”

“I know the feeling,” Merlin said, with a glance to the window.

The next song the musicians played was slower, with soft lyrics about love. At the next table,
Merlin saw Heath move his chair closer to Danyl, and put his arm around his shoulders. Danyl
gave him a positively besotted grin, tilting his head up for a lingering kiss, before resting his head
on Heath’s shoulder.

They’re so lucky, Merlin thought. He ached with envy just looking at them.

The music and soft singing continued one song into the next. Merlin slouched down in his chair,
enjoying sitting upon his porch, the summer breeze cool on his face, the smells of the grass and the
trees filling his nose. The moon hadn’t yet risen, so the silhouette of the tower was hidden in
darkness, the lake gone from view. Only the soft glow from the café illuminated the porch,
relaxing him into a light doze.

He jolted awake at the feeling of fingertips at his temple, soothing his hair from his face. He
turned to Anne, blinking awake, to see her pull her hand away, clearly apologetic.

“I’m sorry. You just- You looked so tired. I thought it would help you relax. If you want, I can
still…” She held out her hand, fingers close to his hair, but not touching.

Merlin thought of Arthur, and of the woman inside, and of the women in the café this morning, and
of princesses and noblewomen. A parade of beautiful faces. All focused on Arthur. And Arthur
upon them as well.
“Sure, why not.” Merlin relaxed back into his chair, his eyes falling closed.

The guitar players played on, their voices soft in the night. And it really was quite nice, her fingers
soothing his hair, at his temple and by his neck. No complications, no magic, no expectations.
Just a gentle human touch.

“So this is where you went,” came Arthur’s voice.

Merlin sat up quickly, leaning away from Anne, feeling as if he’d been caught doing something he
shouldn’t, which was just stupid, he told himself, because he hadn’t been doing anything, and even
if he had, it was no business of Arthur’s.

Arthur stared down not at him but at Anne, at her hand resting upon Merlin’s shoulder. “I’ve been
looking for you,” he said sharply. “Apparently you were here.”

“I’m surprised you noticed I left,” Merlin snapped. At the next table, he noticed Heath and Danyl
turn in their chairs, so he added, “you were having such a good time inside.”

“Things are winding down, it seems.”

Danyl glanced into the café, then started to get up. “I better go say goodbye.”

Heath stood with him, kissing him as if they were going to be separated for a week. Danyl grinned
at him in delight as they parted, staggering a little as he walked to the café door.

“You two are so adorable,” Anne told Heath.

“Soppy, is what you are,” one of the guitar players said, shooting Heath a wry grin.

“Romantic,” said the other, with a roll of his eyes, and he began playing a love song in a high
falsetto voice, making exaggerated faces at Heath as he sang.

“You’re just envious, the lot of you,” Heath told them, over the music.

“Adorable,” Anne said again, and she set her hand upon the back of Merlin’s neck, soothing his
hair.

“I’m turning in,” Arthur said.

Merlin turned in his chair to watch Arthur disappear inside. What was that about? he wondered.
Did something happen while I was out here? Maybe someone had said something upsetting to
him?

“Is Arthur all right?” Anne asked.

Merlin pushed himself to his feet. “I’d better go check.”

“Oh, do you have to?” Anne asked him.

Merlin stopped, then went back to her, realizing he was being horribly rude. “It’s been lovely,” he
said to her. “Thanks. And thanks for the music,” he told the others.

After saying his farewells in the café, he returned to the North Tower. He ran into Arthur in the
corridor as he left the washroom, bare chested and barefoot and in his sleeping breeches.

“Are you all right?” Merlin asked.

“Tired, Merlin,” Arthur told him, as he walked past. “Go back to the party.”

“I’ve already said my goodbyes,” Merlin called after him. “Feeling a bit tired myself.”

Arthur paused at the threshold of his chambers, his hand on the door handle. “All right, then.
Come to bed.”

Arthur vanished into his rooms, leaving Merlin standing in the hallway, the words ringing in his
head.

He knew what Arthur had meant by them. Which was nothing. But that phrase had been spoken
too often in his fantasies over the years. He couldn’t help but imagine-

No, Merlin thought. Stop. Just. No.

Over and over he told himself not to think of it. But over and over his protests faded into Arthur’s
voice.

Come to bed.

Merlin stood in the washroom, his face still dripping from washing it, the water still running in the
sink. In the mirror, his reflection stared back at him. Pathetic and aching with want.

A cold shower, he thought. That’s all I need. A very, very cold shower. If I’m going to get in bed
with him again. If he’s going to hold me again. If he’s going to touch me again.

And god, how he touches me, Merlin thought, and he lifted a hand to press it over his heart. Right
where Arthur pressed his hand.

He closed his eyes, and realized that it would be easy to imagine that it was Arthur’s hand upon his
chest right now, instead of his own. He knew that feeling so well. Of Arthur’s hand upon him.

Arthur’s hand, over his heart. Sliding over his chest. And down his stomach. And past the
waistband of his jeans-

I shouldn’t, he thought at himself. I shouldn’t-

His fingers dragged downward, over the bulge beneath his jeans. Down, and up, and down.

Come to bed, Merlin…

“Arthur,” he moaned, and he yanked open the fastenings of jeans, shoving them down along with
his pants, so he could wrap a shaking hand around himself.

The surge of pleasure was so sharp at the first stroke that he bent double over the sink, forearm
hitting the counter to support himself. He was so hard, so painfully hard, as he ran through
memory after memory of the past few days.

Arthur grabbing at him during the day. Arthur wrestling him to the ground. Arthur pressed
against his back as they lay in bed.

And Arthur laying atop him this morning. He moaned, imagining Arthur pressing him to the bed,
sliding inside of him, hot and hard and almost too much. God, what that would feel like, to have
Arthur thrusting into him, all his power and all his strength, just ravaging him, claiming him,
moaning his name until he came inside him-
With a startled cry his pleasure surged through him, buckling his knees, dropping him to the floor,
as he spilled hot and wet over his hand.

He barely recognized the high pitch to his voice as he whimpered and moaned and stroked himself
through the rush and into the aftershocks, relishing every sensation as he imagined the
unimaginable.

Arthur, gathering him into his arms, holding him, moving gentle fingers through his hair, as their
pleasure ebbed and faded, until they fell asleep in one another’s arms.

With a deep breath, Merlin banged his forehead against the edge of the counter.

And then did it again, harder.

“Ow,” he muttered. And then he prayed that Arthur had closed his chamber door. Because dear
god he had been loud.

Clinging to the sink, he pulled himself to his feet. “Idiot,” he muttered to himself, as he cleaned up.
And then cleaned up the floor.

After changing into a t-shirt and trousers for sleeping, he padded barefoot down the hallway,
feeling guilty and nervous. When he crept into Arthur’s chambers, he discovered that Arthur had
already put out all the candles. He’d left the windows open, though, to allow the breeze that was
cooling the room, and the moonlight that lit his path to the bedside.

The universe really does hate me, Merlin thought. Because Arthur was clearly awake as he lay flat
on his back, the blankets pulled only to his waist, his arms folded over his bare chest.

Without speaking, Merlin climbed into the bed and lay down on his back at Arthur’s side.

I wonder what Anne would say about this, he thought. I doubt she would have bothered with me
tonight, if she’d known I was going to wind up in bed with Arthur. Or maybe she would have.
You never did know these days.

“Did you have a pleasant time,” Arthur said. “With that woman.”

It had sounded like an accusation, instead of a question. “Anne,” Merlin said.

“Yes. Anne.”

“What about you?” Merlin asked. “Did you have a pleasant time? With whatever her name was?”

“Megan.”

“Yes. Megan.”

Arthur didn’t answer.

Merlin glared up at the canopy.

What the hell? he wondered.

The awkward silence stretched on, as the breeze blew in through the window and they lay in bed
together.

Merlin wasn’t quite sure what was happening. But he was pretty sure, for once, that it wasn’t his
damn fault. So he wasn’t going to speak first.

“Megan enjoys talking. Quite a lot,” Arthur said, sounding not to happy about it.

Merlin felt himself relax. “About what?”

“I have absolutely no idea,” Arthur said. “I couldn’t understand half of what she was saying.
Everyone else seemed to though. So it must have made some sort of sense. She’s nice enough,
mind you. But difficult to take in large doses.”

“Anne kept calling Heath and Danyl ‘adorable’,” Merlin said.

“Oh he must have loved that,” Arthur said wryly.

“It made his face twitch, every single time. And Anne was nice too. She reminded me of my
mother, actually.”

“How on earth does that woman remind you of Hunith?”

“The way she soothed my hair. My mother did that to help me sleep. Might have been why I kept
drifting off, come to think of it.”

“That could have also been from your lack of sleep these past nights.”

“It could have been.”

Merlin watched the curtains moving beside the alcove as the cool breeze wafted through the
windows.

Arthur put a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. Nudged him.

Merlin rolled towards the lakeside window, to lay on his side.

This was only happening because of his dreams, he told himself. And because of Arthur’s fear of
the dark. It would never be like his fantasies. Never.

But he couldn’t help his eyes from falling closed in bliss, as Arthur pressed against his back, bare
chested, wrapping a muscled arm around his waist, sliding a warm hand up his chest.

What he’d done in the washroom did nothing to ease his body’s reaction to Arthur’s touch. It was
a struggle to keep his breathing slow. And there was no way Arthur couldn’t feel the beating of his
heart.

“You’re seriously going to do this every night?” Merlin said, in a strangled voice.

“I think it’s for the best.”

“Right,” Merlin choked out. “For the best.”

From beyond the lakeside window, soft voices singing to distant guitar strumming could be heard,
soft and beautiful and haunting.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, his breath warm on the back of his neck.

Merlin had to fight his body’s need to shudder at the sensation. “What?”
“There are worse things. Don’t you think?”

Merlin stared out the window, at the moonlight upon the tower. “Than what?”

Arthur tightened his arm around him. “Than this.”

“Yes,” Merlin breathed at once, overwhelmed by even this small admission, because it was so
much more than he’d hoped for. He dared to let himself lean back into Arthur. Who pressed
forward in return.

Weariness tugged at him, though he hadn’t thought it would. His eyelids drooped, and his
breathing calmed.

Arthur’s hand moved from his chest. Closed over Merlin’s hand. “You in that hat,” he said, and
chuckled.

Merlin slid his fingers through Arthur’s. “You and hats.”

“You’re definitely wearing that again,” he said, his lips moving against Merlin’s skin, right under
his hair.

“Make me.”

“Oh I will," Arthur said.

And Merlin was sure it was his imagination, but he smiled at what sounded like a flirtatious tone,
relaxing against Arthur's body, and sighing himself to sleep.
 pawns in the storm

I should miss it more.

The thought repeated in Arthur’s head as he lay awake, staring into chambers that were not his
chambers, in a castle that was not Camelot.

The light of pre-dawn softly lit his belongings, as chilly rain-soaked breezes stirred the curtains,
ghosting over his face.

I do miss it, he thought. My kingdom. My people. All I had. All I was.

But his grief had eased, without his realizing it, since that day he’d arrived here a week ago. With
each passing morning, this world grew more real. Camelot more distant.

It was still a weight in his heart. He felt its loss when he least expected it. Knocking the breath
from him. But its pain was no longer incapacitating. It was just there. A part of him. He
supposed it always would be.

Next to him on the bed, Merlin smacked his lips and pushed his face into the pillows, resettling
upon his stomach, buried beneath the blankets of his bed.

Strange, how natural it felt to wake with Merlin this way, Arthur thought. Even stranger still how
natural it felt to fall asleep with him every night. Especially as they had been doing.

Pressed together. Chest to back. His arm around Merlin. Their fingers entwined.

An embrace, Arthur told himself. Call it what it is. An embrace.

It had also served its purpose, of course. Just as he’d said it would. Twice Merlin had dreamed the
night before. Twice Arthur had woken him, and eased him back to sleep. Both times he’d done it
by moving strands of Merlin’s hair away from his face with careful fingers, as Hunith had
apparently done.

Merlin had drifted to sleep right away. It had taken Arthur a while longer to stop.

Arthur rolled onto his side, daring to rest a hand upon the blanket covering Merlin’s back, fingers
close to his hair, but not touching.

He looks defenseless, Arthur thought. I could almost fool myself into believing it to be so. But
not quite. Not after the motionless world yesterday morning. Or the magic crawling over him
yesterday afternoon.

Arthur stared at his hand where it rested upon Merlin’s back. Remembering when Merlin had
grabbed his arm.

Merlin had grabbed him with his magic as well.

He’d seen it, the glowing light of his magic, sliding like streams of water over his own arm, where
it gripped Merlin’s waist. The sight had startled his sword from his hand.

He had felt it, too. Clinging to him. A grip that stretched into his blood and his bones, dizzying
and euphoric and beyond anything he’d felt before.

Threatening, like an approaching storm. Ancient, like a looming mountain range. Wild, like
lightning arcing between the clouds. Alive, like the flowers and the trees. And all of it, feeling
somehow like Merlin.

I will tell him about it, Arthur thought. He does need to know. But not yet. Not when he looks
with such longing at Excalibur. If he knew he was affecting me in any way with his magic, there
was no telling what idiotic thing he would do.

It was doing no harm, in any case, Arthur thought. He wasn’t sure how he knew that with such
certainty. But he did.

Arthur slid his hand higher on the blankets, his fingers brushing at the black hairs laying against
the pale skin of Merlin’s neck.

I will figure out what’s happening, Arthur thought at him. I will protect you from it. Somehow, I
will find a way to protect us all.

“Mmm?” Merlin cracked open one eye.

His voice was low and rough and Arthur felt himself smile. “Go back to sleep.”

“Mmm,” Merlin agreed, and for once, did as he was told.

Arthur realized he’d fallen back to sleep only when he forced open heavy eyelids. The sound of
the rain was harder now, the light in his chambers brighter. He had no idea what time it was, but
judging by how rested he felt, he suspected it was quite late.

“Hope you didn’t mind,” Merlin said. He lay upon his side, facing him, one arm shoved under his
pillow.

Arthur pushed the blankets down to his waist and gave a long, luxurious stretch, arms stretching
over his head. “Mind?”

“That I…” Merlin’s eyes darted around Arthur’s body before returning to his face. “That I let you
sleep. I thought you could use a lie-in, after the past few nights. Me waking you constantly.” A
worried look now. “Did I…?”

“Twice.”

“I don’t remember. I guess… that’s a good thing?”

“They might not even have been the same dreams. Perhaps you were just dreaming about eating
another piece of birthday cake. I noticed you had two.”

“So you were paying attention to me last night,” Merlin said, and then snapped his mouth shut,
clearly regretting the words.

“I always pay attention to you. If I didn’t, there’s no telling the trouble you’d get into.”

And there was the smile Arthur had wanted to see, delighted and sarcastic and arching up one of
Merlin’s eyebrows.

Arthur tucked an arm behind his head, feeling ridiculously rested and entirely decadent for laying
in bed at such a late hour. “So. What’s on my schedule for today?”
“Aside from training-“

“No.”

“No?”

“Apparently Saturday is a day of sport in this century. Not even Heath would give up his rugby
match.”

“So then no training at all? Not even…” Merlin waved a hand between the two of them.

“Do you see the torrential downpour outside?” Arthur said, gesturing at the open window. “I’d
have no problem myself, but you’d break your leg in the first five minutes.”

“Of course,” Merlin said, with another twitch of his eyebrow, to show he didn’t believe that for a
moment. “So if there’s no training, and we’ve gone through all my books-”

Arthur pushed himself up to his elbows. “Did you say we’re done with your books?”

“Yes, we’re done with my books, but there’s a bit of a gap in history between when I stopped
writing and this year.”

Arthur flopped back onto the bed, groaning.

“Though I suppose,” Merlin amended, “that I can show you the rest on the laptop.”

“Well that’s all right then.”

Merlin snorted at him. “You and that laptop…”

“What more is there on my schedule for the day?” Arthur asked, ignoring that last.

“Well… sire,” Merlin said, his voice formal, his expression serious, “there’s that important speech
you need to give to the Guild of Brass Polishers…“

“Not doing that,” Arthur said, grinning up at the canopy.

“And then you’ll need to receive an extremely small envoy from Mercia about a very minor border
skirmish involving the use of farmland for five goats…“

“I remember that day. They drew their swords in my council chambers over goats. Goats,
Merlin.”

“Then you’ve to learn all about wheat cultivation and harvest so that you can talk intelligently with
the farmers of the northern plains…“

“Not doing that either, go on.”

“And you’ll finish up your day with a long drawn out feast in which you’ll have to listen to arrogant
nobles curry your favor in order to lure you into an alliance which is actually meant to weaken the
five kingdoms in preparation for invasion. Which I’ll nearly get killed helping you stop. Again.”

“Well that doesn’t sound like any fun at all. So that’s right off the table.”

“All right then.”

“All right.”

Arthur stared up at the canopy. Listened to the rain falling outside the window. Felt the cool
breeze moving over his face. A strange thought occurred to him, and he turned his head on the
pillow. “So you’re saying nothing’s on my schedule for the day?”

“It appears not?”

“And there’s nothing for me to do.”

“No?”

“Well… that’s…” He wasn’t sure how to end that sentence.

“Does this mean I’m finally getting my day off?”

“I don’t recall ever promising you a day off,” Arthur said, which was a scandalous lie. “Besides,
I’d be the one taking the day off. I haven’t had one in decades.”

“I should have known,” Merlin said wryly, as he rolled onto his back and pulled the blankets up
over his chest, apparently content to just lay in bed.

“A day off,” Arthur said in wonder.

“I know.”

“What do people…” He waved his hands in the air vaguely. “Do? When they have a day to
themselves.”

“They... have a lie-in?”

“Like this?”

“Yes.”

Arthur folded his hands on his stomach. Wiggled his toes. Squirmed on the mattress. Frowned up
at the canopy. “Then what?”

He heard Merlin chuckle softly beside him. “Well, I suppose, they…”

“Yes?”

“Take a trip somewhere?”

“Yes!” Arthur sat up in bed. “That is what we are doing. Do you have an automobile?”

Merlin pushed himself to his elbows, smiling fondly. “I do, yes.”

“Excellent. That will greatly increase our travel options.”

“Where would you like me to drive you, sire?” Merlin asked, sounding amused at the combination
of words.

Arthur felt rather the same. “Anywhere. I don’t care. Just so long as that thing isn’t within sight,
watching.”

Merlin followed the direction Arthur had pointed, out the lakeside window and to the tower. He sat
up, distress wiping the mirth from his face. “Watching,” he repeated.

“Figure of speech,” Arthur said, and he swung his legs out of bed, thinking no, it had not been, and
he could in fact absolutely feel the thing somehow, if he thought too hard about it. Which he was
absolutely not going to do right now. Not on his first real day off in his entire life.

“Didn’t sound like a figure of speech.”

“Get up,” Arthur said, and chucked a pillow at him. “Breakfast isn’t going to fetch itself.”

Merlin climbed with reluctance out of bed, his shirt clinging to his chest and back, his striped
sleeping trousers sliding low on his hips as he stretched his arms into the air.

“We’ll leave after breakfast,” Arthur said, forcing himself to look away. “Come on. Get moving.
We’ve a lot to do today.”

“So much for my day off,” Merlin said, his sarcastic expression so clearly forced that Arthur didn’t
believe for even one second that he was anything but delighted.

Breakfast wound up being a leisurely affair downstairs in the café, after they’d both dressed in
modern clothing.

They sat at a corner table, Merlin’s laptop in front of them both. As they sampled the food Eleanor
sent to their table, Merlin described recent history, often showing photos and videos of what he
recounted.

Arthur watched the moving pictures, mystified. They were like windows, he thought. Windows to
the past, and into the present. Windows to other worlds.

“People actually want to leave Albion to go there,” Arthur said, leaning forward in his chair to look
at a photograph of Mars displaying on the laptop.

“Well, some people do,” Merlin said.

“Is there magic there, as there is on Albion?” He was thinking of the airplane, high above the
earth. And he wondered, now, just how far magic could reach.

Merlin seemed both surprised and impressed by the question. “I don’t know. I mean, I haven’t
been there to know, have I.”

“You haven’t been thirty thousand feet up either. But your magic reached that far. So why not
Mars?”

“I never really thought about it. I mean, Albion is more than enough for me to worry about, right?
Without adding in other planets to muck things up even more.”

A clear attempt at levity, Arthur thought. And self-deprecation thrown in as well. Which meant
that he was hiding something fairly big. “You do know. Why don’t you want to tell me?”

Merlin’s smile melted away. “It’s… difficult to describe.”

Arthur leaned forward, elbows resting on the coarse material of his jeans. “Try.”

Merlin tapped his fingers on the edge of his laptop. Bit his bottom lip, clearly thinking. “Do you
remember when I told you about the tiny invisible bits of matter?”
“Atoms,” Arthur said curiously. He’d paid special attention to that, and had read those parts of
Merlin’s books more than once.

“Well they’re everywhere. Beyond airplanes, beyond the Earth, out into empty space, on and on
with no end. In a way, magic works like that too. It’s here, and it’s everywhere. Sometimes, when
I use the elemental forces, I can feel… everything. Everywhere.”

Arthur watched a very disconcerted expression pass over Merlin’s face, before he straightened in
his chair, and picked up his tea.

“So there is magic on Mars,” Arthur said.

“There is.”

Arthur thought about atoms and magic and science. “Do you think they’ll ever harness the power
of magic? The people of this age? Just as they did the atom?”

Merlin’s teacup halted halfway to his mouth. “Over my dead body,” he said, his voice thick with
thunder.

Arthur remembered the mushroom cloud. “And mine as well,” he agreed.

By the time they left the café, the rain had turned into a steady mist. The automobile that Merlin
owned was kept in a small building across the road. They crossed the short distance in the cool air,
following a stone driveway to the building’s tall door. Merlin pointed a small box at it, and the
door rose amid a hum of machinery. Within the dark building sat a large black vehicle, rounder in
shape and larger than any of the automobiles he’d seen so far on the roads.

“I got this a few years after the war,” Merlin said, as he opened the door for Arthur. “A friend of
mine worked for Bentley. It’s one of their first automatics. Still runs a treat.”

Arthur climbed into the vehicle’s small cabin, onto a wide seat stretching its width. After Merlin
closed the door behind him, he studied the small space, discovering another seat behind the front,
stale smelling cloth upon the roof, and a smooth brown glossy panel beneath the front glass
window.

Merlin climbed into the other side of the vehicle, closing his door behind him. That’s the steering
wheel, Arthur thought, remembering the diagrams he’d studied in Merlin’s books. And those
levers on the floor somehow control the vehicle as well.

“I still can’t believe it,” Merlin said softly.

Arthur realized that he’d slid quite close to Merlin on the seat. A recurring event, of late. “Believe
what?”

Merlin smiled, but it was a small broken thing. Moisture sparkled in his eyes. “That you’re back.”

Arthur set his hand on the back of Merlin’s neck. Gave a gentle squeeze. He saw Merlin nod. He
returned the gesture. “You’re going to show me how to use this thing before the day is out,” he
said offhandedly, because the pain of the past had drawn too near.

“What, the car? You want to learn how to drive?”

“If you can manage it, then I can certainly do it.”

“Of course. Why not. I’ll just add that to my list of things I never expected when you came back.”
Merlin snapped Arthur’s belt into place, then secured his own. “Ready?”

“Of course I’m ready,” Arthur said.

But of course he was wrong. Because the vibration and the noise of the engine was startling, and
so was the feeling of moving, even slowly upon the stone driveway to the road. It was so wholly
unlike anything he’d ever felt that he found himself gripping the edge of his seat with one hand and
the handle of the door with the other.

“All right?” Merlin said, sounding worried.

“Stop being an idiot and drive.”

“You’re all right,” Merlin said wryly, and pulled them out onto the roadway.

The speed of it, dear god, Arthur thought, as the hedgerows and the houses raced by. It was
dizzying, and more than once he had to close his eyes, and breathe, before being able to look again
in amazement through the wide glass that was occasionally cleared of rain by two sticks that
moved across them.

Next to him, Merlin was prattling on about the engine that powered the vehicle. Arthur barely
caught half of it. He was too busy watching the world rush past, houses and trees and hills and
people, while he hung on to his seat and tried not to visibly flinch every time another vehicle
passed them from the opposite direction.

By the time they reached the next town, he’d begun to adjust to at least some of the insanity of the
experience. But then Merlin brought the vehicle to a stop, in the middle of everything, for no
reason at all.

“Why are we stopping?” Arthur asked.

“It’s a red light.” Merlin pointed upwards, as if that explained anything at all.

“What about it?”

“You know, before you learn to drive, you really will need to learn the rules of the road.”

“Nonsense. You’ll show me how to drive first. I’ll learn the rules afterward.”

“Of course. Why am I not surprised.” Merlin moved his foot on the floor, and the car eased
forward. “By the way, we’re going on the motorway soon.”

“What does that mean?”

“We’ll be going faster.”

Arthur watched the buildings blurring past. “Bloody hell,” he said softly.

Merlin had the decency to at least attempt to stifle his laugh.

“Where exactly are we going?” he asked, desperately trying not to think of what ‘faster’ could
possibly mean.

“A city about an hour or so away. It’s a little bigger than Avalon or Buckdale. I thought we’d go
there before visiting London, which is more enormous than you can imagine, from what I’ve
heard.”

“You’ve never been there?”

“It’s a little too far from Avalon.”

“Too far even by automobile?”

“Well. Not now.”

“Now?”

“Now that you’re back.”

Arthur stared at Merlin’s profile. “You really never went anywhere. In all the time I was gone. In
fifteen hundred years.”

Merlin shrugged, but didn’t reply.

“Would you like to?” Arthur asked.

Merlin stared at him long enough that Arthur pointed savagely straight ahead at the road. Merlin
rolled his eyes at him, but did as asked, guiding the car onto a wide road where they travelled
alongside other vehicles, much faster than before.

Much, much faster than before.

Arthur gripped the door handle harder, fingers digging into the seat.

“Actually, I’d rather like to see Italy,” Merlin said. “I had some friends from there once. They
came to visit me during the Renaissance. Even painted a few pictures for me on commission. I
probably should do something about those. They’re worth quite a lot of money, I’d think.”

Merlin glanced quickly around, then moved their car into an even faster line of vehicles, all
careening at an insane pace down the road.

“How did you have friends in Italy if you were in Avalon?”

“I told you. I wrote to people. A few of them became friends, so I invited them here. That’s what
the yellow house on the hill was for. Bit of a vacation spot to entice people to come visit me since
I couldn’t visit them.”

Arthur remembered the massive house with the stables on the top of the hill. “I thought the Widow
Abbernathy owned those lands.”

“I’ve let her family live there for generations. But the lands and the house are mine.”

“What about the forest? The one that stretches between that house and your estate?”

“My house.”

“It’s an estate, Merlin, and it’s especially an estate if it has woods and a house on a hill, and
grounds that stretch to- Watch out!”

Merlin swerved and jammed his hand on the wheel, making the vehicle emit a loud noise at the
lorry that had drifted close to them. “Oi! Stay in your lane!”
“He can’t possibly hear you,” Arthur ground out, as he hung on for dear life.

“Not the point,” Merlin informed him.

Arthur pressed himself into his seat and decided to be very quiet, because taunting Merlin about
his lands and his riches was clearly not conducive to them staying alive.

“You do realize that I could stop us from getting into any kind of accident with magic, even if a car
were coming directly at us,” Merlin said, in clear amusement.

Arthur loosed his grip on the seat and doorhandle at once. He glared through the window a long
moment.

And then he punched Merlin in the arm.

“Ow!”

“You damn well could have mentioned that before!” Arthur yelled at him.

“Did I forget to mention it?” Merlin said, in feigned innocence. “I thought for sure that I- Ow!
Stop hitting me!” he said, through laughter. “It’s not safe to hit the driver!”

Arthur cuffed Merlin hard on the back of his head before sitting back in his seat, arms crossed,
staring furiously at the oncoming road. Which was apparently no danger to them whatsoever.

“The look on your face,” Merlin said, chuckling.

“The mace,” Arthur said. “We are definitely training with the mace tomorrow.”

“Oh don’t be such a child.”

“And the javelin. And the sword. And then the mace. Again.”

“Royal prat.”

“Insolent arse.”

After a few moments in silence, Arthur glanced over, and saw Merlin fighting a smile.

“So what do you call those woods of yours?” Arthur asked, because he would never be done
taunting Merlin about his money. “The ones that stretch between your ridiculously enormous
castle-“

“House-“

“Castle, and your gigantic, opulent, lordly manor on the hill?”

“There’s lots of names.”

Now Arthur did smile. “What does it say on maps?” he asked sweetly.

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Hunithson Woods, all right?”

“Hunithson Woods!” Arthur said, laughing. “Lord Merlin of Avalon.”

“Once and future pain in my arse,” Merlin muttered.

Though Arthur fully believed that Merlin could spare them any injury, he was still relieved as they
ventured onto winding country roads lined with low stone walls and hedgerows. They travelled
much more slowly amid the green fields dotted with farms that stretched to low hills in the
distance.

“This scenery looks more familiar,” Arthur noted, as Merlin fiddled with some dials that caused
soft music to emanate from the vehicle.

“It’s like the journey to Gedref,” Merlin noted, glancing from the road to the dials and back.

Arthur knocked Merlin’s fingers from the dials, gestured for him to pay attention to his driving,
then took over turning the dials for himself.

Merlin cringed as the volume went up, and then down. “I don’t own the horses, incidentally. The
ones we rode. Those belong to the Widow Abbernathy.”

“You absolutely detest having money and lands, don’t you.”

“Well. Not really. I just don’t like the lordship they kept trying to shove at me,” he added, with a
significant stare. “The rest of it though… I mean, it’s actually quite nice not sleeping on the
ground. Or being dirty and cold all the time. Or starving when the crops weren’t good that year.”

“Strange to think of it. Not worrying about food. Knowing it can be gotten anywhere.”

“If you have money to pay for it. And if you live in certain parts of the world. But in general, yes.
It’s not like it was in Camelot.”

They were silent for a while, as Arthur played with the radio.

“Do you miss it, sire?” Merlin asked softly.

“Yes,” Arthur said automatically. And then forced himself to be honest. “And no.”

“No?”

“I miss the people. And the feeling of making a difference. But this world is so filled with
wonders. With possibilities. Everything moves so much faster here. Progress was excruciatingly
slow in Camelot. People were so set in their ways. Far too many died because nobility refused to
change. People today seem much less that way.”

“Not always.”

“More than before, though.”

“Yes. More than before.”

“A fair and just kingdom of equals,” Arthur said, distantly.

“I wouldn’t say that-“

“Deeply flawed, I’ll grant you. And far from something that’s available to all the people of this
world. That much is painfully obvious through fifteen centuries of poor leadership, old hatreds and
brutal behavior. But it’s still better than it was.”

Next to him, Merlin still looked entirely unconvinced.

“Can you not remember how it used to be, Merlin? You, of all people, who were considered a
lesser person by virtue of your birth? Who were treated so horribly by every arrogant noble?
Including me. Far too often.”

“You weren’t so bad.”

Arthur stretched out an arm along the back of the seat, to rest his palm on the back of Merlin’s
neck, between soft hair and thick jacket. He felt Merlin jump at the touch, then lean back into the
pressure of his hand.

“Eventually I wasn’t so bad,” Arthur said, by way of apology.

Merlin gave an almost shy smile. “Eventually.”

They drove a while without speaking, soft music coming from the radio, followed by a news
report, which Arthur saw Merlin pay close attention to, before shaking his head at its conclusion, a
wondering expression on his face.

A few minutes later, Merlin pulled the vehicle onto a gravel path leading into a cow pasture. He
parked the car, then turned to Arthur. “Ready to learn to drive?”

Arthur looked around the field. Two cows stood in the distance, unconcerned. There were no
apparent roads he could use. “Here?”

“Can’t kill anyone here, can you.” Merlin unfastened both their belts and climbed out of the car.

Arthur didn’t even hesitate. He shoved over at once into the driver’s seat.

They spent the better part of a half hour with Arthur driving, Merlin giving patient instructions. It
turned out to be rather ridiculously simple when it came down to it. At one point, he did nearly
wind up running over a cow that wandered into his path. Merlin had to lunge at the wheel and turn
it, falling into his lap, laughing so hard that tears ran down his cheeks.

“You are a menace!” Merlin said, after they stopped.

“I’m still better at it than you.”

Merlin unbuckled their belts and gestured to Arthur’s door. “Get out so I can slide over.”

“You get out so I can slide over.”

“There’s cow dung on the ground by my door.”

“That’s hardly my problem.”

“I’m not messing up my shoes or my car floor. Look, just get out your side, then I’ll slide over and
get out, then we’ll both get back in.”

“Oh for god’s sake, just climb across,” Arthur said, and shoved his hip hard against Merlin’s right
side.

“There’s not enough room to- Arthur-!“ Merlin had to brace himself on the seat and the front panel
and push his hips into the air as Arthur shoved past.

“Watch your elbow!” Arthur knocked Merlin’s arm out of the way, resulting in Merlin sitting
down hard in his lap. He caught another elbow to the temple as Merlin scrambled off of him,
falling into the driver’s seat, sounding the horn as he did so, his face flushed with color. “You’re
heavier than you look,” Arthur said, rubbing at his thigh, where he’d felt Merlin’s weight land on
him.

“Comes from all that decadent living, sire,” Merlin said wryly, before getting them back onto the
road.

As the scenery moved by, Arthur listened to Merlin prattle on about all manner of things. After a
while he lost track of what Merlin was saying.

A headache had been growing steadily, radiating from the back of his neck. His eyes hurt, and he
found himself squinting at the misty road ahead. His muscles had begun to ache as well. He
stretched his arms, his legs, but it didn’t help. And his stomach was churning with nausea. He
could taste bile in his mouth.

The car was silent except for the soft radio. Merlin had stopped talking. He couldn’t remember
when.

The ache in his muscles turned into an itch. He pushed up a sleeve, and for a second thought he
saw thin lines, a latticework of them, paler than his skin. When he blinked, they were gone, leaving
a feeling of extreme agitation behind.

Merlin swerved, knocking Arthur against the door.

“Watch it,” Arthur bit out.

“Rabbit,” Merlin said tersely.

“Well be more careful.”

“I was being careful.”

“You obviously weren’t.”

“I was.”

“I doubt that.”

“You think you could do better?”

“Yes, I could!”

“Like hell you could!” Merlin yelled at him.

Arthur looked sharply at him. His knuckles were white upon the wheel, the muscles of his neck
were strained, and his face was so pale that his lips were white.

“Merlin,” Arthur said tightly.

He saw Merlin swallow, as if against rising nausea, his face turning paler.

“Merlin,” Arthur choked out, and grabbed Merlin’s arm.

Merlin looked over, first angry, then alarmed, at whatever he saw on his face.

“Pull over,” Arthur said, pointing urgently at the side of the road. “Now.”
Merlin swerved the car to the side of the lonely road, then stumbled out the car.

Arthur did the same, falling to his hands and knees, heaving up all he’d eaten. From the retching
sounds on the other side of the car, Merlin was doing the same.

When his stomach had emptied, Arthur pulled himself up, and staggered around the back of the car
to where Merlin knelt upon the road. “Something we ate?”

“That’s not it.” Merlin rubbed at his arm, still pale, still distressed. “It feels like-“

“Ants under your skin,” Arthur said, rubbing at the rough material of his jeans. Magic, he thought.
That’s what this was. Magic. And not Merlin’s magic. That didn’t feel like this. He felt his
stomach lurch again. Had to swallow hard not to be ill. “Turn us around,” he said. “Take us back.”

Merlin climbed into the car slowly, as if scaling a mountain. Arthur staggered to his door, leaning
on the car the entire way, before collapsing into his seat and weakly pulling the door closed.

He heard Merlin make a small sound of pain as he started the engine, grunting with effort as he
turned them around on the deserted road, to drive back towards Avalon.

Arthur leaned back in his seat, eyes closed, all his effort focused on breathing. He couldn’t
remember the last time he’d felt this awful.

No. Actually, he could.

He stretched his arm across the back of the seat, reaching for Merlin. His hand found a shoulder.
Slid to the back of a neck clammy with sweat. He pressed his palm there, listening to Merlin’s
harsh breaths, feeling his body shaking beneath his hand.

He slid his fingers up through Merlin’s hair. Gently moved his fingertips through the strands.
Merlin’s breathing eased in response. His trembling diminishing.

Why did it help? he wondered. The physical contact. There was no reason it should help. Though
perhaps it didn’t. Perhaps it was because they were heading back towards Avalon. That was
where this magic had come from, after all.

How do I know that? Arthur wondered distantly. There’s no reason for me to know it. But I do. I
can feel it.

Arthur felt his stomach lurch again. He pushed all his troubling thoughts aside. Focused only on
soft hair on his fingers. And just breathed.

Slowly the pains eased away, the agitation vanished, and the nausea disappeared.

A low growl, a wild and furious thing, had him open his eyes and turn to the man beside him. He
couldn’t remember ever seeing the fury written in every line of Merlin’s face. His eyes were
narrowed, his jaw set, his body tense and shaking now with anger.

“That was magic back there,” Arthur said.

“Yes,” Merlin ground out, through clenched teeth.

Arthur sat up straighter in his seat, realizing that he felt normal again. Not a trace of any of the
symptoms remained.

Without warning, Merlin pulled the car into a farmer’s road and turned off the engine. He sat
motionless a long moment. Staring straight ahead.

Then he drove his fist into the dashboard, cracking its clear surface.

Merlin threw open the car door and shoved himself outside. Arthur followed him into the field.

“Merlin, will you calm down.”

“Calm down?” Merlin spun on him with such murderous fury in his eyes that Arthur felt his body
tense automatically in response. “Do you understand what just happened? That magic back there
wasn’t mine! And that never happened before! I could always travel farther than that! We’re
being kept here!”

“There must be a reason-“

“I am tired of their reasons! I am tired of their rules!”

Thunder rumbled in the distance. Another rainstorm approaching. “What choice do we have?
Until we know more-“

“Until they decide to tell us!”

A flash of lightning, followed by a clap of thunder. Black clouds churned directly above them like
the surface of a murky cauldron, dark and violent and angry.

“You will tell us what we need to know!” Merlin yelled up at the sky.

A sizzling bolt of lightning, striking so close and with such heat that Arthur ducked, throwing an
arm over his head, feeling heat all along his back. Across the field, another bolt surged downward,
striking a giant oak tree. It exploded with a crack of thunder, sending branches showering over the
field.

Merlin stood straight and tall and glaring upward as the latticework of lightning arced through the
clouds, and thunder shook the earth. His arms were shaking, his hands clenched into fists. Golden
light danced beneath his skin.

Arthur ran over to Merlin, ducking as lightning stuck again close by, the thunder deafening. “Calm
down!” he yelled again.

“Fifteen hundred years of waiting! Of riddles and prophecies! Of doing everything they wanted
me to do!” Merlin cried out to the clouds. “No more!”

Gold in Merlin’s pupils, gold shimmering from the whites of them, gold dancing upon his skin.
Arthur closed the distance between them, grabbing the back of Merlin’s neck, pressing a hand to
his chest.

“Stop this!” Arthur yelled, in the tone he’d used upon horseback in the heat of battle. “It is the
command of your king!”

Merlin jolted, his gaze dropping instantly to Arthur’s, his hands grabbing onto Arthur’s arms.

The golden light in his eyes vanished. Above them the clouds dissipated, the thunder echoing
away, and dying.

They stood clinging to one another in the middle of the field, the sour smell of burning wood and
the stink of ozone filling the air.
Merlin bowed his head, forehead resting on Arthur’s shoulder. “Sorry,” he said in a small voice.

Arthur had to gather his thoughts before he spoke. Because that had been a startling, terrifying, and
horribly enlightening display of Merlin’s raw power.

“I knew you could throw temper tantrums, Merlin,” Arthur said, his tone intentionally mocking.
“But that was ridiculous. Even for your overly dramatic standards.”

Merlin gave no reaction to the taunt. “I’m just so tired of being their pawn.”

“We’re no one’s pawns.”

“Except for the part where we don’t know why you’re back, or why I’m losing my mind, or why
we aren’t allowed to leave Avalon.”

Arthur moved his hands to the sides of Merlin’s neck, as much to soothe him as to remind himself
that even with his powers, this man was still very much flesh and blood, with a far too human
heart.

He is powerful enough to call down storms in his fury, Arthur thought. But when it comes to me,
he is dangerously afraid. He doesn’t think. A worrying combination.

“We’ll figure it out,” Arthur told him.

Merlin looked up at him, full of dread. “I think I know how.”

“How?”

“We’ll need to go back to the manor.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do.”

They climbed into the car, but instead of starting the vehicle, Merlin sat in the driver’s seat.
Staring at the shattered, smoldering tree the lightning had split in half.

“Just like the tower,” Merlin said.

“What?”

“The tree. It’s like what I did to the tower.”

“The tower,” Arthur repeated.

“I’d been so sure,” Merlin said distantly. “When the world went to war that second time. I was
certain you’d be back. All those millions dying. But then it was VE Day. And the Americans
dropped the bomb. And it was over. So I went to that damned island. For the first time. And I
begged them to send you back. I begged. And still they didn’t answer me.” Merlin gave a rough
laugh, mirthless, with a worrying hint of madness. “So I blew their tower halfway to hell.”

Arthur thought of the ruins, and of how Merlin must have seen them every day, through that glass
wall of his. A reminder of what was denied him. A reminder of his loss of control.

“You weren’t happy with me about that,” Merlin said in a low voice. “For a long time afterward. I
couldn’t blame you. I shouldn’t have done it. I shouldn’t have.”

Not me, Arthur thought. The other me. The one Merlin had kept in his mind in his isolation and
grief.

Arthur reached across the space between them. Put his hand on the back of Merlin’s neck again.
This time sliding his fingers over his neck and up through his hair, just as he did the night before.
“Stay with me,” Arthur said, without thinking.

It was the right thing to say. Merlin’s shoulders slumped, his head bowing, the breath sighing from
him.

Dangerous, Arthur thought. When he’s like this, when he’s in despair, he is indescribably
dangerous. Unpredictable, like the storm. Relentless, like the ocean. Devouring, like the flame.

“Come on,” Arthur told him. “Let’s get moving.”

Merlin sat up to start the car. “Time to get some damn answers.”
 to have in all ways

The ride back was silent, Merlin tense in the seat next to him. When they returned to the manor,
Merlin strode through the café and into his residence, to their stairwell.

After Merlin revealed the door to the vaults, he spoke to Arthur with his eyes focused on the floor.
“I would feel better if you had your sword, sire.”

Arthur caught himself before saying that he would feel better if Merlin never mentioned Excalibur
again. But just as the day before, he went to retrieve his weapon. And just as the day before, he
swore to himself that he’d fall upon his blade first before ever using it on Merlin.

As they descended the stairs, torch after torch lit along the stairwell. When they reached the vast
dark chamber, more torches flared to life along the exterior walls, guiding them to a far corner of
the room, where a massive wooden set of shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, covered in a
black cloth.

Merlin pulled away the thick dusty fabric to reveal shelves full of crystals, all of them faintly
glowing with white light.

“Scrying stones?” Arthur asked.

Merlin nodded. “From the crystal cave.”

“I thought you said the crystals were deceptive.”

“I’m going to make them tell me the truth for once.” Merlin turned to Arthur, his narrowed eyes
reflecting the glow of the crystals, his pale face ghostly in the flickering torchlight. “Are you
ready?”

Arthur tightened his hand around the hilt of his sword. “I’m ready.”

Merlin faced the crystals. Both arms held straight in front of him, palms flat, fingers spread wide.
“Show me,” he said in a low voice, and shoved his hands brutally forward through the air, his eyes
flashing gold.

All of the crystals flared a brilliant white. Arthur had to squint to see Merlin stalking forward
towards them, his fingers curling as if digging into something unseen.

“Show me,” Merlin said, low and threatening, and he shoved his hands forward. “Now!”

Arthur saw the air ripple around Merlin at the same time as he felt a warm wave of something
wash over him. He stepped back, his skin tingling, his gaze upon the crystals.

Images had appeared in every one. A series of them. Flowing one into the other.

The tower. The lake. The Stone Circle. Excalibur. Arthur and Merlin upon the shore.

As the images repeated, the same sequence, over and over again, Arthur saw a flicker of light. One
small crystal, entirely hidden from Merlin’s view, didn’t show the same images as the rest. It
showed a woman.
She smiled at him. Pressed her hand to her heart. Raised her finger to her lips.

Light flared from her crystal, blinding him.

When his vision cleared, he was standing in Camelot, in his throne room, upon the raised dais. He
wore his crown, his armor, his robes. His kingdom had assembled before him. Waiting. He had
no idea why.

Gwen stepped in front of him, in her royal gown, smiling. “You will know, my love,” she said, and
she touched Arthur’s face with her fingertips. Then kissed him gently. A kiss of parting.

He blinked.

People in modern dress of all races and ages had assembled in the throne room before him.
Waiting. He still had no idea why.

Merlin stepped in front of him, in his servant’s clothes, smiling. “You will know, my lord,” he
said, and he touched Arthur’s face with his fingertips.

Around Merlin’s wrist was a sparkling strand of gold. It stretched to Arthur’s arm, wrapping
around his wrist, and then around the hilt of his sword, before stretching down into the ground.

“So you don’t get lost,” Arthur said to Merlin.

“So we don’t get lost,” Merlin said, and he took a half step forward.

Arthur closed the distance between them, an arm sliding around Merlin’s back, guiding him closer,
to kiss him gently. A kiss of beginnings, and of unknown wonders, and of finding the way home.

He blinked.

He was alone in the throne room. Except for a lone woman.

Her hair sparkled like the waves, she was thin like a reed, and she stood upon a carpet the color of
water that stretched to the open doors. Beyond them he saw Lake Avalon. The island. The tower.

“You must not let them forget,” she said.

Arthur tried to go to her, but tripped over something at his feet.

He looked down. Saw Merlin lying upon the floor, pale and cold, with the golden strand in pieces
around him. Excalibur had been driven deep into the stones of his castle, right through Merlin’s
heart.

Arthur snapped from the vision with a shout, his heart beating wildly, his sword a horrible weight
in his hand.

“Arthur, run!”

Arthur shook his head, blinking away the vision, to discover that magic was draining from the
crystals, its brilliant light pooling upon the shelves like water, before spilling in bands of sparkling
gold to the floor. Great torrents of it began surging over the stone floor, all of them right towards
Merlin.

“Get back!“ Merlin yelled, backing away from Arthur, as thick rivers of magic coursed up and
around his legs. Eyes wide and frantic, he bent forward, desperately trying to push them off, only
to have his hands pass through them.

From the pool of light on the floor, a half dozen tendrils stretched upward like vines, reaching for
Merlin’s arms.

“Hold still!” Arthur yelled, and he drew back his sword, then slashed through the glowing bands of
light.

A scream of agony tore from Merlin’s throat, and he convulsed, clutching his stomach and chest,
before collapsing to the floor.

Arthur stared in horror at Excalibur. Golden light was sliding down the blade, was dripping from
it it like blood.

Around him, the pool of light rippled and convulsed. Beneath him, the earth began to quake.
Crystals fell from the shelves, shattered upon the stones. Thunder shook the walls.

“Too much-“ Merlin moaned from where he lay writhing on his back on the floor. “Arthur!”

Arthur threw his sword away, dropping to his hands and knees by Merlin's side. As the magic
surged around them, he pulled Merlin's arms and legs in close to his body, then dropped himself
fully atop him, shielding him as best he could. When he turned his head from Merlin's anguished
face, he saw glowing tendrils of magic flowing up and over them both, sliding around them like
vines, over and over again.

Binding us, Arthur thought distantly, and he dropped his forehead to Merlin’s, his vision filled with
light, as the magic wound over him, and around him, and through him.

Merlin moaned beneath him, his body arching on the floor. "Arthur!"

“Stay with me, Merlin!” Arthur yelled.

But then the power washed his thoughts away.

It felt like burning, like falling, like death and rebirth. It was a sword in the chest, and breathing
air after a thousand years. It smelled of wet grass and moved like the sea, shining like the moon
and warming him from the inside, like the feeling of Merlin sleeping in his arms.

Arthur heard himself laugh, loud and tinged with madness, as the energy sang in his body,
speaking to him by name, soothing him with a lover’s caress, before sinking into his bones, and
into his blood, and then finally into the burning sun in human form who lay beneath him.

When the last of it drained away, Arthur drew in a sharp breath, opening his eyes to see Merlin’s
torchlit face beneath him.

The quaking had stopped. The thunder had ceased.

Merlin sighed, a deep satisfied sound that moved Arthur’s body. As he exhaled with it, a wave of
light flowed from him and out over the floor.

When it faded, blades of grass reached up from every stone, green and lush and smelling of spring,
until every inch of the floor was covered in a meadow that instantly gave life to thousands upon
thousands of wildflowers of every color.

Arthur stared in wonder at the newly born meadow, dizzy from the magic that had passed through
it, his body trembling from it.

Beneath him, Merlin made a small contented sound, and smiled.

With arms that shook despite his efforts to steady them, Arthur pushed himself off of Merlin’s
body. “Are you all right? Merlin?”

Merlin opened his eyes as if waking from a wonderful dream. “Arthur?”

“You’re all right,” Arthur muttered, and he dropped heavily to his back upon the grass at Merlin’s
side, staring up at the dark stone ceiling, drawing in one deep breath after another to get his body
back under his control.

Merlin rolled over onto his stomach and blinked at the meadow. “Pretty.” He stretched two long
fingers into the lawn, to poke at a nearby flower. “Hello there,” he said happily.

“For god’s sakes, Merlin,” Arthur muttered, as he pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. A wave of
dizziness hit him at once, hard enough that he had to lean against the shelves of darkened crystals
for a long moment just to stay upright.

“Magic’s gone,” Merlin slurred out, pointing unsteadily up at the shelves.

It was, Arthur thought. He could feel it was. Just as he could feel the magic still radiating from
Merlin.

He is like the sun, Arthur thought. He burns with magic.

How do I feel that? he wondered abruptly. How do I feel any of this?

“I feel strange,” Merlin said to the grass. “Can’t. Um. Focus?”

“That’s nothing new. Now come on. Get up.” After retrieving his sword, Arthur hauled Merlin to
his feet. Merlin fell heavily against him, and Arthur had to grab him around the waist to steady
them both.

“Everything has… has… layers…”

“Layers?”

Merlin held up a hand. Stared at it curiously. “Real things… Lines of power…

Mmmmmmmagic,” he said, and snickered to himself.

Arthur pulled Merlin’s arm over his shoulders, and wrapped his own around Merlin’s back, his
sword held awkwardly so he didn’t cut either of them with it. He still wasn’t sure what had
happened with the magic. But he was positive he should keep the blade as far away from Merlin
as possible from now on.

“Come on,” Arthur told him. “Move your feet. We’re getting the hell out of here.”

With Merlin’s first step he tripped over nothing. “The ground moved.”

“Don’t be an idiot, the ground is where it always is.”

“Yes, all of it.” Merlin stamped his feet upon the grass as he walked, as if to test whether it was
real. “The earth and the rock and the magma and the liquid metal, spinning energy up into
space…” He tilted his head back and stared up at the ceiling, his expression melting into wonder.
“What are you looking at?”

“Everything,” Merlin whispered.

“Even Mars?” Arthur asked, intending it as a gibe, to bring Merlin back to himself.

“So lonely,” Merlin said sadly. “All red and rocky. And the little robot is stuck.” He moved his
head, as if nudging something with his nose. “There you go.”

Arthur realized too late what happened. At his side, Merlin smiled proudly at him, his eyes
sparkling with fading flecks of gold.

“They’re right about the water,” Merlin said. “It’s right where they think. I can show them-“

“No,” Arthur said sharply, fighting to stay calm in the face of the knowledge that Merlin was doing
magic on Mars, while out of his mind. “You are not to do any more magic.”

“That an order?” Merlin asked, smiling.

“Yes, it is an order, from your king.”

“I’m sorry, sire,” Merlin said, sounding properly chastised this time.

“Only with my permission,” Arthur said, in his strongest tones of command. “Do you hear me?
You’re only to use magic after getting my permission. Is that clear Merlin?”

“Yes, sire.”

“Swear it to me. No magic without your king’s permission.”

“No magic without my king’s permission,” Merlin said, his blue eyes wide and searching Arthur’s
face, seeking his approval, as full of devotion as ever they had been.

When they reached the landing to the upstairs, Arthur paused, catching his breath, adjusting
Merlin’s arm over his shoulders, trying not to stab himself with his sword.

“You’re covered in it,” Merlin said curiously.

Arthur guided Merlin up the stairs, one arduous step at a time. “Covered in what?”

“My magic. And not my magic. It’s all over you. Can’t you feel it?”

Arthur held back his answer, because yes, he could, very much so. His skin still tingled with it. It
had been stronger during whatever had happened downstairs. It was fading now. But it was still
there.

“It’s everywhere on you,” Merlin breathed. And then he pressed his body against Arthur’s, chest
to chest, nose shoved against his neck.

Arthur fell back against the wall of the stairwell, stunned by the unexpected feeling of hot breath
and warm body and Merlin pressed all down his front.

“You smell like it,” Merlin said, his lips moving on Arthur’s neck. “I wonder if…”

Arthur felt the warm, wet slide of Merlin’s tongue just below his ear. He drew in a choked breath,
an embarrassingly high pitched sound escaping him, the world narrowing to hot slick pressure
moving against his skin, and soft lips dragging slowly over his neck.

“Mmm,” Merlin said against his skin, his voice rumbling into Arthur’s chest. “I can taste it…
Tastes like the earth…” He covered Arthur’s neck with his opened mouth, his tongue lapping
against his skin.

Arthur’s eyes fell closed, his face heating, as Merlin tasted him, and breathed him in, and sucked
on him, and gods help him, but a wave of arousal washed over him so profoundly that his knees
gave way, dropping them both to the steps.

Even the pain of sharp stone on his knees couldn’t stop his thoughts, which were focused on the
fact that if Merlin’s mouth on his neck felt that good, then his mouth would feel absolutely
astonishing if it were anywhere else on his body, especially on his-

Merlin hummed, stretching out over the steps, pressing his face to the floor and licking the stones.
“Tastes like boots,” he said distantly.

Fury swept away Arthur’s desire with astonishing speed. “You’re drunk,” he snapped, angry that
the steps were getting equal attention. Then he realized what he’d said. “You are drunk, aren’t
you! You’re drunk on magic!”

Merlin just smiled, his eyes closing, as if he was readying to go to sleep on the steps.

“That’s it,” Arthur pronounced, and he pulled Merlin roughly to his feet. “I am well and truly
done with all this magic nonsense, do you hear me?”

“Mmmmmmagic nnnnnonsense,” Merlin slurred out happily, as he stumbled up the stairs.

“What I would not give for a straightforward challenge to the death,” Arthur growled, as he
dragged his drunken idiot sorcerer down the corridor into the washroom. “At least when someone
swings a sword at my head, I know what the bloody hell I’m supposed to do! Now get in there!”

Arthur shoved Merlin into the shower, then turned the cold water on full blast.

Merlin yelped and tried to back out of the spray, but Arthur stepped into the shower stall and held
him there, cringing as freezing water splashed his face.

“Cold!” Merlin cried out, backing away.

Arthur pushed him back under the water. “How does that taste? Does it taste like clouds?”

“Let go!” Merlin yelled, arms flailing, nearly knocking Arthur in the head.

“Not until you snap out of it!”

Merlin held up both hands to try and block the water, sending it everywhere. “I have!”

“How can I know that?”

Merlin shoved backward. Arthur shoved him forward.

“Let me out!”

“Prove to me you’ve sobered up!”

“I can’t prove anything to you if I freeze to death because you won’t let me out of this damned
shower, you royal arse!”

Arthur turned off the spray. “Right. That’s more like it.”

Merlin glared at him as Arthur left the shower stall to grab a towel and dry himself off. Shivering
wildly, Merlin pushed past him, wrapping one towel around his waist, slinging another around his
shoulders, and draping another over his head.

“How many layers are you seeing now?” Arthur asked sweetly.

Merlin glared at him, his nose red and his eyes furious and his skin pale. But very quickly he
relented, obviously realizing why Arthur had done what he did. “Just one,” he muttered.

“Then perhaps you finally have enough sense to tell me what the hell just happened.”

Merlin rubbed the towel over his head, frowning at the floor, obviously trying to figure it out
himself. “Magic drained from the crystals,” he said finally, as if he couldn’t believe it himself.
“And then flowed into me.”

“Did they ever do that before?”

“Never. And I’ve no idea why it happened now. I didn’t do anything differently than I always did
before. I just asked the crystals-“

“Ordered.”

“What?”

“You ordered them,” Arthur said, remembering the tone of Merlin’s voice.

“That didn’t have anything to do with- The way I did it doesn’t matter.”

“It wouldn’t affect the images the crystals showed us?”

Merlin paused in wiping his face, going very still. “Us?”

“Of course. They were clear as day. The tower, the lake, the stone circle, my sword, and you and
I.”

“No… That’s…” Merlin shook his head rapidly, tiny frantic motions. “You shouldn’t have been
able to see any of that. You’d need magic to…”

Arthur watched Merlin’s already pale face loose more of its color. His breaths began coming
shallow and loud and fast in the tiled room. The towel he held fell from his hands to the floor.

“Arthur,” he breathed. “You’re covered in magic.”

Arthur glanced into the mirror, frowning when he so no obvious evidence of what Merlin was
saying. I don’t look any different, he thought. Just a tingle in my skin. And even that is fading.

“I did this to you,” Merlin said in a low voice that shook. “When you got in between me and the
ancient magics… I did this…”

“No, you didn’t,” Arthur said firmly, forcing the words out. “And I know you didn’t, because I’ve
been like this ever since I stepped from the lake.”
If Merlin had been pale before, then he turned positively deathly now. “No,” he whispered, and he
stepped to Arthur, his cold wet fingers pressing against Arthur’s chest, and neck, just as he had
after Arthur had stepped from the water, not stopping until his fingers pressed against the throb of
his pulse.

Arthur grabbed Merlin’s wrist. Held on tight. “I’m alive, Merlin.”

Merlin’s eyes roamed over his face, his body. “How did I miss this?” he whispered. “This magic…
It’s so old… It’s ancient…”

“It’s not hurting me,” Arthur said. Another fact he knew without knowing how.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he choked out, desperate and confused.

“I didn’t know what it was. Not until tonight. It’s been barely noticeable. Just a feeling.”

“How did I not-” Merlin broke off, his eyes going wide. “The ancient magics,” he breathed. “They
could be making this worse!” Merlin grabbed Arthur’s arms, fingers digging in painfully. “Arthur,
please don’t get in between me and the ancient magics again! I don’t know how much worse
they’ll make this!”

“I had no choice, Merlin. The magic was about to drop the manor upon our heads.”

“I made a storm,” Merlin said in a distant voice, apparently just remembering. “I made… an
earthquake…”

He drew in a sharp breath, then shoved past Arthur, throwing his towels to the floor. Arthur
chased after him, downstairs and through his residence, out the door to the café.

The café was completely abandoned, and in a hurry, judging by the upturned chairs and tables.
Plates and cups and food lay scattered on the floor. One of the large panes of the glass wall and
both panes of the doors to the porch were completely gone. Cold wet air flowed into the room
through the openings.

“Eleanor!” Merlin yelled, as he ran through the café and out the front door.

Arthur followed him onto the front lawns, where Eleanor and the staff stood together amidst a
crowd of customers. Vehicles with flashing lights sat on the road beyond, men and women in
uniforms moving all around.

“Are you all right?” Merlin asked, running up to Eleanor, taking her small shoulders in his hands.

“Oh thank goodness you’re safe!” she said. “We couldn’t find either of you! Good lord, you’re
drenched! Did the water pipes burst?”

“Has anyone been hurt?” Arthur asked. “Does anyone need help?”

“No one’s hurt,” she said, clearly amazed. “No one can get their mobile to work, but we’re all in
one piece. Emergency Services is here to tend to one of our trees. Fell right across the road. But
Merlin, dear, I’m afraid there’s been damage to the South Tower-”

Merlin was off and running through the crowd at once, to the southern side of the building. He
staggered to a stop on the lawns below it, staring upward. When Arthur reached his side, he lifted
his gaze as well.
A large chunk of the South Tower had been blown completely off. Arthur could see into the third
floor from the ground. And the roof was completely gone.

The lawn and the park were littered with the manor’s stones, many driven deep into the earth from
the explosion. Pieces of wood and metal and cloth from the objects on the top floor of the museum
lay scattered all around as far as he could see.

“It’s a miracle no one was hurt,” Eleanor said as she joined them.

“No one at all?” Arthur asked, because there was debris everywhere.

“Not a soul. I can hardly believe it.”

“Myself as well,” Arthur said. Because there was no reason at all that devastation this severe
should have yielded no casualties. “What about you, my lady? Are you all right?”

She stood straighter, forcing a smile. “It takes more than an earthquake and a thunderstorm to
shake me. I can’t say the same for your young man, though. You’d best see to him, Arthur,” she
said, and gave his arm a pat, before returning to the front lawns.

Arthur hardly needed encouragement, moving at once to where Merlin had dropped to his knees
upon the wet lawn.

“Look what I did,” Merlin said to the ground, his voice hoarse.

Arthur watched him reach out two pale and shaking hands, to press them against the dented metal
barrel of the telescope. Glass from its mirrors sparkled in the grass all around. “You’ll get another
one,” Arthur said. “One powerful enough to show me all those things you described.”

Merlin stared down at the ground, not responding, not reacting. When he finally did speak, it was
in a voice of despair that sounded entirely unlike his own. “I could have killed someone. I could
have killed everyone. You should have used your sword…”

“Stop this,” Arthur said firmly, dropping to his knee at Merlin’s side, hand gripping his shoulder
hard, because he was remembering the vision he’d seen. Of Merlin lying dead at his feet. “Killing
you is not the answer. It will never be the answer. I don’t want to hear another word about it. Do
you hear me? That’s a command from your king.”

“Like what you said about my magic. No magic without my king’s permission.”

Arthur hadn’t meant it to be a permanent edict. But now, looking at Merlin kneeling upon the
lawns with hunched shoulders and head bowed and a voice choked with tears, afraid of himself, of
his own magic, amid the rubble of his manor…

“Yes,” Arthur said firmly. “It’s exactly like that.”

“No magic without my king’s permission,” he said again, in a whisper.

Arthur wondered if Merlin had meant for him to hear.

It wasn’t until much later that Arthur found himself thinking that the damage to the South Tower
was something of a blessing in disguise.

With the emergency repair work to coordinate, Merlin had no time at all to brood about what had
happened in the vaults. Arthur stayed close by his side to ensure things stayed that way, as Merlin
and Eleanor spent the day meeting with work crews, and disaster relief, and the staff.

It was well past midnight by the time the South Tower was secured from the weather, and Arthur
could crawl into his bed, exhausted from keeping watch on Merlin and from helping with the
cleanup.

He lay back upon the soft mattress, his body sore and aching, his thoughts buzzing with all that
had happened. Especially in the vaults.

It was connected, somehow. All these moving pieces. They all fit together in a way he could not
yet see.

He was still puzzling over it when Merlin walked slowly into his chambers in his t-shirt and
sleeping trousers.

Instead of crawling into the bed, Merlin stopped in the middle of the room, eyes downcast, hands
clasped behind his back. “Is there anything else you need, sire?”

Arthur pushed himself up on the bed. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Until this is over,” Merlin said, “I’m going to sleep in my chambers. And I’m going to shut down
the café and the museum and the Apothecary. I can’t risk hurting anyone. So I’m putting some
distance between me and all of you.”

Nodding to himself, as if that were the end of it, Merlin turned to walk away.

“So you’re going to run after all,” Arthur bit out. “Despite your oath to me.”

Merlin stopped, shoulders raising and falling in a sigh. “What else is there to do?”

“For a start, you could bring the matter before your king to decide upon it, as I’ve told you to do,
more than once,” Arthur said, his voice falling into furious regal tones without any effort at all.
“Or have you forgotten, again, who I am?”

Merlin turned a pained expression to him. “Arthur-“

“Sire,” Arthur said angrily.

“Yes,” he said swiftly, clearly regretting the lapse. “Sorry. Sire.”

“If you had thought to bring this before me, I would have reminded you that we stand, and we
fight, together. There will be no more talk of distance. Do you understand me?”

Merlin just stared at him, openly hesitating.

“Merlin-“ he growled.

“Yes, sire. Yes. I understand.”

“Good. Now that that’s settled.” Arthur dropped himself back to the mattress. “Get in the bed. It’s
late, and I’m tired. And close the curtains on your way. I’m tired of looking at that damned lake
and its damned tower.”

Merlin pulled the drapes across the alcove, obscuring the view, darkening the room to its single
candle and the moonlight cast through the window to the lawns.
As if facing the gallows, Merlin walked to the bed, climbing under the bedding with heavy
motions. He collapsed onto his side facing Arthur, his face pressing into the pillow, his eyes
squeezed shut.

Arthur covered him with the blanket when he didn’t bother to do it himself. “You really are an
idiot.”

“I know,” Merlin said, sounding far too much like he believed it.

“I meant,” Arthur told him, “that you keep forgetting that you’re not alone. That you aren’t the one
responsible for making the decisions. That’s my duty, and my responsibility. We discussed that
already.”

“I know.”

“But you forgot.”

Merlin sighed into his pillow. “Old habits.”

“Habits which must be broken. Because I cannot have you making decisions on what is best for
my kingdom.”

Merlin opened his eyes. Stared at Arthur in wonder. “Your kingdom.”

Yes, Arthur thought. My kingdom.

The word held new meaning now. It stretched beyond boundaries, beyond borders, beyond the
great oceans. Reaching from the hidden walls of Camelot to the farthest places upon the earth.

I always wanted to help people regardless of where they lived, Arthur thought. Borders had always
gotten in the way. Now his people had solved that problem for him, moving over the earth, mixing
together into one great family spread over the earth.

They were, all of them, children of Camelot. All these children of the Earth. Even if they had no
physical connection to his lands. Even if they held no connection to his subjects.

They were all under his protection. He could feel it in his heart.

“What is it that you want me to do, sire?” Merlin asked into his thoughts, his voice earnest, his
eyes shining with his devotion.

It reminded Arthur of how Merlin had been long ago. A good start, he thought. Though he still
had far to go with the man at his side.

“You’ll keep your shops open,” Arthur said. “Your staff needs the work. And you need the work
as well. I know how you brood when you’re idle.”

“I could pay my staff even if they don’t work? Give them a nice long holiday?”

“You really think Eleanor Godwyn would accept your money if she didn’t earn it?”

Merlin sighed. “Stubborn old woman.”

“As for your presence here at night…” Arthur hesitated, realizing that anything he said now would
be a command. And this thing that was unfolding between them… It wasn’t up to him to dictate its
terms. In this, they were equals.
Merlin spoke into the silence. “I want that… not to change. It’s just I’m afraid I’ll-”

“You won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

Merlin pressed his palm into the bridge of his nose, fingers digging into his hair. Arthur nudged at
his shoulder. Nodded towards the other side of the bed. Merlin rolled over with clear reluctance,
settling onto his side, facing the window towards the tower.

Arthur blew out the candle by the bedside. Moved closer to Merlin in the darkness.

Merlin glanced over his shoulder as he neared, his eyes catching in the moonlight.

Afraid, Arthur thought. An emotion he’d seldom seen on Merlin’s face in Camelot, even at the
worst of times. An emotion he saw far too often, now.

With great care, Arthur lay down behind Merlin, slipping an arm around his narrow waist, pressing
a palm to the warm cloth covering his heartbeat.

He thought again of his vision. Of Excalibur piercing Merlin’s chest.

Never, he thought. It will never happen. I will make certain it does not.

“They felt the earthquake all the way to London,” Merlin said.

“Was anyone hurt?”

“No.”

“What about from the storm?”

“No. And the storm was just here anyway.”

“Just over Avalon?”

“Just over the manor.”

Arthur remembered Merlin’s fury as they had stood in the field near his car. The violent clouds
swirling over his head. The tree exploding from lightning nearby. Yet neither of them injured
from all that shattering wood.

“No one was hurt at all in the café?” Arthur asked. “With all that glass breaking…”

“Dust,” Merlin said.

“What?”

“The glass doors. The glass wall. They didn’t shatter. They turned to dust. That’s why no one
was hurt.”

Arthur reached down to the bed. Picked up Merlin’s hand. “What about Mars?”

“The robot they thought they’d lost on Mars was found today,” Merlin said, as his fingers slid
through Arthur’s.
Arthur continued to act as if they had not just intertwined their hands upon the mattress. “So we
have our proof then. There is magic on Mars after all.”

“There was today.”

Arthur surprised himself by laughing. “Mars,” he said, in open amazement. “You did magic on
Mars. You, who used to fall off horses and kick over chamber pots.”

“That was your fault for making me ride through the day and the night. And if you ever put the pot
back where it was supposed to be-”

“I’m so sorry that the bandits didn’t keep to your layabout schedule,” Arthur said, keeping his tone
low and teasing, because he could feel the muscles of Merlin’s body relaxing. “And if you’d
actually emptied the chamber pot regularly-“

“I did empty it regularly-“

“Every other day is not regularly.”

Merlin huffed. “Stop exaggerating.”

“Perhaps if the chamber pot had been on Mars-“

“Oh shut it.”

Much better, Arthur thought, and he dared to gently squeeze Merlin’s hand. Barely any pressure at
all.

He felt Merlin return the gesture.

They lay together in silence a long moment.

“So much for our day off,” Merlin said softly.

“It didn’t work out very well, did it.”

“Teaching you to drive wasn’t that awful.”

“You weren’t a totally incompetent instructor.”

“And having a lie in this morning wasn’t horrible.”

“That was the best part,” Arthur said. Then he realized what he’d said, and he felt himself go
tense.

“Yeah,” Merlin said. “It was the best part.”

Arthur felt a swell of affection at the soft spoken words. A feeling that stretched deep inside him.
A feeling he’d always had for this ridiculous man in his arms.

Even in Camelot, he realized. When Merlin had been hurt, it had been as if the world had ended.
Arthur could still remember seeing him upon the ground after the mace had struck him in the
chest. Could still remember his horror when the rockfall had separated them.

All those centuries I was dead, Arthur thought. I only ever heard one voice. His voice. How did I
not know what that meant the moment I stepped out of that damned lake?
“Are you all right?” came Merlin’s tired voice.

“Hm? Oh.” He forced his muscles to relax. “Just tired.”

“Me too. Can’t sleep though.”

“Why don’t you tell me one of your stories. That should be enough to put us both out.”

“I don’t think I want to talk about magic tonight, Arthur.”

Arthur rested his forehead against the back of Merlin’s head. Closed his eyes against the pain of
that statement. “Tell me about your café then. Tell me how you met that terrifying woman.”

“That actually is a good story.”

“Then start there.”

“It was thirty years ago,” Merlin began, before spinning out the tale of the day a widowed mother
of three had walked into his café to escape the rain, and had wound up with a job and a friend
instead.

When he’d finished, he fell silent, his body relaxing, his breathing slowing. As Merlin slid into
sleep, Arthur found himself thinking of their life together.

Of battling shoulder to shoulder, ready to die for one another. Of sitting peacefully by the
campfire, their gazes locked for far too long. Of touching and grabbing and holding onto each
other, to aid or protect or give comfort. Of bantering and arguing and giving oaths of life and
death, over and over and over again.

He thought, too, of this modern world that was his now. A place where no rules governed his
heart, or his choices.

We could be something else, here, Arthur thought. He and I. We could be together. Not just as
we are. But in all ways.

The yearning he felt at the idea was so intense that he drew in a sharp breath.

Oh god, Arthur thought frantically. I'm in love with him.

Merlin heaved a sigh, pushing his face into the covers, relaxing against Arthur’s body. Arthur
shifted to accommodate him, to make him more comfortable.

Only after he’d settled himself behind Merlin, his nose in his thick black hair, did he realize how
obvious it all should have been, so much earlier than now.

Idiot, he thought at himself, and he inhaled deeply, the smell of vanilla and spice a warm presence
that surrounded him, guiding him into dreams of strong arms and a ready smile and a life that was
perhaps not out of reach, not even for a king.
 of magic and of man

After the third nightmare, Merlin crawled from the bed, mumbling about things to do.

It was not yet dawn, the sky still a pale indigo beyond the window facing the lawn. “Come back to
bed,” Arthur slurred out, the words spilling out without thought.

“Go back to sleep,” Merlin told him over his shoulder.

“Merlin,” Arthur protested. But he had already gone.

He woke to a risen sun and to his stomach growling. Venturing from bed revealed no food on the
table, and no Merlin, even though it was hours past sunrise.

Arthur pushed back the drapes to the alcove, and stepped to the lakeside window. Upon the
rounded mound of its isle, the ruined tower stood majestic and ancient and imposing.

Watching us, Arthur thought.

It had been a nagging feeling before. It was a cold hard fact today.

Which meant Merlin had been right yesterday. The ancient magics were affecting him every time
he got between them and Merlin.

Arthur narrowed his eyes as he stared at the tower. Focusing upon the feeling of the thing upon its
isle.

It’s not just watching, he thought. That was too benign a word for this feeling. No, this was
more… Waiting. Biding its time. Like an army encamped around a besieged citadel.

How long had it been that way? he wondered. Since my return? Or longer than that? How did
Merlin not know about this? And why did he, instead?

Not only didn’t he have answers, he didn’t even have enough information to ask the needed
questions. Unforgivable behavior, for a king.

We are not prepared, Arthur thought. Neither of us. And that is my fault. I have left too many
mysteries unexamined. I have let Merlin hide from things he needs to face. Merlin, and myself, as
well.

It was time for all that to change. Time to lead with his head, as a king should. Time to remember
who he was.

Arthur drew back the drapes, a plan formulating already in his mind. Nodding to himself, he went
to prepare for his day.

He emerged from Merlin’s residence a half hour later, freshly washed and dressed, the coarse
fabric of his red tunic itching him, the laces at his chest tied too tight. His breeches felt overly
large, the string at his waist digging into his hips. And his feet already hurt from the
uncomfortable boots he wore.

Even his metal rings felt too tight on his fingers. But the weight of the royal seal felt right. He had
missed wearing it more than he’d known.

Feeling more like himself than he had in a week, Arthur moved through the café interior, amid
small crowds of workers. People were everywhere, climbing up ladders and scrutinizing the manor
walls. The café staff hurried among them, carrying trays from the kitchens to the front lawns,
where a few tables had been set up in the sun for patrons.

The porch was a hive of activity, so Arthur ventured out the front door instead, to find even more
teams of men and women moving around. A large group of them had assembled near the bottom
of the South Tower. In their midst stood Merlin and Eleanor, arguing loudly.

“Arthur, thank god!” Eleanor called to him, and pushed her way through the crowd of much
younger, much larger people, a furious eighty year old force of nature in a bright purple dress with
explosions of white flowers. “You talk some sense into him!”

“I don’t see what the problem is!” Merlin yelled, striding after her, a pale thin figure all in black.
As he approached, he frowned at Arthur, clearly confused by the clothes he’d chosen.

“He is getting in the way,” Eleanor told Arthur.

“I’m giving them advice!” Merlin informed her.

“You’re holding up repairs!” she said, and she smacked him with her clipboard.

“Ow! Don’t hit me!”

“Then stop getting in their way! You’re not licensed! They’re going to walk off the job if you
keep trying to do things yourself!” She turned to Arthur, her narrow face flushed in frustration.
“Will you please do something with him?”

“Do something with me?” Merlin burst out. “Are you-?”

“Merlin,” Arthur said firmly.

Merlin’s mouth snapped shut.

Eleanor gave him a victorious smile.

“Eleanor,” Arthur said, “I know Merlin can be headstrong, but he does, in this case, know more
about this manor, and how it's built, than anyone standing here today.”

The older woman gave Merlin a sideways glance, surprised, though not more so than Merlin,
because his mouth had fallen open, his eyebrows raising.

“However,” Arthur said to Merlin, “there is something far more pressing that requires your
attention today. Later tonight, after your stonemasons have gone, you can spend all the time you
want making sure their work is up to your standards.”

Merlin glanced back at the workers, then up at the tower.

Weary, Arthur thought. Though there was more than a little guilt there too.

Eleanor must have seen some of what Arthur did. Because her tone gentled, and she patted Merlin
on the arm. “I’ll take care of everything. And I’ll find you if I need you.”

“You promise not to let them use-“

“It will all be original, yes, I promise,” she assured him.

Merlin nodded, and she returned to the group of men and women in their uniforms, her clipboard
held in her arms like a shield of Camelot.

“Come along,” Arthur said, and without waiting for a reply, he started back to the manor.

“I know I forgot your breakfast,” Merlin said, when he caught up. “I was just about to go and get
it when this tosser tried to convince me I should rebuild the walls with imported stones from Spain
instead of the stones I pulled out of the Lake of Avalon myself-“

“This isn’t about breakfast.”

“It’s not?”

“No.”

“Then what is-?”

“You’ll see.”

Arthur lead Merlin into the café, through the chaos of people, and into his residence. He stopped
at the bottom of their stairwell, next to the wall hiding the entrance to the vaults.

“Open it,” Arthur told him.

Merlin clearly wanted to ask why, but instead pressed his palm to the stone wall, whispering words
of power, turning the stone to mist and revealing the door beyond.

Arthur lead the way down the stairs, torches springing to life as he passed. The descent was much
changed from before. The air was filled with the fresh smells of grass and flowers. And when he
stepped from the final stair, his boot sank into soft earth. All along the exterior walls, torches flared
to light, revealing the vast blooming meadow beneath the stacks and stacks of all that was left of
Camelot.

Of all of his belongings, only one thing interested him.

The great round table in the center of the room.

Arthur walked slowly around the large table, until he reached his seat. His eyes upon Merlin,
Arthur pulled out his chair, and then sat down.

Merlin had stopped on the other side of the table, his hands behind his back, watching
expectantly.

Ready to serve, Arthur thought. Good.

“Sit down,” Arthur said, gesturing to the seat at his right.

Merlin’s eyebrows raised high enough to touch the fringe of his hair. Even at a distance in the
flickering torchlight, Arthur could see his disbelief.

“Sit… there?” Merlin asked.

“Is that a problem?”

“No, it’s… just….”

“I’m waiting, Merlin.”

As if expecting attack, Merlin moved around the empty chairs of the round table, until he reached
the one at Arthur’s right.

With great care, he moved the chair away from the table. Then he sat slowly upon it.

Arthur watched Merlin frown down at the table’s surface, then look around at the rest of the chairs,
then glance curiously over at him.

“There,” Arthur said. “That wasn’t so difficult, was it.”

Merlin slid his palms over the wooden surface of the table, his expression wistful. “Only took
fifteen hundred years.”

Arthur felt the words cut him, though it was an unintentional wound to be certain. It was his own
fault that he’d overlooked Merlin in this regard, as he had in so many other ways.

Stupid, Arthur thought. I was so stupid not to see him for who he was. To our friends, to the
Knights, and to me. Especially to me.

“That should have been your seat,” Arthur said. “Back in Camelot.”

“I was no Knight-“ Merlin protested.

“You did as much to build and defend our kingdom as any Knight of the Round Table. And I don’t
just mean your magic,” Arthur added, when Merlin began to interrupt. “I mean all of it. Your
support. Your loyalty. Your counsel. And yes, Merlin. Your magic. You deserved to sit by my
side. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize. I would go back and change it, if I could.”

Merlin stared at him, stunned. “That’s… Thank you.” He gave a soundless laugh, full of wonder
and disbelief. “Arthur, what are we doing here?”

“We are doing what we have always done at this table. We are preparing to defend our kingdom.
Using all the tools at our disposal. Including your magic.”

Merlin’s smile vanished. His shoulders rounded, and he slumped into his chair. “Might not be the
best strategy,” he muttered.

“The best strategies are well thought out, well analyzed from every angle, and well prepared. And
you and I, Merlin, have neglected to do any of that with our greatest weapon. Your magic. You
cannot control it. And I do not understand it. I cannot wield a weapon I do not understand. We
need to change that. Starting right now.”

“And how exactly do you suggest we do that?”

“We shall begin by you fetching me every single book on magic you have in your possession.
Especially the ones that have anything to do with the ancient magics. We’re going to go through
them all, one by one, until we find the answer.”

“Don’t you think I’ve already been doing that?” Merlin said sharply.

“I don’t know, Merlin, have you?” Arthur snapped at him. “Because you hadn’t actually told me
you were, nor did you tell me whether you had any success.”
Merlin dropped his gaze to the table, his fingertips sliding over its surface, back and forth. A
nervous movement, mirrored in his chewing on his bottom lip. So unlike him, Arthur thought.
Just like the absence of his laughter, and his teasing, and his prattle.

“The books, Merlin,” Arthur said, rising from the table and walking over to his throne. “And
breakfast. We’ll keep at it until training. I need to keep up my physical strength, and you need the
fresh air. Afterward, we’ll return here, and keep on until supper.”

“Do you have any idea how many books on magic I have?” Merlin said wearily.

Arthur looked at his dusty throne. Lavender and buttercups bloomed beneath its feet. Wild roses
wound around its legs, and draped lovingly over its arms.

“We will keep at it until we find an answer,” Arthur said. “For as long as it takes.”

A small sigh disturbed the silence of the stone room. “Yes, sire.”

Arthur looked over his shoulder, to see Merlin climb out of his chair, a thin pale form in black,
beautiful and ethereal in the flickering torchlight.

“And put on your old clothes,” Arthur added, as he walked away, into the piles of his belongings,
before Merlin could ask him why.

It took the rest of the day for Merlin to move his books of magic onto the round table. Even with a
break for lunch, and again for training, it wasn’t until nearly supper that Merlin finished and sat
down, exhausted, in his chair beside Arthur.

The entire table was covered with books. Merlin had been grouped them by subject, piling them
into stacks sometimes twenty books high. The ones about the ancient magics sat closest to Arthur,
smelling of old parchment and ink.

“Riddles,” Arthur muttered, as he set down his fork upon his supper plate, and turned a yellowing
page. “Riddles and contradicting prophecies and nonsense.“ He slammed the book shut, rubbing
dust from his eyes. “What I would not give for someone simply pointing their sword at my throat.”

“I told you it wouldn’t be easy,” Merlin muttered. He was half draped over an open book, his arms
folded upon it, his cheek resting upon his hand. His neckerchief was pushed up around his ears, his
blue servant’s shirt stretched across his rounded back.

Arthur saw Merlin’s eyes go half lidded and took mercy on him. “Go and tend to your manor
before you’re too tired to do anything but fall over.”’

Merlin sat up, brightening at that. He got up and moved to leave, then stopped, shaking his head at
himself. He turned in place, hands lacing behind his back. “Will there be anything else, sire?”

The obedience would have been unnerving, if not for the peace and contentment in Merlin’s patient
expression.

I was right then, Arthur thought. He does need things to be like this. Perhaps just as much as I do.

“Go on,” Arthur said gently. “Just try to stay out of trouble.”

“Don’t I always?” Merlin asked, just like his usual self, before he left the room in near silence, his
boot steps muffled by the ridiculous meadow upon the ground.
Arthur grabbed miserably at another book. “Let’s see what absurdity is in this one,” he muttered,
and began to read.

By the time his eyes started blurring on the pages, it was far later than he’d thought. The sun had
long since set, the hour close to midnight. Returning to his chambers revealed no sign of Merlin,
though everything had been readied for bed.

A quick search of the silent manor found Merlin in the third floor of the South Tower, kneeling
beneath an enormous tarp that served as a temporary roof. His sleeves were pushed up, his clothes
covered in dust, as he added mortar to the newly laid stones of the exterior wall.

“It’s late,” Arthur told him.

“Just a while more,” Merlin said, swaying as he turned, his eyes glassy with exhaustion.

“No more,” Arthur said, and he took the tools from Merlin’s hands, then lead him, protesting the
entire time, from his work.

By the time he got Merlin back into the North Tower and shoved him toward the washroom to
clean up, Arthur was exhausted himself. After yanking the drapes viciously across the alcove to
the lakeside window, he crawled into bed.

He only realized that he’d fallen asleep when he felt the bed shake, a weight falling into it. “Be
still,” he muttered into his pillow, and he rolled onto his side towards Merlin, an arm reaching out.

But Merlin had sprawled on his stomach, so Arthur tipped forward, his chest pressing against
Merlin’s back, his face resting between two sharp shoulder blades.

Merlin made a small noise that Arthur took to mean he was either amenable or too tired to care.
So Arthur let sleep take him as they lay.

That night, and the next morning was the same as the one before.

Nightmares through the night. And then another one so close to dawn that before the sun had even
risen, Merlin pushed himself from bed.

Arthur didn’t call to him this time. He was too tired to even move. It had taken far more effort to
wake Merlin during the night this time. Soft words and touches hadn’t even begun to draw him
from his terrors. That last time, towards morning, he’d even had to get to his knees, and pull
Merlin up, and shake him awake.

Though Arthur tried not to sleep too late, the sun had well risen by the time he dragged himself
from bed. Breakfast had been laid out today, and his clothes as well, which he took as a good sign.
And when he found Merlin, he was already down in the vaults.

Merlin sat upon his chair, leaning forward on the table, his elbows and arms resting upon an open
book of magic, his head propped in his hands. His eyes were closed, his dark lashes unmoving
against his pale skin, and his mouth was hanging open.

Arthur took his seat as silently as possible, careful not to wake him, and grabbed another book from
the depressingly large stack by his side.

When he opened it, he discovered to his surprise that it was one of Gaius’ notebooks.

The handwriting clearly his. No one else wrote such carefully lettered Brittonic.
The book was filled with notes about spells and magic, beasts and beings of power. The last entry
in the journal, before the pages became blank, had one word as its title.

‘Emrys.’

Arthur leaned forward in his chair, and began to read.

‘Generations who follow will most certainly speak of the Sorcerer Emrys. It is already the habit of
the Druids who have returned to Camelot to bow their heads at the mention of his name. They
speak of him as the one destined to unite the old world and the new. The one who will bring about
the time the poets spoke of. The time of Albion.

‘With each passing day, they speak more and more often of Emrys in the same breath as The Once
and Future King Arthur Pendragon, who sleeps beyond the Gates of Avalon. The prophecy of
Arthur’s return, with his Sorcerer at his side, has spread like a wildfire throughout all corners of
the five kingdoms, giving hope to those who long for a bright future for Albion.

‘It is my fervent hope that this prophecy is true. For I do indeed believe that the Great King and
his Mighty Sorcerer are two sides of a great coin; two halves of a whole. One of them without the
other is a world out of balance. Never have two souls more needed each other than my young
warlock, and his young king.

‘I have heard many tales of Emrys. Some are stretched far beyond truth. Some fall far short of it.
I confess that I cannot help but smile when I hear these stories told in hushed tones of reverence
and awe.

‘For although the Druids may call him Dragonlord, and The Immortal One, and the Greatest
Sorcerer to Ever Walk the Earth… to me, he will always be Merlin. My closest friend in my later
years, and the son I never had. And I, for my part, consider it my greatest honor, and my deepest
joy, to have known him.’

Arthur pressed his palm to the words. Fighting back a vicious surge of grief. He cleared his throat,
shifting in his chair, blinking moisture from his eyes.

Next to him, Merlin’s head fell from his hands, and he jolted in his seat, startling himself.
“Whassit?”

Arthur smiled at the way that Merlin blinked across the room, his hair sticking out near his ears,
his face red where his palms had been pressed against it. “Have you been sleeping down here all
morning?”

“Just dozed off. A few minutes ago.” Merlin wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and
pawed at the pages of his book, checking for drool.

“The Great Sorcerer Emrys,” Arthur said wryly, drawing Merlin’s attention to his book.

Merlin smiled down at the pages, though his eyes held the same sadness Arthur felt. “I wish I
could have told Gaius what an honor it was to be included in one of his books.”

“I never knew he was such a poet. ‘Two sides of a great coin’…”

“He did have a poet’s heart. But he didn’t come up with that. I told him that after I heard it from
the Great Dragon. And from the Druids. And from a few other creatures of the Old Religion.
They were always describing the two of us like that.”
“Really,” Arthur said, feeling none too happy about it. That was an intensely intimate way to
describe him and Merlin, prophecy or no.

“I actually asked the Great Dragon if maybe he didn’t mean a different Arthur besides you, the
first time he told me of your great destiny.”

Despite the mention of the prophecy and damned dragon, Arthur smiled, glad to see Merlin’s wry
grin. “You had that much faith in me, did you?”

“Well you had just thrown me in the dungeon only the day before,” Merlin pointed out.

“Which was entirely your fault for being so insolent when we met.” Arthur paged through the
book, thinking of the words Merlin had been told. “Two sides of a great coin,” he said, half to
himself.

“Me being the brighter side, obviously,” Merlin said, and he folded his arms upon his book, and
rested his head upon them.

“I would hardly say obviously,” Arthur said, and he stole a glance at Merlin, who was contentedly
smiling at him, his black hair mussed and his face squashed on his arm with his ridiculous
cheekbones in sharp relief and his absurd ears sticking up.

Arthur nudged Merlin’s leg with his boot below the table. “Come on. Get reading.”

With an exaggerated groan, Merlin sat up, turned the page, and bent over to read.

The progress that day was slower than the day before. By the time they went outside for training,
Arthur was deeply grateful for the sun on his face and the weight of his armor upon his body. His
sword was a joy to wield, even just with students, even upon the shores of the damned lake with its
damned tower.

Halfway through the training session, he noticed Merlin had fallen asleep against the tree trunk, his
head hanging forward, his polishing rag held loosely in his hand, several swords laying across his
legs.

Arthur called to Danyl, and the young man jogged over eagerly, face flush from exercise, his armor
fitting upon him much better today than it had been so far. The entire group had gotten better at
outfitting one another in their gear. Quite a feat, considering the group had increased by seven,
including four women.

“Danyl,” Arthur said, “go take the equipment from Merlin’s lap. Without waking him, if you can
manage it. And keep an eye on him.” Arthur caught the young man’s inquisitive stare, and
hardened his expression. “Knowing him, he’d manage to stab himself in his sleep. Now go on.”

Next to him Arthur heard a loud snort, and he looked over to see Heath had paused in his sparring
to give Arthur a raised eyebrow, far too suggestive and smug for his liking.

“You’re dropping your elbow too low and your feet are set too far apart,” Arthur told him, rapping
Heath’s forearm with the flat of his sword, as he strode back to his students.

It took him until the last student had left the lawns to realize that Merlin was not going to wake any
time soon. So Arthur sat down upon the ground next to him, still in his chainmail and armor, and
leaned back against the tree, his shoulder against Merlin’s.

He’d begun to doze off himself when Merlin snorted himself awake, muttering some nonsense
about socks and washing and where was the soap.

Arthur watched him sit up, blinking into the daylight. “Arthur?”

“I see your senses have returned to their previous levels,” Arthur said, and he climbed to his feet.
“Now if you could get me out of this, we have more reading to do.”

Merlin grabbed hold of the tree as he pulled himself to his feet, looking all around. “Where did
everyone go?”

“Training was over an hour ago.”

“What? Why didn’t you wake me!”

“Because you were sleeping peacefully for once,” Arthur said, and turned his back, pointing to his
armor.

“I was, wasn’t I,” Merlin said curiously.

“I’d say it was because the water was soothing, but…” Arthur glanced over at the tower, then
away.

“No. I don’t think so.”

Arthur lifted his arms so Merlin could pull the chainmail from him. “Tell me about Freya,” he
said.

Which was a mistake, because Merlin stopped moving with the chainmail half off of his head,
which got it caught in his hair.

“Merlin, will you- Get this off!”

“Sorry! Sorry. I just… wasn’t expecting you to… Sorry.”

Arthur pushed the chainmail from his head, and ran a hand through his hair. “Well?”

“She was. Um. It’s a long story, actually. Why are you asking?”

“She-“ Arthur heard a wave splash upon the shore. He glanced over, saw the sunlight rippling on
the surface of the lake. Gold, and blue, and white.

“She what?” Merlin asked.

Arthur narrowed his eyes at the tower. “Let’s go inside,” he said, and started back to the house,
Merlin chasing after him as he went, asking him what was going on.

Arthur gave him no answer. Not here, he thought. Not in front of that thing.

“Wash up,” Arthur said. “Then meet me downstairs. Understood?”

“Yes, sire,” Merlin said, clearly confused, but for once, doing as he was asked.

Only when they were seated at the round table, with Merlin at his side, did Arthur feel as though
he could speak his mind. Which was strange in and of itself. Why did here feel safe, and outside
not? Surely magic could penetrate walls. In fact, he knew it could.
“Are we protected down here?” Arthur asked.

Merlin lifted his eyes from his book, confused. “What do you mean, protected?”

“From scrying stones or spells or whatever other damned ridiculous form of magic can be used to
see what we’re doing.”

“You’re worried about someone watching us read?” Merlin asked, one eyebrow raising.

“Yes, Merlin, that’s what I’m worried about, someone watching you drool all over your books,”
Arthur snapped at him.

“All right, calm down,” Merlin said, and he pushed away his book, frowning at him. “Yes, we’re
protected. The stones of this manor came from the lake bottom of Avalon. Just like the rocks in
the Stone Circle. They all have a bit of magic in them. Not much. But some, from their years
here. That’s why I used them. For the natural protection. I don’t need it now. But it was handy
with a few upstart sorcerers in the old days.”

“Tell me more about Freya,” Arthur said, without preamble.

Merlin looked pained by the question. “Why do you keep asking about her?”

“You said you knew her. But she’s part of the lake. How did that happen?”

Merlin stared at him, frowning. Then shook his head, as if drawing himself from his thoughts.
“She was a mortal woman who was cursed by a sorcerer. At night, she became a black creature
with wings. She hurt people. Killed them. When she was brought to Camelot, you and your
knights, you had to…”

Arthur remembered the battle in the courtyard. The arrows and the swords and the blood. “Oh,”
he said softly.

Merlin lowered his eyes. “After she was wounded, I took her to the lake. She swore there to repay
me for my kindness. After she died, the ancient magics gave her that chance.”

“That doesn’t sound like the magics you’re always speaking of,” Arthur said. “The ones that
demand a price. The ones that don’t give without taking.” He thought of his mother. Of his father.
Of him. “There must be a price, you said. There must be balance.”

“There was a price, and a balance,” Merlin told him. “They gave Freya a life after death, but they
took her service, for all time. She wanted to do it. I think she was happy doing it.” Merlin smiled
sadly. “She always did love the water.”

“What about me?” Arthur asked, forcing the question from his lips. “What was the price for my
life?”

Merlin went quite still. Staring at him with panic deep in his eyes.

“There wasn’t one,” Arthur said grimly. “Was there.”

Because it all made sense now.

Why he could feel magic, when he never could before.

It was because he was still a part of the magic that had sustained him all those centuries. He was
still connected to it. He was still unfinished.
One foot in this world, Arthur thought. One foot beyond the Gates of Avalon. Leaving the
gateway open a crack. Letting the magic of Avalon leak through.

“You’re different,” Merlin said loudly, finally finding his voice, though it was higher and it broke
on his words. “There isn’t any price, not for you, not when it’s prophecy, not when it’s destiny-”

“Yes, yes, you’re right,” Arthur said quickly, gripping Merlin’s arm, because his voice had risen
steadily, his words spilling over one another, and he’d been tearing at the pages of his book.

“That’s the balance,” Merlin kept on, “that we’re two sides of the same coin, and you were there,
and I was here, and I waited fifteen hundred years alone, and that’s got to be enough of a price to
pay, they just can’t want anything else, they can’t, it wouldn’t be fair-”

Arthur leaned towards Merlin, moving his hand to the back of Merlin’s neck, pressing his palm
against the warm skin above his neckerchief, sliding soothing fingers into his hair. “Yes, of
course, you’re right, Merlin, of course.”

“It’s enough of a price to pay,” Merlin said weakly, his breathing still too fast, a cold sweat
breaking out upon his skin. “It is-“

“Yes, it is,” Arthur agreed, still sliding his fingers through Merlin’s hair. “Now come on. Calm
down. Breathe.”

Merlin licked his lips and swallowed and closed his eyes, his breaths heaving from him, reminding
Arthur of lightning and explosions and the ruins of the tower in the lake.

He’s far too frightened, Arthur thought. Any thought of anything happening to me sets him off.
A definite weakness to them both. Merlin’s fear of losing him.

But couldn’t he say the same for himself? Arthur wondered. Because the thought of something
happening to Merlin…

“The kingdom must come first,” Arthur said, to himself, and to Merlin. “We must remember that.
The people of Albion- The people of all the lands upon the earth- They must come first. They are
depending upon us. Including Eleanor and Heath and Danyl and all of the families you have
known for so long in Avalon. We owe it to them to stay strong, and to protect them. That is why
we are here, you and I. Never forget that. Do you understand?”

He watched Merlin slowly get control of himself. “Yes, sire,” he said hoarsely.

“All right then.” Arthur slid his hand down Merlin’s back, rubbing there a few moments without
thinking, before finding another book to set in front of Merlin. “Come on. Back to reading.” He
picked up another book for himself. “Where was I…”

“About to join me in banging your head on the table in frustration?” Merlin grumbled.

“I’ll leave that to you,” Arthur said, as he opened his book. “Just be sure to do it quietly.”

So many of the books on magic, Arthur had discovered, were about the smallest practical
applications of it. Getting stains out of clothes. Cleaning a floor. Drying meat. It horrified him
that his father had put so many of these people to death, simply for trying to make their lives easier.

But then he would come across a book like the one he was reading now. Full of the darkest things
imaginable. Spells to control someone’s thoughts. Creatures to compel to murder. Incantations to
cause a lifetime of pain. Poisons to cause an agonizing death.
It was all so engrossingly horrible that he didn’t even notice Merlin bring in their supper. He
barely looked up when Merlin nudged his hand with a plate.

“I feel like I need to wash out my head with soap after reading this,” Arthur said, as he grabbed the
plate of hot food.

Merlin sat back down in his chair, his own plate upon his book. He leaned into Arthur’s space to
peer at his book, his body warm at his side. “I told you about that one.”

Arthur read the description of the creature on the page. “That really was in your neck.”

“Right here,” Merlin said, patting the back of his neck, as he stuffed a spoon full of potatoes in his
mouth.

“Right where?” Arthur leaned over, pulled down the back of Merlin’s neckerchief.

Only after he touched the cloth did he realize that it was the same neckerchief he’d used. On that
morning. Which he had meant to tear up. And burn. And bury. But which apparently he’d left in
his pocket. And dear god which he hoped Merlin had not looked at too closely before he’d washed
it.

Merlin pulled down the cloth a little more. “There, actually.”

Arthur peered closer, fingers sliding down the back of Merlin’s neck, his curiosity getting the
better of him. Even in the flickering torchlight he saw the thin white scar, right at his spine. He
traced the line with two fingers, and heard Merlin exhale loudly. “Does it still hurt?” he asked.

“No, it- Sensitive,” Merlin said, and he pushed up his neckerchief, and leaned over his book,
shoving more food into his mouth.

Arthur watched him eat, fighting a powerful urge to soothe the old wound. To protect him from
further harm. Which was absurd, he thought. Merlin could tear him in half if he wanted to.

Arthur laughed, remembering a day long ago.

“What’s funny?” Merlin asked, glancing curiously at him.

“You. When we met. I told you I could take you apart with one blow, you remember?”

Merlin wiped potatoes from his lips, smiling at him. “And I told you I could take you apart with
less than that.”

“Turns out we were both right,” Arthur pointed out.

“What were you on about that day?” Merlin asked, chuckling now. “All that business about me
walking on my knees.”

“Bowing before your prince? Kneeling before the-?“ Arthur snorted at the idiotic boy he had been.
“I have no idea. You were driving me crazy. I couldn’t be held responsible for what I was
saying.”

“Well don’t go around saying things like that now,” Merlin told him, raising an eyebrow. “You
tell some bloke to get on his knees these days, and it’s not going to have anything to do with a
throne room.”

Arthur choked on his sip of wine, laughing so loudly that it echoed through the room. “Or maybe it
would,” he said, tilting his head, and raising his glass.

“Well that depends on the bloke,” Merlin said wryly, and smiled at Arthur, his eyes sparkling. It
was a sight to behold after the past few days.

“True,” Arthur agreed. “This is the modern era, after all. You shouldn’t assume one thing or the
other about anyone.”

A flicker of confusion in Merlin’s face had Arthur drop his gaze to his book, glad of the torchlight,
because he could feel his face heating.

What on earth had possessed him? Was he actually flirting? Gods above, but he was, wasn’t he.

Arthur lifted his wine glass to his mouth. Then set it back down again. That was quite enough
wine for tonight.

It had already done its work, though, sedating him enough that his eyelids drooped through the
book he was reading. It was a struggle to stay awake, especially after Merlin left him alone to
work on the South Tower.

At one point, he rested his head back against his chair. He jolted awake some time later,
disoriented and clearly having slept for too long. Reluctantly he left the vaults behind, the torches
going out as he climbed the stairs.

As expected, there was no trace of Merlin in his chambers, though his sleeping clothes and his
bedding had been prepared for him.

The night air had turned cool, and both windows and shutters were closed, the curtains drawn
across both alcoves. In the light of his bedside candle, Arthur changed his clothes, used the
washroom, then went to retrieve Merlin from the South Tower.

Merlin was still hard at work, a small light pointed at where he was setting stones in the exterior
wall beneath the tarp.

“Come on,” Arthur told him. “It’s almost one in the morning.”

Merlin turned around, mortar stuck in his hair, dust all over his servant’s clothes, dirt coating his
boots. “I’ll be to bed soon. I promise.”

Though Merlin looked weary, he seemed very enthusiastic about what he was doing. Arthur
nodded, finding this to be a good sign as well “Not too late,” he said, and he left Merlin to his
work.

He wasn’t entirely certain when Merlin joined him in his bed. He had been quite deeply asleep,
because the motion on the mattress had only half woken him from strange dreams of wandering in
a meadow in which the flowers were crying out to him and the grass was weeping.

“Go back to sleep,” said Merin’s weary voice at his side.

Arthur rolled over without opening his eyes, hand sliding over the mattress. He felt an arm, and
slid his hand along it, to a shoulder. He pushed at it weakly, and felt Merlin roll away. He
followed the motion, curling around Merlin’s body from behind, an arm going around his waist,
pressing his face into Merlin’s neck.

He tried to speak, to say goodnight, but only managed to make a low contented sound, his lips
moving against the skin of Merlin’s neck. Merlin made a contented sound in response, and relaxed
back against him, sliding into sleep.
 and yet new flowers are blooming

That night the dreams were worse than the night before.

As if they knew they had fewer hours to plague Merlin, they came back again and again. Each
time Arthur would manage to get back to sleep himself, he would feel Merlin jolt in his arms, and
have to force himself awake to rouse him.

The fourth time it happened, it was again just before dawn.

As Arthur knelt upon the bed, breathing hard from the effort of shaking him awake, Merlin rolled
away from him, pressing his face into the pillow, only half managing to smother the harsh sounds
that choked from his chest.

Arthur watched him helplessly, no idea what he should do, as he listened to the strangled sobs, and
watched Merlin fall apart on the bed beside him.

Finally he reached out, to put a hand on Merlin’s shoulder.

Merlin pushed himself out of the bed at once, almost falling to the floor. “Things to do,” he said in
a strangled voice, and he stumbled from the room, wiping savagely at his face with both hands.

After the chamber door closed, Arthur lay back in the bed, and pressed his palms over his eyes.
“Dammit,” he hissed at himself.

The day deteriorated after that. And their moods with it.

Arthur couldn’t get himself back to sleep after the events of the morning. Nor had Merlin, judging
by his behavior.

The hours in the vaults downstairs were tense and filled with clipped questions Arthur had to press
Merlin to answer. Even the smallest request got a scathing retort.

Lunch was eaten in aggrieved silence. And the entire time during training, Arthur caught Merlin
nodding off time and time again, only to struggle back awake. During one of the breaks, Arthur
made the mistake of going over to him.

“Why don’t you just nap if you’re so tired,” he said, not meaning for it to be a criticism, but he was
exhausted too, and frustrated, and apparently that’s all Merlin heard.

“Why don’t you mind your own business,” Merlin snapped at him, and shoved his rag into his
polishing jar, then attacked the armor he held.

“I only meant that you should-“

“How about you go tell your fan club of young lords and ladies what to do and leave me alone.”

Arthur very nearly kicked at Merlin’s long legs stretched out close to his boot. “A shame you
don’t have your sword today,” he said through clenched teeth. “You could use a bit of training
yourself, the pathetic state you’re in.”

Merlin glared at him. “I’ll be sure to remember it tomorrow. My lord.”

Arthur turned and marched away. “Insolent arse,” he muttered in a low voice.
“Royal child!” Merlin called, loudly enough for everyone to hear.

Arthur whirled around, pointing his sword at Merlin. “Get up! Now!”

Merlin shoved himself to his feet. “Yes, my lord? What do you want, my lord?”

“Give me that,” Arthur said to Heath, taking the young man’s shield from him, and throwing it at
Merlin, who held up an arm to block it from hitting him in the face. “Congratulations,” Arthur
said to Merlin sweetly. “You just volunteered to help me demonstrate some more advanced
techniques.”

Merlin picked up the shield from the ground and roughly shoved into Arthur’s shoulder as he
walked by. “Hate you so much,” he growled at him.

“And tomorrow we can demonstrate the mace,” Arthur said through his teeth, and went to drag
Merlin over in front of his gathering students.

When training was done, Merlin grumbled constantly, half muttered things that made no sense.
Rubbing occasionally at his shoulder, he hauled everything back to the house, one clumsy and
stumbling trip after the other.

Arthur watched him, wiping at his neck with a towel, feeling guilty as hell and frustrated at
everything and needing very desperately to stab something with his sword.

“Everything all right between you two?” came Heath’s voice at his side.

Arthur realized that Heath had intentionally hung back, so that only the two of them stood together
on the lawns. “Yes.” He watched at Merlin stagger, drop half of his things then pick them up
unsteadily. “No.” He shook his head at himself, at the entire situation. “Nothing for you to
concern yourself about.”

“Well at least if we find one of you dead, we’ll know who did it, eh?” Heath said, and he slapped
Arthur good naturedly on the back, before walking up to the manor.

Nausea twisted Arthur’s stomach as he watched the young man walk away. Remembering again
his vision. Of Merlin dead at his feet.

“Dammit,” Arthur swore, and he glared at the tower. But this hadn’t been the tower’s doing. This
had been his. He was falling back on bad habits with Merlin. Letting Merlin push him away.

And that’s what he was doing, wasn’t he, Arthur realized belatedly. And yes, Merlin had done that
back in Camelot too. Yet another way he’d kept secrets. Not just with humor and ridiculous
stories. But with this sullen and aggressive behavior. It had pushed him away every time.

Well, Arthur thought. Not anymore.

When they’d cleaned up and returned to the vaults, Merlin intentionally sat down at the opposite
side of the round table from where Arthur had taken his seat.

Arthur leaned forward on the table, staring at the wall of books that separated them. “Why are you
sitting over there?” he asked casually, keeping his voice calm.

“Want me closer so you can hit me?” came a petulant reply.

I deserved that, Arthur thought. I should have known better than to yield to Father’s temper. I
should have followed Mother’s heart instead.

So Arthur picked up his book and stood up. Slowly he rounded the empty chairs, until he came to
the pouting man sitting with his arms crossed over his servant’s tunic, his head tipped forward so
that his chin was buried in his neckerchief.

Arthur ignored the glare Merlin gave him, and pulled out the chair next to him. After shoving
some piles of books to the side, he sat down, opened his book, and began to read.

“Why are the flowers still blooming?” Arthur asked as casually as possible, without lifting his gaze
from the book. “There’s no sun. No rain. And the soil only stretches an inch into stone. I
checked. Yet new flowers are blooming.”

“I noticed.”

“Perhaps you could explain,” he said, as gently as possible. “I still don’t understand how they got
here in the first place.”

“Overflow,” Merlin said, his voice muffled by the cloth at his neck.

“Overflow?”

“When you pour something bigger into something smaller. Or.” Merlin gave a low grunt. “It’s
impossible to describe.”

“Please try,” Arthur said, using every ounce of his willpower to keep his aggravation from his
voice.

“Like a garden.”

Arthur turned to him, exasperated. Because that was just ridiculous. “A garden.”

“You have to water the plants slowly,” Merlin explained, as if he were a child. “Or the extra water
runs off. When the crystals lost their magic, it came to me too fast. I couldn’t absorb it and
channel it quickly enough. So it went everywhere. Until you foolishly risked your damned life
again by stepping in its way.”

Arthur caught himself before he made the truly awful mistake of saying that his actions had kept
the manor from crashing down upon them. “So the meadow happened why, exactly?” he asked,
wondering if he could in fact strain something in his voice from his efforts to keep it so level.

“That was me putting the magic back where it belonged.” Merlin glanced over at him
uncomfortably, clearly not wanting to speak of this. “Into the earth.”

“Creating a meadow with flowers in the process. Like by meadow by the lakeside.”

“With the stupid butterflies and the damned strawberries, yes, I know, it was all very soppy, I
remember,” Merlin said to his book, and turned a page sharply.

Arthur wanted to say that no, it wasn’t soppy. It was beautiful. Like the meadow. It was
amazing. But he doubted Merlin would take any of his words as anything but mockery. Not right
now.

The evening passed without much change, Merlin at his side, ignoring him completely, turning
pages with a loud noise as if angry at them, occasionally muttering to himself, probably without
realizing he was doing so. Twice Arthur saw Merlin’s head nod forward, then snap back, fighting
sleep.

Arthur itched to touch him, to put a hand on his arm. But he knew that none of that would be
received well. Not with Merlin grumbling at him about fetching supper, although he did bring
plates full of hot foods without complaint. His mood even seemed to mellow a bit, in the presence
of the warm supper.

Arthur shoved yet another pointless book aside that had absolutely no helpful information in it
whatsoever. “How are repairs to the manor coming along?” he asked.

“Slowly.”

“Slowly,” Arthur repeated. “Hm. Very informative. Yes, I’m glad I asked. It’s like listening to
one of Leon’s reports, how detailed that was.”

He heard Merlin heave an overly-loud and very put-upon sigh. “The new pane for the glass wall is
being delivered in a few days. The doors are already replaced. The South Tower exterior wall
should be done within the next two weeks. The roof within the two weeks after that. Within the
month or so everything should be back the way it was. More or less.”

“I’m very glad to hear it.”

There followed a long drawn out silence, in which Arthur heard Merlin playing with the pages of
his book.

“I know I’m being an ass,” Merlin muttered.

“Really?” Arthur asked. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Merlin snorted next to him. Arthur shoved Merlin’s elbow with his own. Merlin shoved him
back.

The first time that day they’d touched without a sword and shield between them, Arthur thought. It
was astonishing how much he’d missed it.

Arthur grabbed another book, and read through page after page that described magical creatures of
all sorts. Midway through the book, he reached a page that had been turned down, as if saved for
later reading.

Upon the page he saw a sketch of the tower upon the Isle of Avalon. Beside it was a small
drawing of a creature with wings. A Sidhe, he thought, and he leaned forward in his chair,
studying it.

Curiously enough, it held a staff much like the one Merlin had wielded upon the mountain at
Camlaan.

Arthur read through the page, but found his attention most drawn to two handwritten notes added
at the bottom of the text.

One note had been written by Gaius. It said: “Long-lived, patient, vicious, potential threat to
Camelot”.

Another note had been added by Merlin. It said: “Not to be trusted”. And the word “not” had been
underscored. Twice.
“Something you want to tell me?” Arthur asked, shoving the book at Merlin.

Merlin peered at the book, then leaned back in his chair, no fight in him at all, just weariness and
pain. “The Sidhe tried to interfere in your life twice. Once to take you as a sacrifice. Once to put a
Sidhe Queen on the throne of Camelot within the Princess Elena.”

Arthur couldn’t speak for a long moment. He could only stare in disbelief and utter fury.

“There was no choice!” Merlin insisted, before he could say anything. “The Sidhe are the
guardians of the ancient magics of life and death. They control the Gates of Avalon. It was either
send you to them, or lose you forever. And I was not going to lose you. It was the only choice I
had, and I’d do it all over again, even with all those centuries alone.”

Arthur turned from the pain in Merlin’s face, staring down at the page in the book.

Long-lived. Patient. Vicious. Not to be trusted. Capable of living over a thousand years. And
based upon what Merlin had said, also quite interested in either control, or power, or him. Or all
three.

“They don’t speak to you,” Arthur said, remembering that comment more than once.

“They probably don’t like me very much. I stopped them both times they tried to interfere with
your life. I killed a few of them in the process. That’s where I got my staff.”

“Wonderful,” Arthur said grimly. “That’s just...” He leaned his elbows on the book, rubbing his
face with both hands. “Have I mentioned lately how insanely infuriating beings of magic are?”

“You’ll get no argument here,” Merlin muttered.

After that, Arthur found it nearly impossible to focus. His thoughts kept returning to the Sidhe. To
the notes Gaius and Merlin had left.

He sent Merlin on his way to work on the manor earlier that night, knowing he was barely able to
function as it was. Arthur kept at it a little longer, until his eyes blurred on the page. Frustrated
with his lack of progress, he returned to his sleeping chambers.

There he discovered Merlin sitting on the edge of his side of the bed, staring vacantly out the
window.

“Finished work already?” Arthur asked.

“I fell asleep trying to set a stone and nearly fell off the tower,” Merlin grumbled.

Arthur looked beyond Merlin, into the darkness beyond, fighting a furious rage. He wanted to rip
that damned island from the ground. Wanted to rend the ruins with his bare hands.

Gods above, he thought. If I feel like this after only two weeks, how had Merlin felt after fifteen
hundred years?

“Come on,” Arthur said. “I’ll help.”

Merlin turned to him, shocked. “You?”

“I’ve always wanted to learn how to be a stone mason.”

“You have not.”

“Of course I have. Just because you weren’t listening when I told you about it, doesn’t mean I
didn’t say it. Now come on. There’s work to be done.”

Together they worked on rebuilding the walls until just before the sun rose. Every time Merlin
nodded off, Arthur nudged him back awake, asking him whatever he could think of to keep him
going. They let up only when the earliest of the work crews showed up, clearly surprised by the
two of them dressed in their clothing of the old style, covered in dust and dirt and pieces of mortar.

Somehow they managed to get back downstairs, passing through the café as they headed to the
North Tower. They ran into Eleanor on the way, as she let herself in to open the shops.

“Good heavens!” she said. “You haven’t been working all night, have you?”

Arthur shoved open the door to Merlin’s residence. “Breakfast and coffee in a few hours would be
wonderful,” he said, as if that was the question she had asked.

“Merlin, I need to talk to you about some of the structural issues being worked on today,” Eleanor
called after him.

Merlin turned on his heel and went back into the café. “What structural issues?”

“They’re telling me that the main support beams for the roof are going to be a problem, because of
the material used to-“

“No, no, no, that’s absurd,” Merlin told her. “Just let me wash and dress and I’ll grab a coffee and
be right there to tell them what utter rubbish that is.”

“You haven’t slept all night,” Arthur said.

“I will when I’m done,” Merlin said, managing somehow to make it a promise and a request.

“As soon as you’re done. Make sure of it,” he told Eleanor.

“I will, sire,” she said, smiling at him.

“I swear they actually know,” Merlin muttered, as he went to change.

Arthur barely made it upstairs. After closing the drapes to keep out the worst of the daylight, he
collapsed upon the bed, and fell instantly asleep.

He woke to bright sunlight shining through the cracks in the room’s curtains. Breakfast was upon
his table. His clothes upon his chair. But no sign of Merlin.

After cleaning half of the South Tower off of his body, and dressing in his still very uncomfortable
boots and tunic and breeches, Arthur did once again what it seemed like he had been doing all his
life. Which was go in search of his wayward servant.

To his surprise, Merlin was seated under a tree on the lawn, where his students had already
gathered. Because apparently he’d slept late enough to almost miss training.

“I was just about to come and get you,” Merlin said, as he climbed to his feet.

“What happened to you getting some sleep?”

Merlin picked up the padded jacket to dress him in it. “I had six cups of coffee this morning.
Couldn’t get back to sleep after that. I’ll nap while you’re training. Unless you need me to
practice with the mace today?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Arthur said gently, with an apologetic smile.

Merlin smiled back at him, pale and wan and with dark circles under his eyes, but otherwise
seeming more himself.

Within a few minutes, Merlin was tightening the straps of his hauberk. Heath approached where
they stood, dressed in chainmail and armor, looking far more like a Knight of Camelot than any
man of the modern era should be able to do. “Good afternoon, sire,” Heath said to Arthur, with a
bow at the neck.

“It really is like they know,” Merlin said in a low voice.

“Good afternoon, Heath,” Arthur said, ignoring the comment behind him.

“I wanted to see if you and Merlin wanted to join Dan and I at the Knob tonight. Just an informal
thing with some mates.”

“The knob?” Arthur asked.

“It’s a pub,” Merlin muttered.

“Strange name, isn’t it?”

“Not for Avalon,” Heath told him. “Actually the full name is The Wizard’s Knob. Right up your
street, eh, Merlin?”

Arthur laughed so hard that Merlin yanked on his armor in retaliation.

“I wonder what wizard they’re talking about,” Arthur said over his shoulder.

“Gandalf,” came a grumble behind him.

“Never heard of him,” Arthur said.

“So Dan and I will pick you both up? Around eight?”

“I don’t think-“ Merlin began.

“Yes,” Arthur told him. “Thank you, Heath. We’ll be ready.”

After Heath had walked away, he heard Merlin sigh.

“We both deserve a night off, Merlin.”

“For once,” Merlin said, “you’ll get no argument from me.”

But by the time they were supposed to leave that night, Arthur was having second thoughts.
Merlin had only been able to doze lightly during training, and somehow that little sleep had soured
his mood the rest of the day.

Arthur had practically had to force him to go and dress for the outing, and had needed to check on
him several times to make sure he was still making efforts to leave.

“I’m heading downstairs!” Arthur yelled down the corridor, when it had gone nearly eight and
Merlin hadn’t emerged.

No response from Merlin’s chambers.

“If you don’t get downstairs in two minutes I’m coming back and carrying you outside!”

“All right! All right! For god’s sakes! I’ll be right there!”

With a satisfied smile, Arthur headed downstairs.

The evening air outside was cool but dry as he walked out onto the front lawn of the manor. A
beep of a horn drew his attention, to where Heath had stopped his car on the road by the front gate.

“Isn’t he coming?” called Heath, through the open window of the car.

“Merlin!” Arthur yelled back through the door, using the voice that could be heard from one end of
Camelot to the other.

“You don’t have to shout!” Merlin yelled back at him, as he stepped into the doorway.

Arthur watched Merlin pull the door shut behind him and lock it. He was wearing that ridiculously
tight pair of black jeans of his, and a deep blue shirt that stretched across the muscles of his back
and chest and down his long arms.

When Arthur saw Merlin’s hair, he sighed loudly, for effect.

“Don’t even start about my hair,” Merlin said. “There’s nothing wrong with it like this.”

“So then you want to look like you’ve been in a windstorm in the Perilous Lands.”

Merlin shoved his hair to the side and off his forehead. “Just because you don’t want to put any
product in your hair-“

“I’d rather not look like a family of wyvern nested in it, no-“

“Oi!” Heath called from the car. “I’m holding up traffic!”

Merlin gestured for Arthur to precede him with an entirely mocking expression on his face. Arthur
did so anyway, with great pleasure, passing through the gate, then pulling open the car door for
Merlin to climb in first.

Merlin eyed him with great suspicion, then ducked to get in the car.

Arthur grabbed Merlin around the neck and bent him forward, scrubbing his hand over Merlin’s
hair.

“Ow! Let go!”

“It’s for your own good!”

“Stop it! You arse!”

Arthur released him, feeling immensely pleased with himself at the matted down mess on Merlin’s
head. “Much better,” Arthur declared, and he climbed into the car.

Merlin climbed in and sat down half on top of Arthur, elbowing him hard. Arthur elbowed him in
return, until they were shoving at each other in the back seat so roughly that the car shook.

“Geez, get a room!” Heath said over his shoulder, staring in astonishment at where Merlin had
jumped half on top of Arthur to shove his elbow in Arthur’s face. “You two keep that up and I’m
going to make you pay to get my wheels realigned!”

Arthur saw Merlin go red in the face, even in the dim lighting of the car. He climbed off quickly,
sitting as far as possible from Arthur on the seat.

“He started it,” Merlin grumbled.

“Sounds like my brother and I,” Danyl said.

“Doesn’t look brotherly to me,” Heath said, as he pulled them down the road to Avalon.

“Nothing looks brotherly to you.”

“That’s true.”

Arthur glanced over at Merlin, who sat leaning against the opposite car door, arms crossed, staring
furiously out the window. Pouting. “Oh stop it,” Arthur said. “Don’t be such a child.”

“You’re the child,” Merlin said, his tone just short of whining.

“You are,” Arthur said, stifling a laugh, and nudged Merlin’s knee with his own.

Merlin pulled his leg away and crowded against the door.

Arthur sighed, loudly.

“I take it back,” Danyl said from the front seat, so softly that Arthur was sure he didn’t mean for
anyone but Heath to hear.

“I know, right?” Heath said, just as softly.

The pub, it turned out, was very close to the statue Merlin had shown him when they’d ridden their
horses here. They walked past it after they parked, and even in the near dark, Arthur found it just
as strange and unsettling as he had before.

Merlin seemed not to notice its presence. He’d brought his mobile with him, and was walking with
his eyes glued to its screen, poking it occasionally.

Looking at the world news again, Arthur thought. “Stop that,” he said, and reached for Merlin’s
mobile. “You’re meant to be relaxing.”

“Leave it,” Merlin told him, and shoved his mobile into his front pocket.

“It will happen when it happens, Merlin.”

“Forgive me for wanting to be prepared.”

Arthur stopped walking. “What did you just say to me?”

Merlin stopped beside him. “I only meant-“

“Do you think even for a single second that I’ve forgotten why I’m here?”
“You can’t tell me that you’re not going as crazy as I am waiting for whatever it is that-“

“Oi!” Heath said sharply, and for the first time Arthur heard something close to aggravation in his
voice. “If you two want to stand out here and argue like an old married couple, then go right
ahead. Dan and I going inside. To have fun. Which is why we’re here. If you remember. Come
on, Dan.”

Arthur watched Danyl cast a worried glance their way, before falling into step beside Heath.
Together the two young men walked towards the festive lights and lilting music emanating from
the pub.

“Now I do feel like an idiot,” Merlin said.

“You’re not the only one,” Arthur told him.

And because he really did feel like an idiot, and for so, so, many reasons, Arthur stepped to Merlin,
and lifted his hands to his head. Merlin flinched, so Arthur paused, waiting for him to relax,
before reaching out to move his fingers through the thick black strands, guiding them back the way
Merlin had styled them before.

“It doesn’t actually look like wyvern nested in it,” Arthur said.

Merlin had gone still, his eyelids drooping. “No?”

“No. It just makes you look different. And I’m still adjusting to different. Especially when it
comes to you.” He saw Merlin sway as he dragged careful fingers across his forehead, moving a
few wayward strands of hair to the side.

Tired, Arthur thought. Merlin was so very tired. They both were. He wondered how long either
of them could keep this up.

Arthur started to step back, but Merlin caught his wrists.

“Here,” Merlin said, and he bowed his head, placing Arthur’s hands back on top of his hair,
dragging them forward.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s- You’re right. It looks better that way. Go ahead.”

Arthur soothed the strands forward, taking care to be gentle, watching Merlin’s eyes fall closed.
When he was done, Merlin swayed forward, and Arthur had to catch him by his shoulders. “I
thought only horses fell asleep standing up.”

“Horses and sorcerers,” Merlin said, slowly opening his eyes, smiling in the darkness.

Behind him, Arthur heard voices raised in laughter. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go see if we can be
less like a pair of idiots and actually enjoy ourselves tonight.”
 the flight of dragons
Chapter Notes

Chapter contains a homophobic comment by a dumbass, followed by swift poetic

justice.

Merlin leaned back against the bar, marveling at how little things had changed in fifteen hundred
years.

He’s holding court, Merlin thought, as he watched Arthur standing in the middle of a group of their
friends, telling a story by the looks of it, to smiles all around.

The pub had apparently not done much changing either, since last he was here. Its mismatching
tables and chairs were only half filled with locals who sat around with their pints at tables. No
tellies or video screens had invaded yet. Just comfortable lighting and background music and
people relaxing with a drink.

The bartender presented him with a tray of drinks, and Merlin shoved some bills across the bar.
Arthur had been trying to get him to have drink all night, but he was barely staying awake on the
ridiculous amounts of caffeine he’d downed today. Alcohol would likely put him on the floor. If
he were lucky.

Merlin navigated across the pub with the tray of drinks, eyes focused on Arthur, who had of course
managed somehow to stand in a spotlight. It made his blond hair glow faintly, his face flushed
with the heat of the place, or perhaps that was just a reflection of the red shirt he wore with his
jeans.

Elbowing his way gently through the group of their friends, Merlin placed the tray of drinks onto
the small table everyone had gathered around. They all quite happily took a glass, patting him on
the back and toasting him as they did.

Before Merlin could grab Arthur’s drink to give it to him, he saw the dark haired woman from
training, Megan, reach out and take it. She handed it to Arthur leaning far too closely into his
personal space than was necessary.

Danyl tried to grab the remaining drink, but missed completely, staggering forward against the
table, giggling.

“Aren’t you keeping an eye on him?” Merlin asked Heath.

“Someone keeps buying him shots,” Heath said sternly to Danyl’s older brother, who looked away
whistling to himself.

“Tequila,” Danyl said, nodding happily at Merlin.

Heath shook his head and put his arm around Danyl’s shoulder, pulling him close. “Slow down,
love. You’re going to hate yourself tomorrow if you get yourself into a right state tonight.”
Merlin watched Danyl smile drunkenly up at Heath, then plant a sloppy kiss on Heath’s cheek.

“So adorable,” Anne said to Merlin, at his side.

Merlin watched Heath’s face twitch, and had to stifle a laugh. “Young love,” he said to her, and
raised his glass in toast.

Danyl’s brother and a few of his friends all raised their glasses to that. Next to Arthur, Megan put
her hand on Arthur’s shoulder, and leaned in close to say something right into his ear. She glanced
at Merlin twice as she said it.

Merlin watched Arthur laugh at whatever it was, and then say something back that he couldn’t
hear. He tightened his grip on his glass, thinking of twenty things he could do right now that
would absolutely positively be a blatant misuse of his magic.

“Any more drinks left?” Anne asked him.

“I’ll get more,” he grumbled, and turned from the table, taking the empty tray with him.

“I’ll help!” she said, and followed him through the crowd.

She chatted with him as they walked, and kept chatting with him as he stood at the bar, staring
furiously down at the counter, his mind filled with Arthur and that woman.

“Isn’t that just wild?” Anne said.

He realized Anne was looking at him expectantly. “What? Oh. Yes. Really wild!” he said
enthusiastically, lifting his voice over the music. After calling over the bartender, he ordered a few
more pints of what they had on tap.

Anne pressed next to his side and leaned her elbows upon the counter, warm and soft and smiling
over at him.

Merlin leaned closer so she could hear him without his having to shout. “Is there something you
want?”

She smiled shyly and leaned even closer. “Nothing that’s on the menu,” she said. And she winked
at him.

And all at once, a dozen previously unnoticed signals – no, honestly, it was several dozen, oh dear
god - all snapped into place.

“Oh.” Merlin stood up straight. “Oh. I.” He tried to smile, but failed noticeably, judging by her
sudden discomfort.

“I was- just joking,” she said quickly, her pale face flushing red, and she tilted her face away, so
that her hair fell forward even more.

Merlin closed his eyes. Oh my god. I am such an arse. Seriously. Just a world class, oblivious,
ridiculous arse.

“I should, um, be getting back-“

“No. Wait. Please?” He caught her wrist as she stepped away, a loose and gentle touch she could
easily pull away from. She stopped, but she didn’t look at him. So he stepped in front of her,
picking up her other hand, lowering his head close so that she could hear him. “I’m so sorry,
Anne. I am. I just- I’m not-“

“I get it,” she said to the floor.

“No, you don’t, really.” He squeezed her fingers gently. Waited until she looked up at him.
“There’s someone else,” he forced out, opting for the truth for once in his miserable life, because
she had been so kind to him, and she didn’t deserve to be hurt, just because he hadn’t been paying
attention.

“You’re seeing someone?”

“No. We’re not. I mean. It’s a little hard to explain,” he said, smiling sadly.

She glanced up at him, then across the pub, still frowning, but less miserable than before. “I guess
that makes it a little better. If it’s true.”

“You have no idea how much I wish it wasn’t true.” He caught sight of the tray of drinks being
placed upon the bar by the bartender. He grabbed one of the drinks and gave it to her. “Here.
Take this. Go have fun. I’ll just stand here and be a giant arse. Which is what I am. A ridiculous,
enormous, insensitive arse.”

“You’re not an arse,” she told him, fighting a smile. “Well. Not that much.”

“Oh, no, really, I am. I am an arse and I am an idiot besides, because I am totally missing out on
something amazing with you, I have no doubt about that, because you are beautiful and smart and
kind and-“

“Good with a sword,” she said, smiling at him.

“A very attractive quality in a woman, I’ve said so for centuries,” he affirmed.

“You are a very strange man, Merlin Hunithson,” Anne said, smiling sadly at him now.

“You have no idea how right you are,” Merlin said.

And then he watched her walk away, this woman who was beautiful and kind and not bad with a
sword, and honestly he was the biggest idiot to ever have walked the earth to have turned her down
for someone he would never, ever, have.

Someone he was going to have to watch fall in love again. And get married again. To someone
like Megan. With her whispering and looking at him and laughing.

Merlin turned from the pub and waved down the bartender. When the man came over, Merlin
pulled out his wallet and threw a truly obscene amount of money upon the bar. “Could you have
someone take this tray of drinks to that group over there? And then could you get me some of
whatever is in that clear bottle on that shelf?” He threw another few bills upon the pile. “And be
quick about it, will you?”

“Yes sir,” the man said brightly, as he hastily gathered up the ridiculous amount of cash.

Merlin glanced back into the pub. Arthur was staring at him across the room, clearly frowning.
Merlin waved at him, pushing a smile onto his face. By the table, Anne saw the gesture, and
waved back at him.

“Here you go, sir," the bartender said, and set down a tiny shot glass before him.
Merlin cocked an eyebrow at him. "What's this then?"

"A shot of our best vodka," the man said proudly.

"Right, no, sorry," he said, pushing it away. “I should have been clearer. I don't want this tiny
little thing. I want that one, on the shelf, over there."

"You mean the pint?”

“Yeah, that one."

The bartender looked at him as though he'd lost his mind, but did as requested, filling a pint glass
and shoving it carefully across the bar, to prevent it from spilling over the top.

"You're done after that one," the bartender said, sounding as if he regretted his decision to serve
him already.

“Don't worry," Merlin assured him. "It would take more than this to kill me.”

After lifting the drink in silent toast, he took four enormous gulps of it. Then he wheezed and he
coughed and he spilled his drink on himself as he pounded his fist on the counter against the burn
searing its way down his throat.

“Bloody hell!” the bartender said. “Take it easy!”

Merlin nodded, his eyes watering as he felt his chest heating him from the inside. Oh this was such
a bad idea, he thought. This was a ridiculously bad idea.

He glanced at Arthur across the pub. Megan was practically laying on him, standing up.

Merlin turned his back on the scene, and drank some more, pausing only to cough and wheeze,
reminded unpleasantly of the poison Nimueh had made from the Mortaeus Flower to try and kill
him.

“A man drinks like that and he don’t eat, he is going to die,” came Heath’s voice by his side.

“Not actually possible,” Merlin rasped out, though he took a smaller sip of the clear liquid in his
glass. Vodka? he wondered. Or possibly gin. Not that he cared.

Heath put a hand on Merlin’s shoulder as he leaned in to ask the bartender for some crisps and
some water. When he straightened, he gave Merlin a sad shake of his head. “You keep drinking
like that, Merlin, and you’re going to have a night full of bad decisions.”

Merlin lifted the glass as if in toast. “Here’s to bad decisions. It’s one of my natural gifts, bad
decisions. I’m famous for them. Literally famous, I mean.”

Heath watched him take another gulp. “That’s like ten shots of vodka in there. You could
seriously-”

“Where’s your other half got to?” Merlin asked, to distract him.

“He’s with your other half,” Heath said, winking at him.

“Don’t. Just- Don’t say that. It’s not funny.”

Heath gave him a pitying look as he grabbed the basket of crisps and the water. “Come on back to
the table. You can tell that story about the cow and teaching Arthur to drive.”

Merlin glanced over his shoulder, and saw that Megan had managed somehow to move even closer
to Arthur, her body pressed to his side.

Narrowing his eyes at her, Merlin lifted his glass and took several more long gulps, before choking
himself silly.

“Hell,” Heath said next to him.

“I’ll be over later,” he managed, between coughs. “Just need to... let things… sink in.”

“Just don’t throw up in my car, all right?” Heath said with a sad smile, before returning to their
group of friends.

Merlin watched him go, blinking slowly, starting to feel all warm inside. He caught the eye of the
bartender, and called him over. “How about a drink for all my friends at the bar here, eh?” he said,
waving up and down the bar, which got him a round of toasts in the air and pats on the shoulder.

He wound up staying long enough to order everyone a second round too, making quite a few new
friends in the process. Their faces became increasingly blurry as they left one by one, each patting
him on the back or swearing they’d stop by the café as they went.

The bartender was just collecting everyone’s empty shot glasses when Danyl fell against Merlin’s
side, jostling the tall bald man who had just stepped up to the bar nearby.

“Cor, you’re big, look at you,” Danyl said to the man in amazement, and received an irritated snort
in response, before he turned his back, shoving Danyl into Merlin.

“Oi,” Merlin said, catching Danyl before he fell, nearly falling over himself.

Danyl grinned up at him, all rosy nose and cheeks, swaying even with Merlin’s hands on his
shoulders. “Why’r you over here, Merlin?” He tried to lean on the bar, only to have his elbow slip
off, nearly sending him to the ground.

“You’re drunk,” Merlin said, steadying Danyl against the bar, staggering himself as he did it. He
squinted at Danyl’s face, because it was swimming, or maybe the bar was swimming. Either way,
things had definitely gotten a little unpredictable in the blurriness department.

“You’re one to talk,” Danyl said overly loudly. “Heath says you had ten shots of vodka!”

“I had one glasshh.” Merlin blinked. Pressed a palm to his face. Patted his cheek. Nope, he
thought. Can’t really feel that. He patted his face again. Nope, not at all.

“Heath is just so awesome, isn’t he?” Danyl was saying, turning to look at the court of Camelot
across the pub. “I am so happy Emrys set us up. I bet. That if he were here? He’d tell you and
Arthur to get your heads out of your arses.”

Merlin snorted out a laugh, spitting out some of his drink, because he’d never before heard Danyl
say anything like that. “The mouth on you,” he scolded.

“No, the mouth on you,” Danyl said, leaning on Merlin’s shoulder. “You should go and put it on
him. Over there. Just go and- and- snog him. Right now. In front of everybody.”

Merlin swatted at the shoves Danyl was giving him. “Stop hitting me. Why does everyone hit
me? Do I have a sign I can’t see?”

“Go on, Merlin,” Danyl was giggling. “Go snog him.”

“I bet Megan would find that hysterical,” Merlin said bitterly.

“Oh, Megan, pfff,” Danyl said, spitting a bit in his face. “She’s been chasing that dog all week but
he won’t bite.”

Merlin burst out laughing. “What?”

“Or. Whatsit? Something about a dog.” He shook his head, and staggered backward into the tall
bald man at the bar. “I’m saying you should just go snog him. Senseless. Looks like he could use
a good snogging, Arthur does.”

Merlin caught Danyl’s arm to stand up straight, but not before the bald man next to him glared at
them both and said: “Bloody pervert shirtlifters”.

Danyl’s expression transformed at once. First shock. Then humiliation.

Which was absolutely unacceptable.

“That’s a laugh,” Merlin said loudly, “coming from a bloke who has to take off his pants to count
to twenty one.”

“Merlin!” Danyl hissed, and pulled at his shirt.

“Or maybe twenty and a half, by the looks of you,” Merlin said, as he staggered out from the bar.
“I wager it’s been a while since you’ve even seen your tiny little excuse for a prick, a fat gut like
you’ve got.”

The man turned around and stared him down. “What’s that?”

“Ugh, you have the look of a Saxon about you,” Merlin said, screwing up his face in distaste. “The
stench of one too. Reminds me of a dead pig rotting in a bog full of cow dung in the hot afternoon
sun.”

The man stepped into Merlin’s space, and of course it was now that he noticed that the Saxon-like
pig in question was actually taller than he was, and thicker, and oh that’s right, he wasn’t supposed
to use his magic without his king’s permission.

But this pile of shite had called Danyl a shirtlifter, and had made him ashamed of who he was.
And there was going to be none of that while he was still breathing, which was going to be an
awfully long damn time yet, no matter how badly this moron beat him.

“You should shut your mouth,” the man growled, “before I shut it for you.”

Merlin looked around at everyone in amusement, before turning back to the man. “You think you
can scare me? That’s a laugh. What the hell are you going to do? Throw me off a cliff? Poison
me? Shoot me with an arrow? I’ve had all those things done to me and worse, and I’m still here.”
Merlin stepped forward, drunk and fearless and furious. “So how about you take your ugly
festering pig face and piss off, before I-“

And then he was hitting the floor hard, head knocking back to the tile, the ceiling spinning above
him, a commotion all around.
The man loomed over him, thick hands grabbing his shirt, hauling him to his feet.

Merlin glared into furious narrowed eyes-

And then staggered backward, as a blur of red shoved itself in front of him.

Merlin felt Danyl catch him, steadying him, as Arthur grabbed the man’s wrist mid-punch,
savagely twisted his arm behind his back, then slammed him face-first to the bar.

Arthur turned to Merlin, exasperated, pressing an elbow casually into the back of the man’s neck.
“I leave you alone for five minutes, Merlin-“

“Bottle,” Merlin said, pointed to where the bald man was reaching for a beer.

Arthur hauled the man upright, kicked out his leg from under him, cracked his forehead on the
edge of the bar, then tossed him to the floor, all in one motion.

“The largest brute in the place, too,” Arthur went on, brushing some crisps from his sleeve. “Do
you have absolutely no sense of self preservation whatsoever?”

“Obviously not,” Merlin said, and grinned proudly.

“Holy shit that was awesome,” Danyl said at Merlin’s side, staring wide-eyed at Arthur.

“Sorry for the trouble,” Arthur said to the startled bartender, as the bald man moaned upon the
floor. “He’ll be fine. I made certain not to break anything. I know that’s frowned upon in this day
and age.” Arthur crouched down beside the man, and said in a low voice only he and Merlin could
hear. “However, I will change my mind about that if you lay a hand upon that man again. Is that
clear?”

Upon the ground the man whimpered.

“Just so we understand one another,” Arthur said, and stood.

Merlin dug out what was remaining in his wallet and tossed it onto the bar. “For the damn- damo-
damages,” he slurred out to the bartender.

“Woah,” Danyl said, next to him.

“Not enough?” Merlin asked, swaying into his space.

“I’ve never seen bills that big,” Danyl said, staring.

“I’ve got lots more. They wanted to make me a Lord because of it, can you imagine?” Merlin said,
and pulled a face that had Danyl bursting into laughter.

“The pair of you, honestly,” Arthur said severely.

Merlin felt Arthur grab his arm and pull him through the pub, past staring patrons. “This is King
Arthur of Camelot!” he told the people he passed, giggling to himself.

When they reached their group of their friends, Merlin bent forward onto the table in the midst,
knocking glasses over. He pressed the side of his face to its surface, his cheek and hair nicely
cooling from the puddle of whatever he’d spilled.

Someone gently rubbed his back as all around him voices discussed what had just happened,
including a female voice saying how impressive Arthur had been, because of course he had been,
coming to his rescue as if Merlin were a damsel in distress.

“’M notta princess,” Merlin mumbled, then sniffed at something pooling on the table, and then
sipped at it, because it had smelled tasty.

“Holy hell, he is obliterated,” Heath said.

Behind him Merlin heard Arthur’s voice, discussing how to get him home. “No no no.” He stood
up, fell backwards, and was caught by someone who straightened him again. “Wow,” he said,
holding onto the table, nearly dragging that over, because everything was spinning all around.
“Must be a spell,” he said, blinking at the rotating world. He turned his head. Managed to focus
on Arthur. “There you are! Long live the king!” he shouted. “Long live the king-!”

“And we’re done for the night,” Arthur pronounced, grabbing Merlin’s arm and pulling it over his
own shoulders, wrapping his other arm around Merlin’s back. “Come on, Merlin. Let’s get you
home.”

Merlin fell against Arthur’s side, grinning in Megan’s direction. “Yes, you’d better get me home
and into bed,” he said, looking directly at her, winking.

“Easy, Merlin,” Heath said.

“There’s hangover remedy in the Apof- Aposh-” Danyl said, and then gave up, giggling and
snorting to himself.

“Just look at you,” came Heath’s fond voice, and Merlin watched the taller man gather Danyl up
into his arms. Danyl smiled and closed his eyes and leaned against Heath gratefully, perfectly
content.

“So lucky,” Merlin said, blinking slowly at the both of them.

“Come on, Merlin, move your feet,” Arthur snapped at him.

“Don’t you want to stay?” Merlin said, leaning close to Arthur to speak loudly right into his ear,
“so you can keep talking to Megan about your sword? Get it? Your sword-?”

“I’ll get the car-“ Heath said.

“No, that’s all right. We’re going to walk. Aren’t we Merlin,” Arthur said to him, in his sweetest
voice, which usually meant something very bad.

“We are?” Merlin asked, swinging his head around to look at Arthur. “Oh, that’s not a good
smile,” he said. “I usually get things thrown at me with that smile. Are you going to throw things
at me?”

“Let’s have it be a surprise,” Arthur said, through his teeth.

“It’s almost an hour walk back to the house,” Heath said.

“The fresh air will do him good. My apologies for him,” Arthur said to the crowd, and to Megan in
particular. “One whiff of a barmaid’s apron and he’s beyond all hope.”

“I’m standing right here,” Merlin said. “I haven’t magicked myself invisible. Not that I can’t do
that. I absolutely can. There was that one time in the fourteen hundreds-”
“Shut. Up.” Arthur commanded.

“Yes, sire,” Merlin said happily.

“Oh he is going to hate his life tomorrow morning,” Heath said.

“He is going to hate his life sooner than that,” Arthur said, still in that frighteningly sweet voice
that held daggers beneath it.

And then there were goodbyes exchanged that Merlin couldn’t follow, because everything was
fuzzy and far away, and so he closed his eyes, and just moved where Arthur moved him, and when
he opened his eyes again, they were outside in the cool night air walking through dark streets that
swam in and out of his vision.

For quite a while, Arthur ranted at him about proper behavior and public drunkenness and the
difference between relaxing and making yourself incapacitated.

Merlin mostly just stared at him as he staggered along, because Arthur was stupidly handsome
when he was riled up, even in the night, lit occasionally by passing street lights. They were
walking on a dirt path now, he realized, along the roadside.

“Oh,” Merlin said, and stopped.

Arthur stopped next to him. “What?”

Merlin looked at him, and then threw himself into the weeds and threw up everything he’d had to
drink, which had been a lot, and then everything he’d eaten, which hadn’t been much.

“For god’s sake,” Arthur said, with a loud sigh.

Merlin got to his knees, staring into the trees. “That wasn’t too bad,” he said.

And then he pitched forward, and did it again.

At some point, when he was swaying on his hands and knees, staring at the ground, trying to
remember how he’d gotten there, he felt Arthur heave him to his feet, his arm strong around his
chest.

“I think I drank too much,” Merlin said.

“Oh do you think so? Honestly, Merlin. How you don’t know better than this after fifteen
centuries I have no idea.”

“I do know better. I just didn’t care.”

“Well tomorrow as soon as you’re functional again, you’re going to apologize to all of those people
for making us leave so early.”

“Sorry to take you away from your girlfriend,” Merlin said bitterly.

“My girlfriend?”

“Megan,”

“Don’t be ridiculous. She’s a student. Unlike you and your friend Anne.”
“I hurt her feelings,” Merlin said sadly.

“How did you hurt her feelings?”

“She said she liked me. I told her I wasn’t interested.”

“Oh.”

They staggered along in silence, the world still spinning, making Merlin occasionally trip on the
dirt path on a rock or stick.

“What did you say to that barbarian to get yourself thrown to the ground anyway?” Arthur asked.

“Something about a pig. I think. And that he couldn’t find his prick with both hands?”

Arthur barked out a laugh. “That would do it.”

“He called Danyl and I shirtlifters. Which means-“

“I understand the word,” Arthur said tightly. Merlin stared at his profile in the dim lighting
between streetlights. “Wish I’d known that,” Arthur ground out. “I’d have put him in hospital.”

“You’d have put him in the morgue,” Merlin said proudly. And then frowned at himself. “No, no,
that’s bad, you can’t do that anymore, killing people.”

“A shame. He had the look of a-“

“Saxon!” Merlin slapped Arthur’s chest. “That’s what I said. The look of a Saxon and the smell of
a rotting pig carcass.”

“Eloquent as always.”

“It did the trick.”

“It got you knocked on your arse.”

“I forgot that I couldn’t use my magic until after I’d opened my mouth.” He thought a long
moment. “Not that it would have stopped me. Bloody intolerant bastard.”

“For god’s sake, Merlin, you can use your magic to defend yourself if some barbarian is trying to
bludgeon you to death.”

“Not without my king’s permission,” Merlin said firmly.

A sigh at his side.

“Are we home yet?” Merlin asked.

“We still have a way to go.”

Merlin frowned at the dark path. “I wish I had some more vodka.”

“So do I,” Arthur said in a low voice.

“I know! We can pass the time with a song!”

“Absolutely not-”
“Stop me if you know this one. ‘We’re knights of the round table, we dance whenever we’re
able-‘”

“What-?”

“’We do routines and chorus scenes with footwork impeccable-‘”

“Merlin-“

“’We dine well here in Camelot, we eat ham and jam and spam a lot-‘”

“Merlin!”

Merlin blinked at Arthur. “What?”

“What in the hell is that?”

“On second thought, let’s not sing that. ‘Tis a silly song.” And then he burst out laughing, half
falling as they crossed the roadway to the park. “My park looks so lovely, doesn’t it? So peaceful.”

“Yes, Merlin, it’s very lovely and peaceful, now pick up your feet.”

Merlin stumbled up over the kerb. “Isn’t this better than being at the pub? With that woman?”

“Yes, Merlin, leaving a party early because you got yourself too drunk to function is much better
than spending a relaxing evening at a tavern.”

“She would make you do your own chores,” Merlin informed him. “And your own laundry. And
make your own bed. And cook your own food. Not like me.”

“Not like you, of course not. Now will you at least try to walk on your own?”

“I can do anything they can. Women, I mean.” He frowned at himself. “Well. Except for the
babies.” That wasn’t the point, though, he thought. What was the point again? Oh yes. “I’m very
open minded, I am,” Merlin said, and tried to raise his eyebrow in a suggestive fashion. “To all
sorts of things. Extremely open minded, in fact.”

Arthur tensed next to him, though that could have just been because he was opening the gate from
the park to the manor estate. “Is that something those companions of yours taught you?” Arthur
asked.

“It might be,” Merlin said, because Arthur had made it sound like a challenge. “Who’s to say I
didn’t know things to show them?”

He staggered as Arthur tripped next to him, then got his feet under him, swearing, as he pulled
Merlin across the grass to the front door of the manor.

Merlin felt Arthur lean him back the stone wall so he wouldn’t fall over. He looked up, and saw
the stars spinning overhead, along with the tops of the trees. “Round and round and round,” he
said.

“You’re not doing something on Mars again, are you?”

Merlin smiled faintly, and sang the words he repeated so often to himself. “Not without the
permission of my kiiiinnnng…”
“Where’s your keys?”

“Pockets,” Merlin said to the sky, and then smiled wickedly.

“Are you incapable of giving them to me?”

“Find them yourself,” Merlin said, because Arthur’s challenge deserved one of his own, and he
wanted to see what Arthur would do.

Let him touch me, he thought. Let him touch let him touch-

Merlin felt Arthur’s hand settle upon his hip, holding him still by the belt loop. Arthur’s other slid
into his back pocket, his fingers moving around, for a rather long amount of time. Finding nothing,
Arthur grabbed Merlin’s other hip, this time with fingers that hooked over his waistband, before
shoving his other hand into his other back pocket, feeling around for keys, but finding nothing.

“Guess again,” Merlin said hoarsely, his eyes falling closed.

He heard Arthur clear his throat, and then felt fingers sliding into both of his front pockets. He
ground his teeth together, arousal swirling through him, his face heating, the material of his jeans
stretching tight across his hips. He bit his bottom lip hard, feeling Arthur’s fingers probing low.

Just a little lower, he thought in a daze. Please, just- just a little lower-

Arthur yanked the keys roughly from his pocket. There was the sound of keys in a lock, and then
Arthur’s voice by his ear, low and rough. “Come on,” he said, and Merlin felt himself being
grabbed the back of his shirt and hauled into the café, the door slamming behind them.

I want him so much, Merlin thought desperately, as Arthur dragged him through the tables. Even
the manhandling was wildly arousing. But then, everything about Arthur was arousing right now.
Everything about Arthur was always arousing.

After Arthur pulled him into his dimly lit residence, he put an arm around Merlin’s waist and
started them both up the stairs.

The flickering torchlight of the stairwell was a blessing, and so were his jeans, because he was
stupidly hard from Arthur’s hands on him.

Merlin intentionally tripped on a step, dropping down to one knee. He felt Arthur slide a thick arm
around his back. Haul him back to his feet as if he weighed nothing.

He would be wild in bed, Merlin thought, staring at Arthur as they climbed the stairs. Just like he
was in the melee. Just like he was in battle. He’d be all heat and passion and intensity and
strength, all focused on him, using it to fuck him absolutely senseless-

“The state of you, honestly,” Arthur grumbled. “I have never seen you so utterly incapacitated with
drink.”

Merlin forced his thoughts away from skin and sweat and writhing bodies, because if he got any
harder he honestly wasn’t going to be able to walk. Not without very blatantly adjusting himself in
his jeans.

“Not even Gwaine’s party? With the sheep?” he asked, because that one had been the stuff of
legends. Not that he remembered much of it himself.
“Not even then, no.”

“How did the sheep get in there anyway?”

“Took some planning,” Arthur said, with a wry smile that took Merlin by surprise.

“That was you?”

Arthur grinned proudly at him.

Merlin burst out laughing. “How did you do it?”

Arthur pulled him toward the washroom. “I’ll tell you if you clean up. You smell of sick and stale
beer. I’m not sleeping with you if you smell that way.”

Merlin had to literally bite his tongue, to keep his drunken mouth from replying.

He let Arthur prop him by the sink, so that he could brush his teeth and messily wash the alcohol
from his face. While he cleaned up, Arthur recounted how he’d managed to get a small flock of
sheep into Geoffrey’s personal chambers.

“Arthur Pendragon,” Merlin said, through laughter, “I never knew you had it in you.”

“Yes, well, some of us know how to be subtle.” Arthur put his arm around Merlin’s waist and
guided him down the corridor. “Come on, let’s get you into bed.”

Oh yes, please, Merlin thought. Let’s get me into bed. And then you can do anything you want to
me. Anything at all. Please oh please let’s do that-

“What?” Arthur asked curiously.

Merlin realized he’d been staring. Which was bad, but not as bad as saying what he’d been
thinking. He frowned down the corridor, realizing that it wasn’t slanting as badly as the world had
before. Losing all that alcohol in the weeds and taking that long walk must have sobered him up,
at least a little. But what had Arthur been saying? Something about sheep? No. Something about
subtle.

“I can be subtle,” Merlin said.

“Yes, I know. Trees branches and lumpy rugs and clumsy bandits. Very subtle.”

“You like it better when I’m not subtle, though.”

“Is that so?” Arthur asked, as he pulled open his chamber doors. The dimly lit room beyond was
filled with cool night air, a gentle breeze stirring the candles above the hearth.

“Yes,” Merlin said. “You do. You like the lightning from the clouds. You like the candles
lighting themselves. You like the windows swinging shut. You like watching me when I do
magic. You like to see.”

The words were out before he could stop them. Even in his dizzy drunken state he knew it was a
mistake. He wasn’t supposed to speak of these things. They’d both agreed, without agreeing, to
not speak of it.

Arthur had gone still at Merlin’s side, his arm still warm around Merlin’s back. Arthur’s brows had
pulled together and his lips had turned down at the corners in that way that meant he was either
very unhappy or very confused or both.

“I like it,” Merlin said quickly, both to reassure him, and because it was true. “I like it when you
watch me when I do magic. You should watch me. You should.”

Arthur’s eyes scanned his face, dipping down to his mouth, lifting back up to his eyes. Still
frowning.

“It belongs to you, Arthur,” Merlin said softly. “My magic. It’s yours. It always has been yours.
It always will be yours. Let me show you some more. There’s something I’ve always wanted to
show you properly. Can I?”

Merlin could feel Arthur’s chest expanding against his side, his breaths loud in the quiet room.

Finally, Arthur nodded. A small motion. Hesitant.

“Watch,” Merlin said, and he stretched out an arm to the unlit candelabras. He twitched his
fingers, and his magic set every candle alight. As the dozens of flames flickered in the room, he
said: “Flíaþ gewealdene dracan.”

From every candle flame, sparks rose into the air, collected together, and then formed themselves
into the shapes of a hundred tiny dragons.

The creatures all unfurled their small wings as if awaking, each moving in its own way, stretching
their small bodies, craning their necks. One after the other, they leaped upward, glittering legs
clawing into the air, sparkling wings flapping.

Wonder filled Arthur’s face as he stared at the dragons soaring through the room, some of them
happily frolicking, others playfully chasing one another.

Merlin stepped away, to take hold of Arthur’s arms, and lift them straight out at his sides. “Cume
her dracane,” he whispered.

A dozen of the small dragons soared down from the air, to alight upon Arthur’s shoulders and arms
and hands.

Arthur’s eyes grew wide as he watched the dragons very contentedly settle upon him. One or two
breathed forth little bursts of sparks, then puffed out their chests, as if proud for performing for
their king. Others lowered their heads, bowing. Still others sat quietly, regarding their king as if
awaiting his instructions.

“Merlin,” Arthur breathed, and he laughed in delight, as he looked from the sparkling dragons
upon him, to the others who filled the air.

He’s so beautiful, Merlin thought, as he watched his king look in wonder at his magic. God how I
love him. It’s pathetic how much I love him.

“Yours,” Merlin said in a broken voice, and only realized that tears had filled his eyes when he
blinked them away. “Always yours. Always.”

Arthur returned his attention to Merlin. His smile faltered. Gradually it transformed into
something else. Something that saw far too clearly what Merlin felt in his heart.

Around them in the room, the little dragons fell apart, and faded.
Merlin covered his eyes with his hands, which was an awful idea, because the room spun at once,
and he felt himself sway.

An arm caught him around his back. “Come on,” Arthur said. “Into bed.”

“But- the windows- and the curtains-“

“I’ll take care of that,” Arthur said, and he walked him over to the bed, and tried to sit him down.

Merlin grabbed hold of Arthur’s arms, fingers tight around the strong muscles, shaking his head.
“That’s my job-”

“You need to rest-”

“Please?” he asked, and he leaned forward, resting his forehead against Arthur’s. This was all
right, he thought. They did this, sometimes. The two of them. This was allowed. “Let me?”

Arthur sighed, but nodded, a small motion that dragged Arthur’s hair against his skin.

“Watch.” Merlin opened his eyes wide, so that Arthur could see the magic there. He liked to see
the magic. “Acwence þa ligen fordyttan éagdurue.”

The flash of magic reflected in Arthur’s eyes, as the candles snuffed out and the windows clicked
shut and the curtains swung across their alcoves.

In the soft moonlight that filled the room, Merlin saw Arthur lick his lips.

“Feel better now?” Arthur whispered.

Merlin nodded, leaning forward, his nose sliding against the side of Arthur’s.

A breath huffed from Arthur’s mouth, smelling of spiced liquor.

Arthur put a gentle hand upon the back of Merlin’s neck. Hot skin against his skin. Fingertips
moving over the fine hairs. Fingers sliding up into the strands above.

“Sleep, now,” Arthur said, his voice rumbling from deep in his chest.

Arthur was standing so close, so very close, no space left between them at all, and Merlin couldn’t
help himself, couldn’t stop himself -

He leaned forward, his head tilting, and pressed his lips to Arthur’s.

The wet slide of his lips against Arthur’s shattered him, and he whimpered, dizzy and stunned at
the taste and the feel of Arthur’s lips against his own - finally, finally, after centuries, finally –

Merlin swayed forward, his chest pressing against Arthur’s chest, melting against him, melting into
the kiss, realizing that Arthur wasn’t stopping him, but instead was parting his lips, Arthur’s
fingers at the back of his neck twitching against his skin.

Merlin licked at Arthur’s lips, and Arthur gave a low sound, enough like a moan that Merlin
chased after it, his tongue slipping into Arthur’s mouth like a thief in the night.

He felt Arthur go tense, but heard him give another low startled moan, so he pressed himself more
firmly against Arthur’s body, dazed that his tongue was in Arthur’s mouth, and Arthur wasn’t
pushing him away, but quite the opposite, he was sliding his tongue along Merlin’s, at first
tentatively, then more boldly, their kiss quickly turning open mouthed and frantic with want.

Merlin felt himself trembling, wildly out of control, and he moaned into Arthur’s mouth, lost in the
heat of Arthur’s body and the slide of his tongue and the smell of his skin and the wet sounds of
their mouths and it was bliss, sheer bliss-

Until Arthur, quite abruptly, shoved him away.

Merlin stumbled backward. Sat down hard on the bed. Staring wide eyed up at Arthur.

Who was looking at him as if he had never seen him before. Shocked. Stunned.

And, Merlin saw, horrified.

“Oh- oh no I- Oh god-” Merlin dropped to his knees, unable to believe what he’d just done, to his
friend, his king, his destiny. He grabbed Arthur’s wrist with both of his hands and pressed his
forehead to it. “I’m sorry,” he breathed, his voice cracking. “I’m so sorry- Arthur- My lord-
Sire-”

Yes, sire, he thought frantically, that’s what he is, you idiot, he is your king, and you are his
servant, and what are you doing, what have you done, you’ve ruined everything-

“Merlin-”

“I’m so sorry, please forgive me, please, sire-“

“That’s- It’s- Merlin, stop. Come on. Get up.”

Merlin felt Arthur’s hands take hold of his shoulders, lifting him to sit upon the bed.

“Look at me.”

Merlin shook his head, his gaze fixed on the floor, fighting his panic, struggling not to make this
somehow worse if such a thing were even possible.

“Merlin.” Arthur placed his hand on the side of Merlin’s face, guiding it upward.

Merlin refused to open his eyes.

A heavy sigh. “It’s been a long night. You’re drunk. You’re not thinking clearly.”

Merlin let Arthur guide him down to lay on the bed in all of his clothes and his shoes.

No, he thought. No, that wasn’t it. That wasn’t what this was. That wasn’t it at all.

His heart screamed for him to say it. But his thoughts were filled with the memory of Arthur’s
horrified face.

Merlin rolled miserably onto his stomach, his face pressing into the pillow.

One more lie, he thought. What’s one more lie.

“Just drunk,” Merlin said, and he tried not to choke on the words.

“Get some sleep,” Arthur said. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Merlin’s last thought, before he passed out, was that he doubted very much that would be so.
All too soon, he discovered he was right.

His sticky eyes had barely opened to the light of dawn when his stomach assaulted him, sending
him scrambling from the room and down the corridor, where he collapsed over the toilet in the
washroom and spent the next hour throwing up.

He spent the next hour laying on the cold tile floor between bouts of nausea, floating in an out of
an anguished half consciousness. Only when daylight shone brightly beyond the narrow windows
of the washroom did he make himself stay awake.

After crawling to the sink, and forcing mouthfuls of water down his sore throat to his rebellious
stomach, he collapsed again onto the cold tile floor, pressing his forehead into the tile.

His headache was excruciating. His nausea made him want to die.

But neither felt as bad as his guilt.

What did I do, he thought miserably, for the thousandth time that morning. Good god, what did I
do…

He rolled onto his back, and right into a patch of sunlight. He flung an arm over his eyes,
cringing. It was late morning by now, he thought. Arthur would be awake soon.

God.

Arthur.

He pushed those thoughts away, brushing his teeth on his knees, and drinking as much water from
the tap as he could bear. A hand held over his eyes to shield the light, he staggered downstairs and
into the café, which was open and full of people at this ungodly hour.

Merlin cringed at the noise and the light which poured in through the glass wall from the rising
sun, thankful for the missing panes still covered in wood, blocking some of the damned light.

He stumbled over two chairs on his way to the Apothecary, and fell through its door, knocking into
a display rack. He only barely caught it before it spilled over.

“Holy hell,” Heath said, from his seat behind the counter. He closed his laptop, staring, as Merlin
approached. “Couldn’t even get out of last night’s clothes?”

Merlin leaned heavily upon the countertop, resting his forehead against its cool surface. “Hangover
remedy,” he said, and he stretched out an arm on the counter, palm up.

“I’ll get it. Don’t move, Dan,” Heath said, stepping over something on the floor.

Merlin peered over the edge of the counter. Danyl lay flat on his back upon the floor, a folded
cloth over his eyes.

“Hello, Merlin,” Danyl muttered, sounding as miserable as he felt.

“You should have stayed home,” Merlin told him.

“My fault I’m like this,” Danyl said sourly. “You should have stayed in bed.”

“Really not an option,” he said miserably.

“I don’t know which one of you is worse,” Heath said, as he pressed a small bottle into Merlin’s
outstretched hand.

“I am.” Merlin drank the bottle down, then dropped his forehead back to the counter.

“Are you okay?” Danyl asked. “That guy knocked you down pretty hard last night.”

“I’ll live.” Merlin mumbled. “I always live. Whether I deserve to or not.”

“That sounds like vodka talking,” Heath said sagely. “A bad decision in a glass, is what that is.”

“Tell me about it,” Merlin said, thinking of the heat of Arthur’s mouth, the wet slide of his lips, the
texture of his tongue.

Oh god, he thought. What did I do?

He dug his fingers into his hair and pulled, whimpering.

“Uh oh,” Heath said in a low voice.

Merlin lifted his head, blinking at Heath’s sharp features, at a brow wrinkled in uncharacteristic
worry.

“What did you and Arthur do last night when you got home?” Heath asked slowly.

Danyl removed the cloth from his eyes. Pushed himself to his elbows. “Did something finally
happen?”

Merlin stared in horror at them both, at their knowing looks. “No. That’s. We’re not. Of course
not. No.”

“Did anyone ever tell you that you’re a bad liar?” Heath said, with a pitying smile.

Merlin felt embarrassment give way to anger. What had things come to, for these children of the
modern era to pity him?

What had he come to, to actually deserve it?

“Actually I’m an exceptional liar,” Merlin said bitterly. “I’ve been lying for centuries. Don’t let
anyone tell you that lying isn’t a good way to live your life. Because it is. I should know because
it’s only when I tell the truth that things go straight to hell.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, furious and embarrassed and exhausted.

Such a mess, he thought. Everything was just such a mess.

Merlin pushed from the counter and walked straight into the end of one of the shelves. He swore
at it at length in Brittonic, loudly, gratifyingly, then stumbled, half falling, to the door.

As he left, he heard Heath’s low whistle, and his voice, saying: “Poor lovesick bastard.”

It set Merlin’s face aflame. Shame twisted his stomach, and he headed to the glass door to the
porch, certain he was going to empty his stomach again.

When he stepped down the steps onto the lawns, he let his legs keep taking him forward, down the
hill, into the park, towards his circle of stones.
He fell against the heelstone, folding over it, his hands pressing into its rough surface, his head
bowing to touch its top.

It took him a while to breathe through the nausea. When it had passed, he sat down upon the lawn,
his back pressing against the hard rock, his legs stretching out on the grass.

The sun sat in the sky only a little way above the ruins of the tower, its light dancing upon the
waves, and setting the tower ruins and their isle in sharp relief to the hills around them.

“I hate you,” Merlin said furiously at it.

He longed to be rid of it, this reminder of Arthur’s death. Never mind whatever the tower meant to
the Sidhe. He wanted to rip it from the earth. The tower and its island. Carve it out like a cancer.
Be done with it once and for all.

Merlin closed his eyes, turning away from those thoughts. He was better than that, he told himself.
Wasn’t he? He was fairly sure he had been, once.

I helped to shape kingdoms, Merlin thought. I walked with dragons. I stood beside the bravest
men and women in the land. I can be better than what I am now. I know I can. Because I have
been before.

Merlin sighed, tilting his head back against the rock, his hand running over the grass beside his
outstretched legs.

I said goodbye to Arthur here, he reminded himself. Right in this spot. I stood over his body and I
knew he’d been taken from me. I knew that I’d failed him. I placed him in his boat, and I sent him
away. And I sat here, right in this spot, all that day, and all that night. Staring at the lake. Hoping
that it was a mistake. Hoping that the boat would come back.

And then I kept hoping it, for the next one thousand, five hundred, fifty three years, six months,
and twenty two days.

Merlin looked up at the North Tower, at the window of Arthur’s chambers.

Arthur is up there, Merlin thought. He’s up there, right now. And he’s alive.

Two weeks ago, he wasn’t. Two weeks ago, I was an old man, and half mad, and alone.

But today, Arthur is here. With me. Depending on me.

I was an ass last night, Merlin thought. And I forgot myself. But Arthur is alive. So I can fix it. I
can do anything I have to. Just as long as he’s alive.

Merlin stared at the shore, remembering Arthur standing soaking wet in his cape and his armor and
his boots, yelling in Brittonic, brandishing a tree branch, newly reborn to the world.

If he can begin again after all those years of death, then I can do whatever it takes as well, Merlin
thought. Arthur can hate me or not talk to me or laugh at me. I don’t care. I’m not going to leave
him. And I’m not going to let him leave me. Not because of this. Not because of anything. Even if
it means that I have to watch him fall in love again. Even if I need to stand by as he marries again.
I will not leave him.

Merlin drew in a deep breath and climbed to his feet, leaning hard against the heel stone, gathering
his courage to return to the manor.
A mistake, he thought. That’s what Arthur had thought it was. So that’s how he would treat it.
Just a drunken mistake. He wouldn’t even speak of it. Wouldn’t even think of it. He’d just
proceed on as they had been.

Arthur his king. Merlin at his side. The battle for Albion ahead.

It’s enough, Merlin told himself. So long as Arthur was alive, so long as they were together, it was
more than enough.
 my life my soul

Arthur woke to the soft tap of dishes being set upon a table. He rolled over in bed, and saw Merlin
across the room at the dining table. He was dressed in his clothes from Camelot. Worn brown
boots, thick socks pulled up over dark pants, faded red shirt with a blue tattered scarf around his
neck. Even his hair was exactly as it had been.

“Sorry to wake you, sire,” Merlin said. “I just wanted to lay out your breakfast. I’ve already eaten
downstairs.”

Arthur sat up in bed, blinking in considerable confusion. He didn’t remember Merlin climbing out
of the bed. He’d slept ridiculously soundly all night, in fact.

Merlin hadn’t dreamed, he realized. Was it because he’d been so drunk last night? He’d definitely
more passed out than fallen asleep after they-

Arthur’s breath caught, remembering the wet slide of Merlin’s lips, the heat of his body, the small
broken noises he’d made.

He remembered, too, his shockingly intense response to the unexpected kiss. It had been like
nothing he’d felt before. Just absolutely overwhelming. Lighting up all his senses at once.
Sweeping away all of his thoughts. Leaving him capable of thinking only yes, and at last, as he had
licked into Merlin’s mouth as if it held the water of life.

Arthur gathered the blankets to his lap, desire slicing through his body, arousal hardening him
dizzyingly fast beneath the pile of bedding. He could feel his heart pounding, his face heating.

And all just from the memory of it, he thought. Gods above, I’m feeling like this just by thinking
about it.

At the table, Merlin poured a glass of water with a shaking hand. He nearly dropped the pitcher as
he did so, and had to set it down hard on the table, wincing at the sound.

He’s hung over, Arthur thought. But he’s pretending not to be. Just as he was pretending nothing
had happened between them last night. There was no other reason for his behavior. For his
exceedingly careful casualness. For his averted eyes and his moving through the chambers.

“I’ve got some errands to run today but I’ll be back in time for training,” Merlin said, as he pushed
back the curtains and secured them to the alcove. “If that’s all right, sire?”

Arthur watched Merlin open the windows, first the ones facing the lake, then the ones facing the
lawns. Keeping his back turned to Arthur the entire time.

“Beautiful day outside today,” Merlin was saying. “Good day for training.”

“That’s… good.” Arthur said, as Merlin moved about the room so swiftly that he was getting
dizzy watching him.

“I trust you can stay out of trouble until I get back,” Merlin said, intending it to sound light and
teasing. It sounded forced and uncomfortable instead.
Finally Merlin turned to him, but his eyes went immediately to the floor, his hands clasped behind
his back. Looking like George, for god’s sake.

“If there’s nothing else that you require?” Merlin asked, his voice forced into some strange parody
of what he probably thought were a proper servant’s tones.

“No,” Arthur sighed out, exhausted in the face of it all. “That will be all.”

Merlin nodded, and left as quickly as he could without it looking like an all out run.

Arthur flopped back onto the bed. “Well that was truly awful.”

Awful, and my fault, he thought bitterly.

My fault, for pushing him away. My fault, for ending so abruptly what was happening between
them.

I never should have done that, Arthur thought at himself angrily. It was so stupid of me to have
done that.

He’d just felt so overwhelmed by the intensity of his own reaction. He’d been dizzy from that kiss.
He had been trembling. His knees had weakened, again, for god’s sake.

Desperate, Arthur thought in amazement. I was desperate for him.

Even in his most passionate moments with Gwen, he’d never felt such desperation. With her, it
had always been tender and sincere and loving. But he’d never felt as if he would actually die if he
couldn’t touch, or taste, or possess.

Not as he had with Merlin.

It had been terrifying. That his feelings ran so deep. That so much of his control had been lost.
That he could even want someone that way. Need someone that way.

In his panic, he’d pushed Merlin away.

And then he’d gone and made things worse by writing it off as the fault of the drink. As though
they were two strangers seeking carnal relief. Instead of who they were to each other. Which was
so very much more than that.

Or at least, that’s how it was for him. He’d thought Merlin felt the same. The signs had not been
subtle.

But who knew what was in the heart of someone who had lived so long? Perhaps Merlin really
had just been seeking comfort, to ease his many years of loneliness. Perhaps that’s what all of this
had been between them.

Arthur climbed from the bed, moving wearily to the table, to stare down at the depressingly
meticulously laid out breakfast.

Look what I’ve driven him to, Arthur thought. With my carelessness, and with my cowardice. I
did this to him. As if he needs one more thing to face, with everything else that’s happening.

For once glad to be alone, Arthur ate his breakfast in silence, then showered and dressed in his
breeches and tunic and boots. After staring at the dirty dishes, and realizing that of course they
wouldn’t just disappear, he gathered them all onto a tray, and carried them downstairs to the café.
He elbowed his way through the doorway to the café feeling rather pleased of the effort, flashing
Eleanor a proud grin when she spotted him.

“You can put that down over there, Arthur dear,” she told him, gesturing to an empty spot near the
kitchens. “My word, but you nearly made me faint, seeing you do your own chores for once.”

“Merlin has always been better at such things than I,” Arthur assured her.

“I doubt you tried very hard at it, though, did you. You royals,” she said, and tsked at him.

“I was too busy ruling the kingdom,” he said, and gave her the sort of smile that Merlin used when
he was telling the truth, so that he wasn’t carted off as mental.

Eleanor caught him staring at the fresh breads that had just come out of the kitchen. “Go ahead.
We’re a bit slow at the moment. People are still a bit cautious with all the work crews outside.”

Arthur glanced out at the few customers in the café as he sat down at the counter to accept a cup of
hot tea she pushed at him. “Has Merlin returned yet?”

“He’s still at the Widow Abbernathy’s, tending to her horse. Poor thing may need to be put down,
all the problems with her leg. The horse, that is, not the Widow Abbernathy.”

“She is quite a formidable woman, from what I saw.”

“Even Emrys was cowed by her from time to time, which is something I’ve hardly ever seen in all
the years I’ve known him.”

“I’ve heard tell that you didn’t even come here looking for employment,” Arthur said, as he sipped
his tea. “You were just looking to get out of the rain?”

“It’s true. Emrys gave me a job when no one else would, after my Henry died and left me with my
three boys to raise. I had no skills to speak of. But he told me I had a natural talent for bossing
people around, and he hired me.” She gave him a wink, and topped off his cup. “I owe him a lot,
the old fool.”

“I’m sorry he’s not here for you,” Arthur found himself saying, feeling guilty about that too. It
was his fault Merlin had changed, after all.

“I do miss him,” Eleanor said, smiling wistfully. “But he’s much happier now. So I’ll forgive him
for the way he left.”

“How do you know he’s happier?”

“Just something he wrote in his goodbye letter.”

Arthur stared down at his teacup, tapping its edge. Wondering what Merlin’s parting words could
have been.

With the sound of crinkling paper, a piece of parchment was slid over Arthur’s tea cup.

The parchment was from his desk. The words written with his quill. In Merlin’s handwriting.

Arthur picked up the paper, but before he could start reading, Eleanor’s hand covered the words.

“I’m only showing you this,” Eleanor said softly, “because of how much of Emrys I see in Merlin.
If that boy has half the heart that Emrys does, then you, Arthur Pendragon, need to be very careful
with him. Much more than you have been.”

For the second time that morning, Arthur felt a flush touch his cheeks. Something in his
expression must have reached the old woman, because she nodded as if he’d agreed with her, and
then removed her hand.

It was, as she had said, a goodbye letter.

Right up until it became a love letter.

‘The one for whom I have waited my entire life has finally come back to me. I must be with him
now, at once and forever, because he is - as he has always been - my life, my soul, and my one
great love. So please do not be too angry with me for my abrupt departure. For I am happier at
this moment than I have been in years innumerable. I hope you will be happy for me.’

Arthur dropped the letter, his hands falling limp to the countertop, his breath rushing from him.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Eleanor asked, mistaking Arthur’s stunned expression for simple appreciation
of the words.

Arthur watched Eleanor pick up the letter, fold it, and then slide it into her handbag, into a small
zippered compartment.

‘My life, my soul, and my one great love…’

I wasn’t wrong, Arthur thought in amazement. I wasn’t. Everything that happened last night. It
wasn’t just me. It was Merlin too. Gods, he feels the same way.

“You see what I mean? If Merlin is anything like Emrys… You just be careful with that boy’s
heart.”

What had Merlin said to him that night in the lakeside meadow? Arthur wondered. That there had
been someone special? But that it didn’t work out? And then the next day, at the manor, with the
horses. Merlin had been so upset when he’d called his magic soppy. And Merlin wouldn’t say
why he was upset. He said it was a secret. It was personal. Like his past relationships. Personal.
The one secret he wouldn’t give up.

Arthur covered his face with both hands and leaned back in his chair. “I am such an idiot,” he
groaned.

“Love does that to people,” Eleanor said.

Arthur dropped his hands, staring at her in amazement. She was giving him a sad smile that spoke
of too many years watching young people make very stupid decisions.

“Talk to him,” she said gently.

“I doubt he’ll want to listen to me,” Arthur said, feeling very much as if he was ten years younger,
and barely a Crown Prince, much less a King.

Eleanor patted his wrist where it lay upon the countertop. “He always listens to you, Arthur. I
think sometimes that you’re the only sound he hears.”

Arthur huffed out a laugh. He covered Eleanor’s thin hand upon his arm. “Thank you,” he said.
“For everything.”
“I’ll be sure to send Merlin upstairs when he gets back,” she said, and with another reassuring
smile, she left him to his thoughts, to go tend to the other customers.

As the morning dragged on, with Arthur first pacing in his chambers, then restlessly reading in the
vaults, Merlin did not reappear. Eventually Arthur went down alone to the training field, where
everyone had already gathered, and were outfitting each other in the equipment Merlin must have
gathered earlier.

He was standing amongst his students, with Megan fastening his armor behind him, when Merlin
finally showed up, walking down the hill looking as much like a servant of Camelot as he ever
had. Dirt was caked onto his boots and pants, and was rubbed onto his tunic, with even a good
measure of it on his face.

“Don’t tell me that Gran wrestled you to the floor,” Heath said to Merlin.

“Her mare is as stubborn as she is,” Merlin informed him. “Damn near kicked me into the next
stall. She should recover though. I’m talking about the horse, mind you.”

“It’s hard to tell,” Heath agreed happily, as he yanked at the straps of Danyl’s armor, sending him
off balance. “Sorry, love,” he said, when Danyl gave him a pitiful look that still had hangover
written all over it.

Merlin stepped forward as if he was about to take Megan’s place, but then stopped himself, eyes
flitting from her, to Arthur, before avoiding them both, looking instead at the students dressing
themselves in their gear.

Arthur winced as Megan dug a finger into his collarbone. “Careful,” he said over his shoulder.

“Sorry, Arthur. I’m not usually that rough. Well. Unless requested,” she added, and giggled.

Merlin crossed his arms and became very interested in the grass, his mouth pursing and thinning,
as if holding back words.

I’ve tasted that mouth, Arthur thought, as he stared at Merlin’s ridiculously full lips. I know what
they feel like. The drag of them across my mouth. Gods, the feeling of those lips-

Arthur drew in a sharp breath, startled that his thoughts had slid so far out of his control so
quickly. He was instantly thankful for the heat of the sun on his face to explain away any redness,
and the length of his chainmail hanging below his waist.

Merlin looked over at him, frowned at what he saw in Arthur’s expression, eyes darting all over his
face, before he looked uncomfortably away.

Arthur felt another pinch at his shoulder, and shied away from Megan. “Thank you, that’s-
sufficient. Go join the others.”

She gave him an apologetic look, and then gave Merlin a look of clear disapproval, before leaving
them both alone.

Arthur turned his back toward Merlin, pointing to his shoulder. “Could you fix whatever she did
wrong?” he asked in a low voice, putting a bit of disparagement into his tone.

He felt Merlin’s hands working the armor. Instantly it felt more comfortable upon his chainmail.
He sighed, relaxing. “Much better.”
“Sorry I’m late,” Merlin said. “Everything took twice as long as it should have done.”

“Widow Abbernathy and her eager hands?”

“That woman is a menace.”

“I’ll be sure to go with you next time to keep watch on her.”

“That may not be enough to discourage her.”

“I’ll bring my sword, then.”

“King Arthur Pendragon, protecting the world against old ladies with eager hands,” he said, for the
first time that day sounding like himself.

“Doesn’t sound like that noble of a quest, does it.”

“The perils of eager hands should not be underestimated. I’m going to be sore for two days.”

“Went after your backside, did she?”

“Brazen old woman. She dropped my roll of bandages in the hay in the corner of the stall on
purpose so I’d have to bend over and had no escape.”

Arthur laughed so loudly that several of his students turned to stare.

“It’s not funny,” Merlin said, and he yanked hard on one of Arthur’s buckles.

But Arthur heard the smile in his voice. “Well don’t worry. I’ll definitely be going with you next
time. Someone has to look after you.”

“And that’s you then?” Merlin asked softly.

Arthur half turned, looking at the grass beside them. “Always.”

Silence in response. Just the feeling of Merlin’s hands on his shoulder, giving the armor a final
pat. “There you are, sire,” he said, but the forced cheerfulness and awkward tone was back.

Arthur couldn’t bring himself to turn around. If he saw a false smile on Merlin’s face, he couldn’t
be held responsible for what he’d do.

All throughout the training session, he kept glancing over at Merlin, who sat under a tree, legs
stretched out in front of him, hands folded in his lap. For once, he wasn’t doing anything at all. He
was just sitting there. Watching him. A distant look on his face. As if he weren’t really seeing
him at all.

At the end of the class, Arthur found himself surrounded by several students, all with questions
about a new technique he’d shown them. He was in the middle of explaining the nuances of form
when he noticed Merlin speaking with Megan.

Megan was smiling at Merlin brightly, her earlier displeasure gone, her hand upon his arm. He was
smiling at her too, doing that thing where he made himself smaller, his shoulders rounded, his arms
crossed, leaning against the tree.

By the time he could approach where Merlin stood, Megan was walking up the hill to the manor,
speaking in some excitement with Anne.
“What did-?“ Arthur began.

“I thought we’d have dinner in the downstairs dining room tonight,” Merlin said, stepping behind
Arthur and starting at once on his armor. “I’m making those herb crusted capons you like so
much.”

“You can make herb crusted capons?” he asked, and then cursed himself for letting Merlin distract
him so easily.

“With that red wine you liked that night we had supper in the café.”

“That’s… Yes, all right. But what-“

“And I thought maybe dressing a bit modern for dinner would be nice? Something nice? Just for a
change?”

Dressing for dinner, Arthur thought. Well. “All right,” he said curiously.

“And do you mind if I do my research in my library this afternoon? The smell of the flowers in the
vaults… My stomach is still a bit…”

“Of course.” Arthur lifted his arms so Merlin could remove his chainmail. When he turned
around, Merlin gave him a small smile.

Not forced this time. But sad.

“You go on,” Merlin said. “I’ll get all this. And I’ll see you at supper?”

Arthur nodded, and watched Merlin go to collect the training equipment.

Invited for dinner, he thought. To eat his favorite meal. And drink his favorite wine. And taking
supper downstairs, in Merlin’s flat. Dressed nicely for the occasion.

It sounded very much as if he were being courted. Which was ridiculous, he thought. Or was it,
really? What was the new word they used now for such things? A date. Even Heath had spoken
of doing that. Of taking Danyl for a date.

Arthur climbed the hill back to the manor, trying to imagine it. An intimate dinner, with Merlin.
And then afterward. Taking things further. Tasting. Touching. And dear god, going to bed
together.

Arthur stopped at the top of the hill, breathless at the thought of it, looking down at the dark haired
man gathering the refreshments and equipment, all long legs and windblown hair and sharp
features.

Merlin straightened upon the lawn. Looked up at him curiously.

Arthur smiled, a wide stupid thing. Merlin smiled back, waving once, before going back to his
work.

In something of a daze, Arthur returned to the North Tower.

Even though he busied himself as best he could, washing and dressing after training, sitting several
hours in the vaults going through books of magic, the afternoon dragged on and on. Only when he
started to smell supper wafting into the vaults did he return upstairs, heading right to his chambers
to dress.
He spent a truly embarrassing amount of time standing before through his wardrobe, trying to find
something to wear. He wound up picking out things that were the closest to his old clothes. Red
shirt and black pants. Dark shoes and socks. Hair well combed and clean.

Arthur caught himself actually worrying at his appearance in the full mirror.

“What are you doing,” he said to his reflection. “It’s Merlin, for god’s sake.”

He actually laughed at himself, as much amused as embarrassed. Because it was ridiculous,

wasn’t it. Whatever else was happening, they were still the two of them. They would always be
the two of them. No matter what else they became.

“Are you ready?” came a distant yell from down the corridor.

“Yes!” he called back through the door.

After running a hand through his hair, and straightening his shirt, he left his chambers, into a
corridor filled with smells of roast chicken and potatoes and baked apple tarts.

He descended the staircase feeling a burst of nerves. Which was idiotic, he told himself sternly.
Because this was just dinner. With Merlin.

Smiling to himself at the thought, Arthur stepped into the modern world of Merlin’s flat.

He realized at once that something was amiss when he heard two voices.

Merlin’s, and a woman’s.

“There he is,” Merlin said.

Arthur walked into the dimly lit dining room, staring at a dining table set for two. Long stemmed
candles burned at either end, a delicious assortment of food spread out over it.

One of the formal place settings sat before an empty chair.

At the other sat Megan, her hair upswept and formal.

Merlin stood by her side, pouring her a glass of wine, dressed in a tight black shirt and black jeans,
looking pale and beautiful and otherworldly in the flickering candlelight.

Megan rose from her chair when she saw Arthur walk in. She smiled at him, her low-cut blue
dress clinging tightly to her body and leaving very little to the imagination. “It’s so good to see
you, Arthur,” she said brightly.

Arthur saw Merlin’s eyes sweep over him, pain pulling at his features, as he set the wine bottle
upon the table.

“Merlin?” Arthur asked curiously, looking from Merlin to Megan and then back again.

“Excuse us for a minute, Megan?”

Merlin approached Arthur and gently took his arm, leading him to the door to the front lawns, well
out of Megan’s earshot.
“I’m sorry for not telling you about this,” Merlin said. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

Arthur looked from the table set for two, to Megan standing there, and then back at Merlin.
“What’s going on?” he finally managed.

For the first time all day, Merlin truly met his gaze. His expression had hardened, as if bracing
himself to give the worst battle report imaginable.

“I want to apologize,” Merlin said firmly. “For what I did last night. For...” His eyes darted
around the room, and he frowned, before focusing on Arthur again. “For mistaking things. I didn’t
mean for…” He cringed. Pained. Miserable. “Look,” he said, “the important thing… the one
thing you need to know… is that you can always depend on me. No matter who else you have in
your life.”

Who else, Arthur thought. And then he realized. The girl. He means the girl.

Oh god, he thought. Merlin had asked the girl to come here. He’d arranged this whole thing.
Thinking this was what he wanted.

“No matter what happens,” Merlin said. “I’ll be here for you. In whatever way you need me to be.
I’ll be here. Always, my lord.”

The final words were choked out, heavy with emotion.

And all at once, Arthur realized what they meant.

Merlin went to speak to Megan as Arthur stared after him in astonishment.

“Enjoy yourselves tonight,” Merlin said to her wearily.

“Thank you so much for setting this up, Merlin. And don’t worry about what happened at the
pub. You were really drunk. Everyone who saw how ridiculously you were acting knew you
were.”

Arthur watched Merlin nod at her, his gaze lowering. Without another word, he walked from the
room and out the door to the lawns, closing it quietly behind him.

“It’s so lovely to see you like this,” Megan said. “Not that you don’t look amazing in armor. But
this isn’t half bad either.”

Arthur approached the table and stared down at all of his favorite foods. Which Merlin had made
for him so he could eat them with her.

“You could have asked me to dinner yourself, you know,” she said, running her hand through her
hair. “I didn’t take you for the shy type.”

“Merlin planned all of this,” Arthur heard himself say.

“I think he went a bit overboard to apologize for being an arse to me at the pub. I already told him
it was okay. But this more than makes up for it,” she added, stepping over to him, moving in quite
close.

Arthur stepped backward abruptly enough to make her frown. “Megan,” he said, “I’m afraid
there’s been a misunderstanding.”

“What do you mean, misunderstanding?”

He tried for a courtly smile, but failed utterly, too wrong-footed to have any kind of control over his
expression. “You should go,” he said, deciding that the direct route was probably best.

“Go?”

He walked to the front door. Opened it for her. “I apologize. But this was a mistake.”

“What was a mistake?”

“All of it,” he told her. “I’m sorry. Please go.”

“Just like that?” she snapped. “I don’t get any explanation at all?”

“I’m afraid not.”

She grabbed her bag and stormed over to him. “He did this on purpose, didn’t he,” she said
sharply. “Merlin.” She made a disgusted sound. “I should have listened to Anne. She told me he
was in love with you. I should have known this was just some sort of sick game that he was-”

Arthur banged the door wide open. “Good night, Megan,” he said firmly, putting some steel in his
voice.

“You don’t know what you’re missing out on,” she informed him.

“Neither do you,” he told her.

She shoved past him roughly and strode away, turning only to give him some sort of gesture before
she vanished around the round shape of the North Tower.

“I’m going to kill him,” Arthur muttered, as he stepped out the manor and onto the lawns.

The evening air was cool as he walked down the hillside, his eyes searching the half light for a
pale form in black. Not by the lake, he thought. He wouldn’t go there. Where would he go in his
current state of mind?

Of course, Arthur thought.

And he headed towards the Stone Circle.

He found Merlin leaning against the heelstone, arms crossed, glaring at the tower.

Arthur stopped just behind him. “You really are simply maddening.”

Merlin turned so abruptly that he almost fell over the rock. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m finding the idiot who thinks I’d rather have dinner with some strange woman than with him.”

“There's nothing idiotic about that,” Merlin protested angrily. “You seemed very keen on spending
time with her at the pub. And at Danyl’s party. And during training-”

“She’s one of my students,” Arthur interrupted. “I talk to all of my students.”

“Your other students don’t hang all over you like she did.”

“If you’d bothered noticing, I didn’t hang all over her, did I. And I didn’t appreciate her showing
up here without any warning, or having to send her away, thanks very much for that, because
looked about ready to stab me with a dinner knife!”

“Why did you send her away? She was interested in you!”

“Well I’m not interested in her!”

“Why not? There’s nothing the matter with her. “

“Are you seriously trying to talk me round to being with her?” Arthur asked, incredulous. “Because
I would have sworn there’s someone else you’d rather I be with.”

"Who?" Merlin asked, his dark brows pulled together, clearly perplexed. “Anne?”

Arthur strangled back the urge to cuff Merlin on the head. “No, you utter moron, not Anne. I’m
talking about you.”

Merlin winced, then frowned at himself, clearly angry, his arms crossing tightly over his chest. “I
already told you. That was- It was only- I was drunk, and-”

“Yes,” Arthur said. “You were drunk. And I was stupid.”

Merlin stared at him a long moment. "Did you just call yourself stupid?”

“Really not the point, Merlin,” Arthur ground out.

“Why are we even talking about this?” Merlin asked uneasily, his eyes darting left and right, as if
seeking escape. “There’s nothing to- I already told you- Look. Let’s just. We'll have dinner. Or
not. And then- I mean-“

“Listen to me,” Arthur said, and he stepped forward, grabbing hold of both of Merlin’s arms,
holding him in place. “Just. For once, will you please listen?”

The ‘please’ stopped Merlin's frantic search for escape, drawing his full attention.

“Two sides of the same coin,” Arthur said, gentling his tone. “That’s what they always said about
us. Two halves of a whole. Isn't that right?"

Merlin just stared in response, his blue eyes wide, his shoulders rising and falling with rapid
breaths.

Arthur set his hand upon the warm skin of Merlin’s neck, sliding his fingers up the taut tendon
there, over the rough stubble of his cheek, then into his thick black hair. "Did it honestly never
make you wonder?”

Merlin’s eyes drifted closed, his head tilting into Arthur’s touch. Halfway into the motion, he
caught himself, his eyes snapping open “Stop," he whispered. "Don't- If you’re making fun of-"
Pain twisted his features. "It's not funny, Arthur-“

“I’m not making fun," Arthur said, taking hold of Merlin's arm, to keep him from running. "I give
you my oath.”

Merlin swallowed hard, watching with wide eyes as Arthur stepped closer, to press their foreheads
together. "What...?"

“I saw your letter,” Arthur admitted.

“Letter?”

"To Eleanor. I saw it. What you told her. About me."

"About... Oh god..."

“My life,” Arthur recited. “My soul. My one great love.”

Merlin made a small desperate sound, so much like a whimper that it was heartbreaking to hear it.
“You weren’t meant to see that.”

"It was the single most beautiful thing I’ve ever read.”

“It- Really?”

"But I need to know," Arthur said softly, lifting his other hand to cup the side of Merlin’s face, his
thumb moving over a sharp cheekbone.

"Know what?" Merlin whispered.

Arthur could feel his breath warm upon his lips, his skin hot beneath his grip, his hair soft over his
fingers. God I want him, he thought. But I need to know. I need to hear it from him. "Did you
mean it?" he forced out, his throat tight with sudden fear. "What you said about me. What you
wrote. Did you mean it?"

"Arthur,” Merlin whispered. “Please…”

“Yes?” Arthur asked, leaning in closer, so that his lips moved against Merlin’s. “Or no?”

This time Merlin did whimper, a tremor running through him. “Yes,” he said desperately. And
then he threw his arms around Arthur's shoulders, pulling him into a passionate kiss.

Arthur drew in a sharp breath at the unexpected enthusiasm of his response, desire flaring hot
through every inch of his body, as he wrapped his arms around Merlin and clung to him, all hard
bones and flat muscles and stubble and perfect, just perfect, against him.

Merlin melted into the form of his body as if he belonged there, new and familiar, strange and
known, and made just for Arthur, for all that he was or would ever be.

Arthur felt Merlin’s hands upon him, stronger than any woman’s, startlingly arousing. He felt
Merlin part his lips, felt a flick of his tongue, and Arthur wasted no time in sliding his tongue
between those full lips that had haunted his dreams, tasting the heat of Merlin’s mouth.

He heard Merlin moan, loud and open mouthed, an anguished sound from deep in his chest.
Arthur pressed his hands to the sides of Merlin’s face, kissing the sound from him, first deeply,
then tenderly, gentle brushes of lips that drew small noises from Merlin that had Arthur pausing,
pressing his forehead against Merlin’s, heaving in breath after breath.

Dizzy, he thought. I’m dizzy with how much I want him. Gods, how much I want him.

Arthur shoved his nose into the tempting stretch of Merlin’s pale neck. I can taste him now, he
thought wildly, and he pressed his lips against hot skin, tasting all those scents that had been his
torment for so long.

Merlin gave a loud moan, right at his ear, his body trembling violently in his arms.
Arthur inhaled the wonderful scent of this incredible man, filling his lungs with him, shoving his
nose into the hair behind his ear. He’d wanted to do this for so long, he thought, as he dragged his
tongue over the taut muscle below the curve of his ear. God, the taste of him…

Within the circle of his arms, he felt Merlin drag in a choked breath, making a sound of pain. And
then felt him shake again, another pained sound escaping him.

Arthur lifted his head, breathless and panting, still dizzy from the need surging through his body.

Merlin had turned his face away, eyes squeezed closed.

Tears slid from beneath his long dark eyelashes. And his shoulders shook again from another
completely silent sob.

“Merlin,” Arthur said softly, and he placed gentle hands to the sides of Merlin’s face. Then he
leaned in to kiss him tenderly, once upon each cheek, tasting saltwater each time.

“You’re sure?” Merlin choked out. “About this? Please tell me you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” Arthur said against Merlin’s lips, and kissed him again.

Merlin pulled away, still pained, but this time looking at him, blue eyes pleading. “You don’t
know how long I… It would kill me to have this, and then have it be taken away. You have no
idea-”

“I swear it, Merlin. On my honor. On all we hold dear. I’m sure.”

“It’s not because-” Merlin reached up to cling to Arthur’s wrists, drawing in a shaking breath.
“Because you’re lonely. And I’m convenient-”

“There is nothing convenient about you, Merlin,” Arthur said, smiling at him now.

Merlin kept staring at him as if he’d lost his mind. “But… I didn’t think that you… I mean, that
you… Before? Or was it- Since you got back?“

Arthur stared at Merlin’s lips as he spoke. Because he could do that now. Stare at his lush mouth.
Without having to steal glances, as he used to.

Many things could be done with a mouth like that, Arthur thought. Just the idea sent a surge of
blood quickly southward, to trousers that had already grown far too tight.

“Or was it- I mean,” Merlin said dazedly, “was it the- when you told me about-“

“Merlin,” Arthur said.

Merlin blinked at him. “Yes?”

“You really do talk too much,” Arthur said, and he leaned in once again, and silenced all his words
by claiming his mouth.
 Rhifegh ahn gifarweh
Chapter Notes

Chapter contains sexual content - Rated M

See the end of the chapter for more notes

I’m dreaming, Merlin thought.

It was the only explanation for Arthur pressed against him, arms wrapped around his back, tongue
sliding warm and deep into his mouth.

Merlin broke away from the dizzying kiss, gulping in breaths of cool evening air, staring in wonder
at Arthur’s smiling face, wondering if he quite seriously was going to faint like a weepy princess
from desire and joy and disbelief and exhaustion and Arthur.

“I must be dreaming,” Merlin whispered, as Arthur nuzzled into him, while his hands moved over
his body, slow and tender, like a lover. “This has to be a dream. It has to. You couldn’t possibly
be like this.”

“You’re not dreaming, and I am like this, you’re just not paying attention, as usual,” Arthur
scolded, before pressing his fingers to the sides of Merlin’s face, tilting his head to his liking, and
then kissing him deeply, taking kingly pleasures in his mouth.

Merlin clung to Arthur’s shoulders, moaning deep in his chest, his legs shaking, as desire and
disbelief waged a frantic war within him.

Arthur hummed in response, smug or pleased or quite possibly both, because he was Arthur
Pendragon, and how else would Arthur be when conquering new lands, other than utterly confident
and completely focused, holding Merlin against him, kissing him with all that he was, in the same
spot where fifteen centuries ago he had died.

Merlin leaned back, just enough to press shaking fingers to the side of Arthur’s neck, seeking a
pulse. Beneath the warm skin he felt a heartbeat, fast but strong. He pressed his lips against the
same spot, because he could do that now, it was allowed, to taste the proof of Arthur’s life.

“It’s not a dream, Merlin,” Arthur said, more gently this time, and he tightened his embrace,
pressing them more fully against one another.

Merlin drew in a sharp breath, startled by the unexpected evidence of Arthur’s arousal so clearly
pressing against his body. Because of me, he thought. Arthur is aroused because of me.

Impossible, he thought. Just impossible.

He dropped his forehead to Arthur’s shoulder, looking between their bodies, as he slid his hips
against Arthur’s, over the hard length he felt. The intimacy of it had him swallow a whimper,
shuddering with the pleasure that shot down his spine, even with the barrier of their clothes
between them.
Arthur pressed a stubbled cheek to Merlin's, a shudder passing through his body, as Merlin slid
against him again. “Gods above, Merlin,” he breathed.

He felt Arthur’s fingers twist into his hair, pulling his head backward to press open mouthed kisses
to his neck. Merlin gasped, the unexpected manhandling so surprisingly arousing that an
embarrassingly high pitched sound forced itself from his throat.

Arthur lifted his head, delighted with his reaction. “Oh, that is interesting,” he said, and he
tightened his fingers in Merlin’s hair, just a suggestion of what he’d done before.

“It’s not,” Merlin choked out. “Shut up. Do it again.”

“Insolence,” Arthur murmured into the space beneath his ear, and then bit, and licked, and sucked
upon his neck, fingers tight and holding him in place.

Merlin felt his body arch, a strangled noise choking from him. “That’s- You aren’t- It doesn’t-
You-“

“Stop talking,” Arthur said, and used the hand he had tangled in his hair to guide Merlin’s mouth
back to his, to quiet his words in a new and wonderful way.

Merlin melted against Arthur’s body, while Arthur held him where he liked and ground his hips
against him, sucking bruises into his neck, sending waves of pleasure surging up and up, sending
him careening towards a very embarrassing moment.

All at once, Arthur left off his passionate attack, stilling his hips and his hands, to look up Merlin,
smiling, his eyes sparkling.

Merlin dug his fingers into Arthur’s arms, frustrated at the interruption as much as he was glad for
it, because oh god he was so close-

“I should have known,” Arthur said, his voice low and teasing. “You do secretly like it when I tell
you what to do.”

“I don’t,” Merlin barely managed. “It’s horrible. I hate it. You’re awful. You can’t-”

“Be silent,” Arthur said in a voice of command, and kissed him again.

Which didn’t prove anything, Merlin thought, but then he stopped caring entirely about that, as
Arthur tasted him and touched him and sucked upon his neck. When Arthur finally leaned away,
breaths heaving, he wore an insufferably smug smile.

“That’s just,” Merlin breathed. “That’s. Cheating. And doesn’t. And anyway. You are. You’re
the same about my. My magic. Because whenever I- I- oh- that- right there, yes, that, that-“ He
closed his eyes and tilted his head, giving Arthur better access to his neck, where Arthur was
contentedly licking at his skin, small tasting motions, and oh god that was actually new, he’d never
felt anyone do that to him before, so no wonder it was making his knees go so weak.

Merlin tightened his arms around Arthur’s shoulders, hanging on for dear life, his hips grinding
against Arthur’s hard length entirely on their own, wanton and desperate and oh yes, he thought,
that, right there, oh, yes, that-

He felt Arthur’s hands upon his hips, stilling them. “Why,” he whined, not caring how pitiful he
sounded.
“We need to go inside,” Arthur said in a deep voice, “right now, before I lay you down on the grass
and claim you right here.”

Merlin squeezed his eyes closed, his mind absolutely reeling, because Arthur had said he wanted to
claim him on the lawn-

“Come on,” Arthur said, pulling at him.

“Just- Just a moment?” Merlin said in a weak voice. “Need to… calm down.”

“I’d rather you not,” Arthur said, and he started in on his neck again, licking and tasting and
kissing, fingers sliding up through his hair. “Absurd,” he said between tastes, quietly, as if to
himself. “How much I want to have you. Just absurd…”

“Inside,” Merlin agreed, nodding frantically. “Yes. Inside. Right now.”

Arthur chuckled, stepping away with obvious reluctance, leaving a cold empty space that Merlin
wanted to fill with more of him as soon as possible. Without bothering to hide it, Arthur reached
into his trousers and adjusted himself, a motion that captured every bit of Merlin’s attention.

Arthur smiled at him, that smug and delighted smile again, and took his hand. “Come on,” he
said, and lead him up the hill.

Merlin let himself be pulled along, adjusting himself as he went, trying to calm himself by thinking
of the most unattractive things imaginable, which was nearly impossible with the taste of Arthur
still on his lips.

He still felt as if he’d fallen into the most realistic fantasy he’d ever had, which was saying
something, because he’d had quite a few over the centuries.

Not fifteen minutes ago he was standing on the lawn heartbroken and lonely, giving up all hopes of
anything more than what he had with Arthur. He’d felt sure it was the right thing. That it was
what Arthur wanted.

And now Arthur was smiling at him over his shoulder, and pulling him into the North Tower,
through the dimly lit residence.

Any second and he’s going to realize his mistake, Merlin thought, as he followed Arthur to their
stairwell. Any second he’s going to remember it’s just me, his hopeless servant and half mad
sorcerer, and know that I’m no kind of man at all for a king.

Arthur stopped by the bottom of the stairwell, frowning at whatever he saw in Merlin’s face.
“Stop,” Arthur told him, smiling in that way that said he was exasperated but fondly so.

“What?”

“Whatever nonsense you’re thinking,” Arthur said. “Just stop.”

“It’s just… Are you really sure that-“

“Yes, I am sure,” Arthur said impatiently, and he pulled Merlin into another long kiss that within
moments had them clinging to one another, panting into each others mouths, bodies pressing as
close as possible.

When they parted, Arthur’s eyes swept down his body, lingering over the bulge in his jeans, before
returning to his face. “Upstairs,” Arthur said hoarsely, and grabbed Merlin’s hand, to pull him
roughly up the stairs.

When they reached the upstairs corridor, Arthur grabbed Merlin around the waist and walked him
backwards, flattening him against the wall.

“That mouth of yours is going to drive me to madness,” Arthur murmured, and he caught Merlin’s
face in his hands, leaning in to lavish him with slow wet kisses.

Merlin hung on desperately, feeling the wall hard at his back, and Arthur’s body warm at his front.
When Arthur moved his attentions back to his neck, Merlin stared in a daze at the Pendragon
pennant on the opposite wall, feeling the current lord of that family moving his royal hands all over
him like a conquering army, assessing, possessing.

“Of course you’re amazing at this,” Merlin breathed. “Why wouldn’t you be amazing? You’re
amazing at everything that you- yes, there, don’t stop, that right there-“

“What thing are you referring to?” Arthur said, lifting his head and looking at him as if genuinely
curious.

Merlin let his head thump back against the stone wall, trying to be aggravated but instead smiling
stupidly up at the ceiling. “You are such a prat I cannot believe how arrogant and insufferable
you- oh-” he broke off with a sharp breath, as Arthur slid a hand over his erection, and it was really
not fair, how Arthur derailed his thoughts, so that all he could do was whimper and squirm.

“I do think I rather like this new way of shutting you up,” Arthur said.

Again with the smugness, Merlin thought, and honestly, he was going to find a way to combat the
smugness, absolutely he was, though not until Arthur’s hand was done doing what it was doing.

Merlin shoved his hips into Arthur’s touch, head thumping hard against the wall, his body entirely
out of his control.

“Eager,” Arthur said, feigning nonchalance, but unsuccessfully, because his voice had shaken, and
Merlin could feel Arthur’s tremors beneath his hands.

“It’s been- a while,” Merlin panted, his fingers tightening around handfuls of Arthur’s shirt, his
hips straining up to meet each slide of Arthur’s hand.

“Bedroom,” Arthur said, dragging his lips over Merlin’s neck.

Merlin wrapped his arms around Arthur’s waist, pulling their bodies tightly together, crushing
Arthur’s hand between them as he writhed and moaned and made a spectacle of himself. “Can’t-
god, Arthur, feels so-“ He exhaled sharply, as the pleasure rose within him and he ground against
Arthur like a bloody teenager. “I’m going to- You need to- stop if you want- Arthur- Don’t stop
don’t stop right there god-“

Arthur stepped away abruptly, grabbing Merlin around the back and under the legs, hauling him
from the ground and into his arms.

“The hell are you doing!” Merlin yelped at him.

“Taking you to bed, you idiot,” Arthur snapped, trying to get a better grip on Merlin, who was
kicking and squirming in his arms.
“Let go!” Merlin pushed at him, half falling to the ground, only to have Arthur grab him around the
waist, and haul him up over his shoulder. “Put me down! You are not carrying me off to your
chambers like some damned weepy princess!”

Arthur ducked a swing of Merlin’s arm, laughing. “Shut up and hold still so I can carry you off to
bed, princess!”

Merlin grabbed at the nearby windowsill, outraged, and kicked against the wall with his foot,
sending them both sprawling to the stone floor.

When he tried to get up, Arthur scrambled on top of him, pressing him flat on his back. Arthur
grabbed at Merlin’s flailing arms, pinning them down beside his head, laughing his delight the
whole time.

“Get off!” Merlin burst out, but he was laughing now too, even though he’d banged his head and
his elbows on the cold stone floor. “You are mental!”

“You’re to blame for that,” Arthur breathed, climbing fully on top of him now. “You drive me to
madness.”

“I don’t-“ Merlin began, but then Arthur sank his full weight atop him, and the feeling of it, of his
body and his smell and his everything, banished both his words and his laughter and replaced it
with a piercing want instead.

“You do,” Arthur said hoarsely, his smile fading, the intensity returning to his blue eyes. “You
drive me beyond all reason. Especially this part of you.” He lowered his head, pressing his nose
against Merlin’s neck, breathing in deeply, before returning his attentions to Merlin’s parted lips, to
kiss him until he was breathless and moaning.

Merlin parted his legs, letting Arthur settle between them, wrapping them tightly around Arthur’s
hips, grinding up against him.

“Bed,” Arthur said breathlessly.

“Floor,” Merlin panted out, unwilling to give up the slide of their bodies together. He pulled a
wrist free from Arthur’s grip, and slid his hand between them, rubbing at the hard length beneath
Arthur’s trousers.

“Floor,” Arthur agreed, his voice cracking, and he dropped his head to Merlin’s shoulder, propping
himself on his elbows, so that Merlin could frantically pull at their trousers and pants and shove
them out of the way.

Arthur’s moan echoed down the hallway as Merlin wrapped his fingers around him, stroking him
slowly, astonished at the feel of Arthur’s cock in his hand, amazed that he finally was able to
touch, positively dizzy with the knowledge that he was causing the wanton sounds echoing through
the corridor.

“Gods, Merlin, yes, just like that,” Arthur panted into his ear, which was something Merlin had
only heard in his dirty little fantasies, and which he couldn’t believe he was actually hearing now.

Merlin adjusted his grip, pressing them both together, flesh to flesh, and he felt a shudder go
through Arthur’s body, and saw Arthur look between them, where Merlin was stroking them both
now, together, a feeling that made Merlin’s head tip back, and had his body arching off of the
floor.
“Look at you,” Arthur was whispering, staring down at him with an absolutely stunned expression,
before dropping his head to watch where Merlin’s hand was working them both.

Merlin heaved an enormous breath, a moan escaping with it, his eyes rolling back and closing,
thrusting with Arthur through the tight circle of his own hands. The friction of their skin pressed
together and his fingers holding them against one another and the weight of Arthur’s body was
perfect, just perfect, and Merlin tipped back his head, mouth falling open, heaving in air, as
pleasure rose up and surged over him, washing all thought away, as his release spilled hot and wet
over his hands.

Arthur gave a low grunt of surprise, and another thick with desire, and Merlin held on tight as
Arthur thrust against him, hard, shoving him over the stone floor, until he tensed above him, every
part of him shaking, choking out a shout as he came.

In utter amazement Merlin felt Arthur’s release add to his own. Above him, Arthur’s head was
thrown back, eyes open and astonished, mouth dropped open, his body shaking with quieting
moans of pleasure.

He watched Arthur swallow, panting hard, his eyes falling closed, eyebrows raising as if in
wonder, his face flushed and his blond hair a mess.

Beautiful, Merlin thought, as he lay there on the stone floor, trousers pushed down and a cooling
mess on his stomach and this astonishing man relaxing his weight heavy upon his legs and hips
and chest, huffing a breath from him.

Arthur lowered his head, eyes still closed, smiling, every part of his face reflecting his happiness.
Heaving an enormous sigh, he dropped his forehead to Merlin’s, his breaths warm against his lips.

So beautiful, Merlin thought again, as Arthur slid his nose against his own, tender, loving, gentle.

He felt his breath catch in his throat, his vision blurring.

Because it was too much. It was all just too much.

Arthur lifted his head, eyes sparkling, grinning down at him.

Merlin quickly wiped his hands on his shirt, and dragged the backs of his hands over his face,
shoving away the tears. Any moment Arthur was going to mock him for it. He knew how Arthur
felt about such things.

No man deserves your tears, Merlin.

You’re such a girl’s petticoat, Merlin.

But to his surprise, Arthur’s expression turned soft, and he cupped Merlin’s face with a strong and
calloused hand, and kissed him gently on each corner of his mouth, and upon each cheek where the
tears had been, and then another upon his chin, before finishing with one more, feather light, on his
lips.

“I feel the same,” Arthur whispered.

Merlin lay motionless beneath him, stunned by the unexpected tenderness from this man who had
conquered battlefields and shaped kingdoms. “The same?” he whispered.

“As you. I feel the same.”

Merlin wheezed in a deep breath, choking on it, tears filling his eyes again. “I’ve gone mad,” he
whispered. “I finally have gone mad. I’m hallucinating. This is just a hallucination. This isn’t
real. I’m going to wake up in my bed, alone, and it will have all been a hallucination and it will
hurt so much that I’ll want to tear my heart out-“

“No,” Arthur said, bending to kiss him again and again, capturing every harsh breath that left him.

Merlin clung tightly to the man above him, legs wrapping around him, feeling their release slick
upon his stomach, the hard stone floor against into his shoulders, the weight of Arthur upon him.
Real, he told himself. It was real, it was happening, all of it, it was real…

“You’re not alone,” Arthur said to him. “Not anymore.”

Merlin stared up at Arthur, who was smiling down at him, fond and amused and slightly worried.
“You swear this is really happening?”

“Yes, Merlin, for god’s sakes, it’s really happening,” he said, exasperated now. “Do I have to hit
you over the head to knock some sense into that thick skull of yours?”

“All right, all right,” Merlin said, and was rewarded with another of Arthur’s brilliant smiles. “It’s
just… you have no idea… How long I’ve wanted…”

“I know. And I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. I’m the one who’s to blame for-“

“Stop,” Arthur said gently. “Please, Merlin. Just… don’t.”

“Sorry.”

Arthur bent to press his nose into Merlin’s neck. Inhaling deeply. Exhaling with a satisfied hum.

Merlin smiled, a delirious and wonderful thing. “What smells so good?”

“Vanilla. Spice. Soap.” Arthur lifted his head, an eyebrow quirking upward, a wry smile pulling
at his lips. “Sex.”

Merlin raised his eyebrows, feeling so far out of his depth with this new side of Arthur that he
didn’t know how to respond. “Are you flirting with me?”

"Why would I be flirting with you?” he asked, but flirtatiously, Merlin felt. “I’ve already had my
way with you.”

“On the floor,” he pointed out.

Arthur looked around the corridor, as if surveying his kingdom. “It’s a good floor.”

“It really is.” Merlin grinned up at the beautiful man laying half naked atop him. “Arthur?”

“Yes, Merlin?”

“We just had sex in the hallway.”

Arthur chuckled to himself. “We did, didn’t we.”

“We really did.” Merlin grinned at the replica of the old halls of the castle. “We couldn’t have
done that in Camelot.”

“Not with how loud you were being.”

“You weren’t so quiet yourself!”

“That was your fault. That thing you were doing. There toward the end.”

“What thing is that?”

“You know.”

To his amazement, he saw a color fill Arthur’s cheeks. “I don’t think I do,” Merlin said curiously,
because he was remembering how Arthur had enjoyed tormenting him earlier. “What was it,
exactly?”

“With your hand. And my- And your- You know what I mean.”

Oh this was going to be fun, Merlin thought, enjoying a bit of smugness now himself. He simply
couldn’t wait to introduce Arthur to the many, many things that would put that blush on his cheeks.

Merlin grinned wickedly, enjoying the way Arthur’s eyes went a bit wide in response. “I suppose
you’ll just have to show me what thing you mean the next time.”

Arthur’s smile faltered as he stared down at Merlin. “Next time,” he said softly.

His tone had Merlin tensing. “That is… if you want… a next time…”

“Is that what you want?”

“Yes,” Merlin said at once, his voice breaking on the word.

“Good,” Arthur said. “That’s what I want as well.”

For several long moments they just lay there upon the floor, grinning at each other.

Finally Arthur shifted atop him, which wasn’t quite as pleasant as before, because they were messy
and half clothed and things were beginning to dry and cool on their skin.

“One of us should get a cloth to clean up,” Arthur pointed out.

“How about the one who is laying on top of the other one,” Merlin suggested.

“Lazy,” Arthur scolded him, as he pushed himself off and to the side, wincing as his bare hip came
in contact with the cold floor.

Merlin stayed where he was, stretched out on the stone floor, not caring that he was half undressed,
perfectly content to watch Arthur pull at his clothing to keep it away from the wet patches on his
body.

Arthur glanced over at him, starting to speak, then paused, his eyes sliding down Merlin’s body
and back up to his face, more color filling Arthur’s cheeks.

And then Arthur surprised him again, by leaning back over him, to press another kiss to his lips,
much more chaste than their other kisses before.
“I’m going to wash up,” Arthur said against his mouth. “And then ready myself for bed. Join me
after you’ve done the same.”

“Bed? At this hour?” Merlin said curiously. “But it’s still early.”

Arthur sighed loudly. “Please do not tell me you’re actually dimwitted enough as to think that I
mean we should-”

“Oh!” Merlin opened his eyes wide, laughing at himself. “You mean- But not really- Right.” He
gave an exaggerated wink. “I understand.”

Arthur shook his head, laughing as he climbed to his feet, adjusting his clothes and his body into a
state of decency far too quickly for Merlin’s liking. When he’d finished, Arthur stood over him,
his eyes sweeping over his body again, not hiding it in the slightest, before heading off to the
washroom.

Merlin pushed himself up to his elbows and stared down the hallway, a stupid grin on his face, his
trousers still open, fluids cooling on his body.

“Bed,” he said happily, and got up to do as Arthur had said.

After fetching sleeping clothes in his chambers, and then yielding to temptation and fetching a
bottle of oil from his bedside drawer, Merlin went to clean up in the washroom, and change into
soft sleeping trousers and a t-shirt.

He padded down the hall barefoot, pausing only to smile stupidly at the spot where he could see
the floor was a bit more polished than the rest of the stones.

We had sex in the hallway, he thought giddily, and snickered to himself, before heading with more
haste down the corridor.

Arthur’s chambers were dimly lit by the fading light outside the open windows. The cast soft light
on where Arthur lay stretched out on the bed, sheets pushed down to his waist, waiting for him.

Merlin placed the item from his room upon the bedside table, then stood and stared in amazement
at the sight before him.

That is one hell of a view, he thought, as his gaze slid up Arthur's bare chest to his smiling face.

“You swear I’m not asleep and just dreaming you,” Merlin said, because his throat had gone tight
with emotion, and he didn’t want to lose control again.

“Get in the bed and I’ll show you how real I am,” Arthur told him in a rumbling voice.

And perhaps if Arthur hadn’t punctuated the statement with what he’d always privately called
Arthur’s ‘bedroom eyes’, then Merlin wouldn’t have snorted out a laugh.

But unfortunately he did, and he had to slap a hand over his mouth to stifle the half choked off
sound, because he knew damn well Arthur had not meant for that to be funny.

Arthur pushed himself up onto an elbow, the sultry expression he’d been attempting totally
vanishing. “What are you laughing at?”

“Nothing. No. Nothing at all.”

“Come on, what’s so funny,” Arthur demanded, looking like he had a good idea about the answer,
and was none too happy about it.

Merlin climbed into bed, grinning despite Arthur’s put-out expression. “I was just, you know,
wondering how often that look actually worked on those visiting nobles’ daughters, is all.”

“What look?” Arthur said, clearly offended. “I wasn’t giving you a look.”

“You remember that this is me you’re talking to, right? Do you know how many feasts I spent in
your presence, watching you every second, while you charmed your way through the five
kingdoms?”

Arthur gave him a slow smile, laying down again, a muscled arm folded beneath his head.
“Watching me every second, was it?”

“No- I- Not- Just so that you didn’t get poisoned or stabbed or something.”

“What part of me were you watching the most, would you say?” Arthur asked casually.

“I only meant…”

Merlin let the words trail off. Because he had stared. He had stared often, and at everything.
Possessively. Protectively.

“All of you,” he admitted. “All the time. That’s what I was watching.”

Not something Arthur had expected to hear, judging by the sadness that touched his eyes. “All
those years…”

Merlin lay down on his side facing Arthur, tucking an arm under his head. “I didn’t know then.
What it was. It wasn’t until later that it was stupidly obvious. How I’d always felt about you.”

Arthur reached over and picked up his hand. Fingers sliding between his own. Thumb rubbing
over the back of it. “I know what you mean.”

Merlin lifted Arthur’s hand. Pressed his forehead to Arthur’s knuckles. Eyes squeezing closed.
Fighting a swell of emotion.

Mine, Merlin thought. He’s mine, finally mine, and I’m in his bed, after so long, god it had been
so long, so many years, so many centuries, so alone, so lost-

“Stay with me,” Arthur said softly.

Merlin lifted his head, saw that Arthur looked blurry on the bed next to him. He blinked, sending
tears sliding down his face. “What?”

“Come on. Roll over.”

“Roll over?”

“Just…” Arthur nodded to the lakeside window. Shoved his shoulder.

Merlin turned over onto his side, facing the window. The bed moved, and Arthur pressed against
his body, chest against his back, arm winding around his waist, hand sliding up his chest, to press
over his heartbeat, as he had so many nights before.

And then Arthur kept curling around him. Hips pressing under the curve of his backside. Legs
warm beneath his thighs. Shins against his calves.

Merlin drew in a startled breath. “Arthur?”

Arthur slid his hand over Merlin’s chest, back and forth. “Hmm?”

“You’re not wearing any-“ Merlin opened and closed his mouth on the words a few times.
“You’re… naked.”

“And you’re overdressed. Unless you were actually intending to sleep?”

“Sleep?” Merlin snorted out a laugh. “Do you know how hard it’s been, trying to actually sleep,
when you’re laying like that against me?”

“Oh I think I know exactly how hard it’s been.”

Merlin felt the bed shake with Arthur’s silent laughter. Yet another side of Arthur he’d never
imagined. This tender and affectionate and playful Arthur. “You seriously did not just make a joke
about-”

“It’s your fault,” Arthur said, laughter still in his voice. “You drive me to insanity. You and your
absurd lips and your maddening fingers and your scandalous neck.”

Merlin drew in a long deep breath as Arthur’s lips dragged over the back of his apparently
scandalous neck, followed by the slide of his tongue.

Arthur’s hand had begun moving on his chest as well. Exploring now. Fingertips and fingernails
down and up his shirt, before grabbing at the material, pulling it upwards.

“Take this off,” Arthur commanded, his voice low and rumbling.

Merlin scrambled out of his clothes, nearly hitting Arthur with his elbows and kicking him with his
feet. He settled back under the bedding completely naked and feeling scandalous.

I’m naked in Arthur’s bed in Arthur’s chambers, he thought wildly. And the idea of it, and the
little bit Arthur had touched him already, had already made him hard, his breathing speeding up in
anticipation of whatever was coming next.

“I’ve never seen you do anything so fast,” Arthur said, wrapping himself around him.

Merlin closed his eyes, focusing on the feeling of Arthur’s body pressing against his, warm and
naked and- oh yes, he’s hard too, he thought wildly, that’s his erection sliding against me, good
god-

Arthur hummed his pleasure, pressing his mouth to the back of his neck again, wet and sloppy and
relentless. “I’ve been wanting to do this for days,” Arthur sighed against his skin.

“Been wanting that too,” Merlin said. “You have no idea.”

Another hum of pleasure, as Arthur slid his hand over Merlin’s chest. “Look at you. Nothing but
skin and bones.” His fingers traced his ribs, moving across his abdomen, before sliding
downward, between his legs, to take him in hand. “Well. Except here. You’re very solid right
here.”

Merlin’s shivered as Arthur’s fingers slid along his erection, slow and deliberate and familiar, as if
he’d done it a thousand times before, and knew perfectly how to tease the pleasure from his body.
“I thought you said-“ Merlin drew in a sharp breath at a sweep and twist and curl of Arthur’s
fingers. “You’d never done this- sort of thing- before?”

“Never,” Arthur said, nuzzling into his hair.

“Oh god,” Merlin breathed into the pillow, and shoved his hips forward into Arthur’s touch.
Because if Arthur was this good already then he was absolutely done for, in the most wonderful
way imaginable.

“Wanton thing,” Arthur murmured into his ear, still keeping his caresses light. “Honestly, the state
of you.”

Merlin shoved his hips forward, but Arthur moved his hand away. Growling his frustration, he
grabbed Arthur’s hand, wrapping it around his erection, to thrust into his closed fist.

Arthur pulled away, grabbed Merlin’s hand, and planted it firmly upon the mattress by his chest.
“It’s not a race, Merlin.”

“No, it’s torment,” Merlin whined, as Arthur resumed with his light touches.

“Is it really?” Arthur asked, sounding genuinely curious.

Merlin forced himself to relax. Shook his head. “No,” he said. “I just…”

“Just what?”

“Never bothered to take my time with it.”

Arthur pushed himself up on an elbow, his hand stilling. “In all those years? All those
companions of yours?”

“Weren’t that many. And they weren’t you. So it wasn’t…” He turned his head to look over his
shoulder, towards where Arthur lay behind him. “I never bothered. Taking things slow.”

Arthur bent forward, kissing him deeply, passionately. “That’s going to change now.”

Merlin drew in a sharp breath as Arthur’s fingers stroked the length of him again. A high pitched
noise came from his throat as he strained his hips forward for the grip of Arthur’s hand. “Can it
change next time?” he choked out, his body starting to tremble. God, he wanted, so much, and he
wanted now-

Arthur chuckled to himself, mouth pressing to Merlin’s neck. “Just this once,” he said, and
tightened his grip, and sped his hand.

“Yes,” Merlin said, nodding enthusiastically at this decision, “that’s- that’s perfect, keep doing
that, oh god, that’s…”

“Look at you,” Arthur said into his ear. “I should have known. You country boys.”

“Was totally innocent… before I… that, do that again, faster...”

“Demanding,” Arthur said, and leaned forward, sliding his mouth along the rough stubble of
Merlin’s jaw, nosing at his cheek, seeking his lips.

Merlin turned his head to accept a passionate kiss, feeling Arthur rutting against him now, slow
thrusts that slid his erection along his backside and between his thighs.
“Want you,” Merlin breathed into his mouth, dizzy with arousal.

“Yes,” Arthur breathed, and pressed forward, only to fall into the space Merlin had hastily
vacated. “Where are you going?”

Merlin nearly fell out of the bed grabbing for the bottle he’d brought with him. Arthur laughed
softly as he fitted himself back where he was, fumbling open the vial.

Arthur settled back against him, pressing kisses to his neck, his hair. “What are you doing?”

Merlin reached back and took hold of Arthur’s hand, pulling it forward to liberally douse his
fingers and his hand with the oil.

“Oh,” Arthur said wryly. “That.” He pulled his hand from Merlin’s grip, sliding it down his
abdomen and between his legs.

“Not that,” Merlin said breathlessly, and he took hold of Arthur’s hand, guiding it behind him,
between their bodies, down the base of spine, past his tailbone.

And then, gloriously, inside.

“This,” Merlin choked out. “This…”

Arthur’s head dropped heavily to the pillow, and he moaned, as Merlin guided his fingers. “That is
just-“ Arthur made a small noise, choked and low. “God, that’s…”

“Yes,” Merlin sighed, as he guided Arthur’s hand.

“Let me,” Arthur breathed into his neck. “I can do it, let me… Here… Like this?”

Merlin jolted on the bed, his leg kicking, choking out a cry of pleasure.

Arthur sighed against his skin. “God, Merlin…”

Merlin clawed the sheets by his chest, his entire body thrumming with pleasure, as Arthur got the
idea astoundingly quickly, then improving upon it, each time he heard Merlin make a sound of
pleasure.

When Merlin was moaning with nearly every breath, Arthur withdrew his fingers, shifting his hips,
his erection pressing against where Merlin’s body was slick and open and wanting.

Arthur tightened his arm around Merlin’s chest, breathing hard into his ear. “Can I-?“

“Yes,” Merlin choked out, and he felt a sudden motion behind him, and then a pressure, a glorious
pressure, and he had barely any time to think of what was about to happen, before Arthur thrust
deeply inside him, all in one powerful movement, his hips driving hard against him.

Merlin jerked and cried out, in surprise and in pain and in pleasure, because he’d forgotten the
overwhelming intimacy of being filled like this, and it was Arthur, dear god, Arthur was inside
him.

He reached his hand back to grab Arthur’s hip, stilling him, utterly overwhelmed, hurting and not
hurting, too much and not enough, and he never wanted it to stop, what he was feeling right now,
because they were connected and whole and he was Arthur’s, utterly, this was proof, this
connection, that he belonged only to Arthur, that Arthur belonged to him-
“Are you hurt?” Arthur breathed, even as he pressed his chest against Merlin’s back, his muscles
shaking violently against his body. “What should I-”

“Don’t move,” Merlin choked out. “Just- need a moment.“

“Gods, Merlin, you feel…” A huff of breath, and the press of Arthur’s forehead against his neck,
the tightening of Arthur’s arm around his ribs. “No words,” he whispered.

Merlin nodded, over and over again, because yes, it was like that for him too, but he couldn’t
manage to speak, even as Arthur feathered chaste kisses against his neck, his hair, as they lay
joined in the most intimate way possible.

“You are a marvel.” Arthur said, and he cupped the side of Merlin’s face, turning him to be kissed,
gentle little things, so much more tender than what had just happened. Or was about to happen.
“Overwhelming. Amazing.”

“Yours,” Merlin choked out.

“Yes. You are mine. As I am yours.”

Merlin opened his eyes to see beautiful blue eyes staring down at him from a face flushed red with
passion. There was no trace of mocking there. Just a pure, and wondering, love.

He tried to speak, to try to say anything of what was filling his heart, but he couldn’t. Instead, he
reached back to slide his fingers through Arthur’s hair, pulling their mouths together.

“Please,” Merlin whispered into Arthur mouth, and pressed his hips back against him.

Arthur nodded, dropping his head to Merlin’s neck, drawing his hips slowly backwards, and
holding there a long moment, before thrusting deeply back inside.

Merlin choked out a cry, loud and involuntary, his body shuddering. Arthur tightened his arm
around him, and repeated the movement, his movements purposeful, careful, his breaths punching
from him with each thrust, each one slow and possessing.

Never in his wildest fantasies had Merlin imagined Arthur would be like this. So deliberate, so
measured. His body pressing hard with every joining, claiming him with each motion.

The deep rhythmic rocking was so intoxicating, so overwhelming, that Merlin didn’t even think to
put a hand on himself, not until he felt Arthur’s hips finally move faster, his breaths speeding up,
his motions losing coordination.

Merlin wrapped a shaking hand over his erection, but Arthur pushed it away, wrapping his own
fingers around him, sliding them over his skin with a slick hand, still teasing, as he thrust into him.

“Please,” Merlin heard himself beg, his face half pressed into the pillow, as Arthur claimed him
again and again. “Please-“

“Yes,” Arthur moaned, and he tightened his hand, stroking him harder and more swiftly with each
thrust inside.

The room was full of wet sounds, and the creaking of Arthur’s bed, and of cries, Merlin could hear
cries, he thought wildly, before realizing they were his own, as he writhed on the bed and felt
pleasure swelling in every part of him, in every cell, until with a surprised cry, his release washed
through him and over him, and he trembled and jerked and came and spilled hot and wet over
Arthur’s hand.

His body was still jolting with aftershocks of pleasure when he heard Arthur growl behind him, an
animal sound, low and dangerous.

Merlin was still marveling at the raw desperation of it when Arthur shoved him flat to his stomach,
and scrambled frantically on top of him.

Yes, Merlin thought, as he felt Arthur’s weight fall heavy upon his back, his breaths loud and
panting in his ear. Wild, he thought desperately, yes, god, be wild for me, my warrior, my king-

Arthur grabbed him around the waist, hauled his hips upward, shoved his legs apart with his knees,
and then thrust deep inside him again, collapsing forward upon his back with an anguished groan.

Merlin’s cry was lost in the pillow as Arthur trembled over him, a surprised sound choking from
him, as if startled by what he’d done.

“Arthur,” Merlin moaned into the bedding, and he reached back to grab Arthur’s bare hip, pulling
frantically at him. “Yes, yes, come on, fuck me-“

Arthur choked out another sound, startled and desperate, his face pressing into Merlin’s back. He
pulled his hips away, then sank deep into him again, with another gut wrenching moan.

Merlin shoved the pillow away, and planted his hands against the headboard, pushing back against
each thrust, teeth ground together because it felt so good, so good. “Faster,” he ground out,
“Arthur, move-“

Arthur moaned against his skin, thrusting wildly into him, both arms around his chest, face pressed
into his back, sweat slick between them.

“Yours,” Merlin whimpered, as his king claimed what was his again and again, wild and
passionate and desperate.

Always, always yours, he thought, or said, or both. My king, my soul, my love.

Arthur cried out, his voice loud and echoing in the room, his body tensing. He shuddered
violently, his hips giving small thrusts, breaths punching from him, as he twitched inside with his
release.

He held there a long moment, panting, small sounds escaping him with each breath, until he slowly
relaxed, a deep breath sighing from him.

Merlin felt Arthur’s weight collapse heavy upon him, crushing him to the bed. With a loud groan,
Arthur dropped his forehead to the pillow beside his cheek.

For a long moment, Arthur lay top him, heaving in deep breaths, his chest pressed to Merlin’s back,
hot and slick with sweat.

As Arthur recovered, Merlin lay beneath his heavy weight, smiling in perfect bliss.

He turned his head just enough to press his forehead against Arthur’s temple. Nose to his cheek.

Happy, Merlin thought, as he breathed in the smell of Arthur’s sweat soaked hair.

This is what it feels like to be happy.

Arthur rubbed his nose against Merlin’s, sighing.

Merlin pulled his head back on the pillow, peering at Arthur in the candle light, at hair that looked
like it had been through a windstorm, and cheeks flushed red with passion.

I forgot it could feel like this, Merlin thought in wonder. Like you never want the moment to end.
Like everything in the world is alive and wonderful. Like you’re in a bubble of perfection.

Merlin was still smiling when Arthur blinked open his eyes, and looked at him in wonder.

“That,” Arthur said, his tone full of disbelief. “Was…”

“Hmm?”

“Breathtaking.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. You are. That was.” He slid his hand over the mattress. Found Merlin’s hand. Threaded
their fingers together. “Gods, Merlin.”

“We need to do that again as soon as possible,” Merlin said into the pillow.

He heard Arthur moan, in what he thought was exasperation, but astonishingly, he felt a small
movement, where Arthur was still inside him. “Oh,” he breathed.

Arthur burrowed his nose into Merlin’s neck. “It’s like I’m eighteen again.”

“Been spending extra time in the shower myself.”

Arthur shifted atop him. “It’s getting a bit…”

Merlin shifted his hips, just slightly, making some of his favorite bits of Arthur’s body slide from
him. He made a small noise, cringing a bit, wondering how sore he was going to be tomorrow.

Then he remembered he would be sore from having sex with Arthur, and he smiled stupidly,
happily imagining himself cringing whenever he sat down, only to grin about it right afterward.

And if people asked him why he was cringing and smiling, he’d just tell them it was because
Arthur had buggered him quite soundly through the mattress last night, after having sex with him
in the hallway, and wouldn’t that be a nice tale to tell.

“Are you… all right?” Arthur asked, sounding unsure if he was supposed to ask.

“Very all right,” Merlin assured him. “You all right?”

“Oh yes,” Arthur chuckled into his ear, sliding a rough cheek against Merlin’s.

Merlin sighed beneath him, feeling boneless under Arthur’s considerable weight. He’d had no idea
how much he liked being held down and taken until Arthur had done it. He’d certainly never
given himself over to anyone else like that before. But why would he have? He didn’t belong to
any of the others, after all. Not like he belonged to Arthur.

Arthur nudged his cheekbone with his nose, another ridiculously tender gesture. “I must be
crushing you.”
“No. Well. Yes. A little. But… It’s good.”

“It is?”

“Hmm. I feel… Anchored.”

And human, he thought. Yes. It had been centuries since he’d felt this human. He’d forgotten
what that felt like too.

“To me?” Arthur asked, genuinely curious.

“To everything.” Merlin turned his head to look at where Arthur was peering at him. “But mostly
to you.”

Arthur shifted forward, a hot and sweaty and heavy weight upon him, to press his lips to Merlin’s
again, but was only partially successful because of their positions on the bed.

“Go on,” Merlin said fondly. “Get comfortable.”

With a grunt, Arthur climbed off of him, and flopped onto his back, arms and legs splayed out.
Merlin watched him reach up over his head, and grab something blue from between the headboard
and mattress.

“Is that my neckerchief?” Merlin asked, pushing himself up to his elbows, to watch Arthur wipe
himself off with it.

“What would I be doing with your neckerchief?” Arthur said, affecting total innocence.

Merlin laughed, surprised again by the man at his side. “Were you using this to-“ He gave Arthur
a scandalized look. “Oh that is filthy.”

Arthur arched an eyebrow and smirked at him, unrepentant.

“There are a few of these missing, actually,” Merlin scolded him, as Arthur wiped at his body with
his apparently very debauched neckerchief.

“Are there really?” Arthur threw the cloth at him and pulled the sheets back over himself from
where they’d gotten shoved to the foot of the bed. “You really should keep better track of your
things.”

“Lucky for you I didn’t,” Merlin said wryly, as he wiped himself off, before tossing the cloth to the
floor.

He looked over at Arthur, who lay stretched out on his back, bare chested, sheet pushed to his
waist, arms folded behind his head upon his pillow.

As the silence between them stretched on, Arthur frowned, curious. “What?”

“It’s just… strange. Isn’t it? This?” Merlin gestured between the two of them.

“Strange?” Arthur repeated, as if he’d lost his mind. “This is what you call strange. Out of
everything that’s happened to us. This, between us, is the part you find strange.”

“Well-”

“So not the part where I was dead over a thousand years, or where you’re immortal, or the
ridiculous magic running rampant everywhere, or the laptops or mobiles or automobiles or Mars-”

“You know what I mean,” Merlin said.

Arthur sighed at him, relenting. “All right. Yes. I do. But I wouldn’t call it strange, exactly. I’d
call it…”

“What?”

“Rhifegh ahn gifarweh,” Arthur said, the Brittonic falling beautifully from his lips.

Merlin smiled in delight, because Arthur was right, and there was no expression in English for this
feeling. But that phrase from their old language… that fit it perfectly.

It spoke of something known yet unknown. Familiar yet strange.

It spoke of the turning of the seasons. The changing of the years. The patterns of life.

It spoke of them.

“Come here,” Arthur said, and pulled at him.

Merlin allowed himself to be manhandled into position at Arthur’s side, but only because he was
able to press his nose into Arthur’s neck, his leg sliding between Arthur’s, his arm and hand
moving over Arthur’s bare chest.

“You do realize that I’m not actually a weepy princess,” Merlin said into Arthur’s warm skin, as
Arthur covered them both with the sheet.

“I am aware you’re not a woman, yes, astonishingly enough,” Arthur told him. “There have been
little hints here and there.”

“Little?” Merlin said, lifting his head.

“Not… No… I meant…” Arthur glanced over at him, going a bit red.

“Are you blushing?” Merlin asked, eyes wide.

“I don’t blush.”

“You do when you’re talking about my cock,” Merlin said.

Arthur looked scandalized. He opened his mouth, closed it, then grabbed Merlin’s head and
shoved it back down to his chest. “The mouth on you,” Arthur said, attempting to sound cross.

“Yes, the mouth on me,” Merlin said wickedly, and he pressed it to the skin of Arthur’s chest,
licking playfully.

Arthur swatted at his shoulder, but laughed softly, sounding pleased. “That bed of yours really is
befitting a weepy princess, though,” he said, clearly trying to shift the subject.

“There’s nothing wrong with my bed.”

“Despite the fact that you haven’t slept in it since I got back.”

“Because of you and the dark. And me and my dreams.”

“Not entirely,” Arthur said softly.

Merlin smiled against Arthur’s chest, relieved to hear it, though he’d figured it out already.

“We’ll have to try your bed next,” Arthur said. “This one creaks so loudly that I thought it was
going to collapse.”

“That wasn’t exactly the bed’s fault, the creaking.”

“No, it was your fault.”

“Me?”

“Yes. You and your… Your everything. Driving me to a madness I’ve only ever in my life felt in
the heat of battle.”

“Really only ever then?” Merlin heard himself ask, in a very small voice, because apparently he
actually was a weepy insecure princess, and would now be taunted mercilessly by Arthur about it.

“Really,” Arthur said, and he kissed Merlin’s hair, and slid fingers tenderly over his shoulders and
down his spine, to draw lazy patterns on his back.

Merlin stared across the room, caught off guard by the ridiculously tender gestures. “Were you
always like this? After?”

“Were you always like that? During?”

“No,” Merlin said firmly. “Never. That was only with you.”

“Only ever me?” Arthur asked, sounding very reassuringly insecure himself now. “In all those
years?”

“Yes. Only ever you.”

Arthur slid both arms around him, settling in more firmly against him, sighing.

Merlin relaxed against the warmth of Arthur’s side, even though his leg was sweating against
Arthur’s skin and his arm was squashed beneath his own body and the firm mattress. “My bed
might be better for this part. It’s a bit softer.”

“It’s on the list, don’t worry.”

“List?”

“Of places I’m going to claim you,” Arthur said casually, as if he were talking about the weather.
“Would you like to hear it?”

Merlin made a small noise, and nodded eagerly.

“Here, of course. And your chambers. And the bedroom downstairs. And that ridiculously
opulent sofa in your living room. And the downstairs dining table-“

“My dining table?” Merlin asked, his voice deep with sudden arousal, even after all they’d done.
Arthur had a list, he kept thinking.

“The dining table is your fault. Showing me those damn pants of yours. I almost bent you over
the table right then and there.”

Merlin choked out an embarrassing noise, his imagination grabbing hold of an image of exactly
what Arthur was describing.

Arthur laughed softly, sliding his thigh against where Merlin had already begun to get hard.
“Really,” he said, sounding impressed. “Already.”

“Shut up,” Merlin muttered into his shoulder. “It’s been a long time.”

“How long?”

“There was a war on.”

“Which one?”

Merlin pressed his face into Arthur’s neck, breathing in the smell of his king. “I can’t remember.
It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. They weren’t you.”

A quiet sigh. And then he felt Arthur’s nose push into the top of his mussed hair, a kiss following
it.

Merlin had to close his eyes. Force himself to breathe deeply. Because it was too perfect. This
moment. It was absolutely too perfect. Something horrible was bound to happen any second.
Absolutely the world was about to end. Because this…

This was everything he had ever wanted. Had ever dreamed of.

“All right?” Arthur asked softly.

Merlin nodded, face pressed into warm skin. I fit perfectly here, he thought, and he pressed closer,
half aroused and half drifting into sleep and entirely content.

The third time he caught himself falling asleep, he drew in a sharp breath, struggling to keep his
eyes open.

“Go on to sleep,” Arthur said, sounding very much awake.

“Don’t want to,” Merlin muttered against his neck. “I have a list too.”

“Oh you do?”

“All the things I want to do to you. For you. With you. Such a long list.”

“We’ll start to work on it first thing tomorrow morning. It will be my official agenda for the day.”

“Promise?”

“Yes, Merlin. I promise.”

Merlin started to relax. But then he remembered. All the past nights. All the nightmares.

“I’ll wake you if you dream,” Arthur assured him.

Yes, he thought. Arthur would be there. He lifted a hand to Arthur’s chest, pressed his palm over
Arthur’s heartbeat, his eyes drifting closed.
 “Go on,” Arthur said. “Sleep.”

“Yes, my lord.”

He’d almost drifted off when he felt Arthur’s hand cover his. “Say it?”

“Hmm?”

“What you really meant. Just now. When you said ‘my lord’.”

Merlin smiled. “Heard it, finally, did you?”

Arthur pressed another kiss into his hair. “Say it for me?” he whispered.

Merlin threaded his fingers through Arthur’s. “My king. My life.”

He squeezed his eyes closed. Tried to push the words past his lips.

“Please, Merlin,” Arthur whispered.

“My love,” Merlin choked out.

Arthur’s arms tightened around him. “Just as you are mine.”

Merlin pressed his face into Arthur’s neck. Felt Arthur’s hands sliding over his body, slow and
light, relaxing him into sleep.

“Rest, Merlin. I’ll watch over you.”

“Not a princess,” Merlin muttered, as his thoughts swam.

“Yes, I know, you’re a mighty sorcerer, now shut up and go to sleep before I hit you with
something and knock you unconscious.”

“Yes, sire,” Merlin sighed, and finally yielded to the pull of sleep.

Chapter End Notes

Author's Note: This is an excellent time to pause in reading the story, if you've been
binge reading and need some sleep. ;)
 battle lines

Arthur had only just drifted off to sleep when he felt Merlin start to dream. It was a subtle thing,
just a tensing of his arm, a twitch of his cheek.

Arthur pressed his lips to Merlin’s forehead and slid soothing fingers through thick black hair.
“Merlin,” he said softly. “Wake up. You’re dreaming.”

Merlin made a small noise, his dark eyelashes fluttering upon his pale cheeks, tickling Arthur’s
shoulder, before he went still once again.

Arthur settled his arms around Merlin’s shoulders, nosing into the thick hair he’d made messy with
his own fingers, inhaling the now familiar scents of spice and vanilla and sweat and sex.

It feels so amazingly natural, he thought. To have Merlin here. In his bed. In his arms. Warm
and naked and draped over his body, his sharp hip bones and flat chest pressed against him.

‘Rhifegh ahn gifarweh’, Arthur thought. Familiar yet new. That was very much how this felt.
Which only made sense. Because that’s how Merlin had felt to him ever since he’d stepped out of
the lake.

Although, to be quite honest with himself, Merlin had felt that way in Camelot as well, hadn’t he.
Known yet unknown. Not only because of Merlin’s secrets and his magic. But because of the
deep bond between them.

Arthur stared into his candlelit chambers, smiling faintly, thinking that it was a very good thing
indeed that they hadn’t acted upon their feelings for one another in Camelot. If they had, he would
have had his guards bursting through his door on a regular basis in response to the noises they
would have made.

Because gods above they had been loud in their lovemaking, Arthur thought. They’d been loud
and wanton and shameless, and Merlin most of all, when Arthur had climbed upon him and
claimed him, mindless and half mad with need.

Arthur tightened his arms around the strong shoulders of the man at his side, wondering at the
intensity of their coupling.

I had no idea that it could be that way, he thought.

Only in battle had he ever felt such wild intensity. It had robbed him of every shred of control.
And when he’d sought to reign himself in, Merlin had urged him onward, into further reaches of
frenzied passion, grabbing at him, calling him his wild king, his warrior, his love.

Only for you have I ever been that, Arthur thought at him. Only ever for you.

He relaxed into the bed, well and truly exhausted, as if he’d trained for hours. But the damned
sheets were wet under him, and his skin was itching from the oil, and it wouldn’t let him get truly
comfortable.

After checking to make sure Merlin was sound asleep, Arthur extracted himself from the bed. He
settled Merlin under the sheets and blankets, pulled on a pair of breeches from the floor, then crept
from the room to go wash up.
He took his time in the washroom, cleaning himself with a warm rag, glancing at his reflection as
he did so.

I look like I’ve just fought in the melee, he thought. His hair was mussed and sweaty, his neck and
chest blotchy, his muscles twitching from strenuous exertion, particularly his thighs and legs.

Arthur drew in a deep breath, remembering Merlin writhing and wild beneath him, shoving back
into every thrust of Arthur’s hips, pleading for Arthur to fuck him, a wonderfully filthy modern
word that had sounded like sex itself falling from Merlin’s lips.

The thought of it all had him growing hard, and he had to adjust his sleeping trousers.

Stupid of me to stand here and think about it, he told himself. It would be much better to go back
to my chambers and actually do more of it instead.

And there was indeed more to do, wasn’t there. Because apparently Merlin had a list.

But on the way back to his chambers, Arthur decided to take a quick detour downstairs. There was
still food upon the table from dinner, he remembered. It could provide excellent nourishment upon
waking. That way they could set to work on that list of Merlin’s right away. And on his own list
as well for that matter.

A list which included certain activities on this very table, Arthur thought wryly, as he took some
apple tarts from the dining table and stacked them onto a plate. Yes, he had definite plans for
Merlin and this table.

After picking through the food that had been set out, Arthur rummaged through the ice box, and
found a wonderful assortment of scones and sweet breads there.

Bless Eleanor, he thought, as he added scones to his plate. For this, and for showing him Merlin’s
letter earlier that day. He’d have to find a way to repay her. A title, perhaps. She had so enjoyed
it when he’d called her ‘Lady’.

After closing the ice box door, Arthur turned to leave the kitchen-

-and felt pain stab through him like a blade.

His plate fell from numb fingers. Shattered to the floor.

He staggered sideways, his shoulder hitting the wall, his heart beating wildly.

A thousand fingers clawed at him. Tried to pull him from where he should be. Tried to force him
somewhere he did not belong.

“Merlin,” he choked out, and clutched at his stomach.

Beneath his feet, the earth began to quake.

Glasses rattled on their shelves, pictures shaking upon their walls.

Arthur squeezed his eyes closed, fighting a rising wave of nausea.

In his mind’s eye he saw the Lake of Avalon full of golden light, bubbling violently up against a
glowing blue net. As the net thickened and glowed brighter, he saw the mountain protecting
Camelot crumble to dust, and the manor fall to ruins, and Merlin collapse to the grass at his feet,
eyes wide and golden and unseeing.
Arthur pushed himself from the wall, shaking his head to clear it. The trembling of the earth and
the weakness of his legs dropped him at once to the ground, but he grabbed hold of the furniture
and the wall and pulled himself back up, shoving himself forward, towards the stairwell.

The net was tightening. The claws tearing at him.

In the corridor upstairs Arthur fell twice more, his legs giving out under him, but each time he
scrambled back to his feet and charged forward, his heart pounding itself out of his chest in panic.

Because down the hall he could hear Merlin screaming.

Arthur fell upon his chamber doors and yanked them open, to find his rooms filled with blue
glowing mists and ribbons of gold light and swiftly moving miniature white stars.

Merlin’s body was arching under the sheets, arms thrown to the sides. “Arthur!” he cried out,
voice breaking in his anguish.

Arthur staggered forward, falling onto the bed, scrambling over the mattress to collapse atop
Merlin. “Wake up!” he shouted, though as he spoke the words he knew that this was no simple
dream, that the things around them were not Merlin’s doing, that this time they were in danger-

Merlin’s eyes snapped open, unseeing, glowing gold. “I’m doing it stop it stop it give him back
give him back I’m doing it!”

The clawing intensified, tearing at him, while the light of the room grew brighter around him and
the earth shook beneath him.

Arthur pushed himself onto his elbows and pressed his hands to the sides of Merlin’s face. “No
magic without your king’s permission, Merlin! You swore a solemn oath! Don’t you dare break
it!”

Merlin stared wild eyed at the ceiling, blinking over and over, the gold within his eyes fading and
surging, as if uncertain. “Give him back,” he whimpered. “Arthur-“

“I’m here, Merlin, it’s Arthur, I’m here, I’m safe.” He felt his strength give way, and he collapsed
down upon Merlin’s body, pressing them both to the bed, almost too weak to do anything but turn
his head and press his lips against Merlin’s ear. “Listen to me,” he forced out. “The magic you’re
doing must be stopped. Do you hear me? Now obey your king’s command and stop this!”

Merlin gasped sharply, the gold fading from his eyes. When his breath rushed from him all the
tension of his body went with it, and he collapsed, motionless, upon the bed.

The glowing lights vanished. The shaking of the earth ceased.

In the silence that followed he heard Merlin whisper his name. “Arthur?”

Arthur pushed himself to his elbows, looking down into dazed blue eyes, realizing that his strength
had returned, and the sensation of being clawed apart had vanished as well.

Merlin flung his arms around Arthur and pressed his face into Arthur’s neck, lips against his pulse.
“You’re alive,” he breathed against his skin. “You’re alive...”

“You dreamed I was in danger,” Arthur said in a low voice.

Merlin nodded, his trembling increasing, his breaths heaving from him.
Panicked, Arthur thought. Terrified. Desperate.

Vulnerable.

Arthur turned his head to stare out the lakeside window at the ruined tower, his eyes narrowing, his
jaw tightening, his body tensing.

Because he was thinking about dreams.

And about magic.

And about war.

As Merlin clung to him, the greatest sorcerer to ever walk the earth brought low by his own fear,
Arthur thought about Camelot.

About all that he had lived through, and seen, and suffered, and learned.

He thought of the gruesome dreams of the Dark Tower that had lead his Knights into danger. Of
the terrifying hallucinations that had weakened his father’s rule.

He thought of Cenred’s armies besieging his castle from without. And of Agravaine’s men
infiltrating the citadel from within.

He thought of people he’d mistakenly trusted, because they were his kin. People who had lied to
him, because they desired his power, or they feared what he would do with it.

And he thought, too, of the creatures of the Old Religion on the Isle of Avalon. Of what Gaius had
written about them. Of what Merlin had said about them.

Arthur felt his breath catch in his chest.

Of course, he thought.

Of course…

Beneath him he could feel Merlin still trembling, even more violently than before, his breaths
growing quicker, more out of control.

With great care he moved on the bed to lay at Merlin’s side. Merlin turned with him, as if
frightened to lose contact, pressing himself as completely as he could against Arthur’s body, his
legs in a jumble with his own, his ear pressing to Arthur’s chest, over his heartbeat.

“Breathe, Merlin,” Arthur said softly, and he slid his fingers through Merlin’s hair to soothe away
his panic, just has he’d done so many nights before.

He waited until the worst of it had passed before speaking.

“I was in the lake, wasn’t I,” Arthur said. “You dreamed I was being pulled back through the
Gates of Avalon.”

Merlin looked up at him in open astonishment. “How did you know that?”

He began to answer, but then remembered the Lady of the Lake.

Of her speaking to him in secret ways. Of how she’d returned his sword to him when he’d been
alone, in the depths of the night. Of how she’d pressed her finger to her lips.

“What else happened in your dream?” Arthur asked instead. “Tell me all of it.”

“Ropes of magic attacked you from beneath the lake.”

“You saw them as a threat then. These ropes of magic.”

“Yes,” Merlin said emphatically. “They were the things pulling you under the water. They were
going to take you back if I didn’t do something for them.”

“Do you remember what it was?”

Merlin gave a confused shake of his head, brows pulled together, lips pressed thin.

Arthur looked out the window again, at the tower upon its isle, silent in the moonlight, appearing
for all the world as if it had been abandoned for a thousand years.

“Merlin,” he said, “do you trust me?”

Merlin pushed himself up to his elbow. “What kind of question is that?”

“A question I want you to answer. Do you trust me?”

“You know that I do.”

“Good.” Arthur leaned forward and kissed him, deeply and passionately, until he felt Merlin relax
against him, a sound of contentment rumbling from his throat. With reluctance, Arthur eased the
kiss into something more tender, before finally leaning away. “Better?”

Merlin gave him the wide delirious smile of the truly besotted. Not a single trace of any of his
earlier panic remained. “Better,” he sighed.

“Wonderful,” Arthur said. “Now let’s go.”

Merlin sat up, frowning at him, as Arthur climbed out of bed. “Go?”

“You’ll need to get dressed.”

“Dressed?”

“Formal clothes, for ceremony,” Arthur said, walking over to his wardrobe.

“Are we expecting nobility to visit us?” Merlin asked, and laughed softly.

Arthur stared at him.

The smile melted from Merlin’s face. “Arthur-“

“No questions,” Arthur told him.

“No questions about what?”

“That right there is a question, Merlin, and I just said no questions. Were you not listening?”

Merlin climbed from the bed, staring at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Have you been at the wine
while I was asleep?”
Arthur grabbed a pair of sleeping trousers from his wardrobe and threw them at Merlin, who was
distractingly naked in the moonlight. “Go and do as I say.”

“Why?” Merlin pressed, completely ignoring everything he’d been told to do.

Which was hardly a surprise, Arthur thought. And which meant that he was going to have to tell
Merlin at least a small part of it. Because Merlin had never been good with following orders to
begin with. He was simply horrendous at it if he didn’t understand what was going on.

“I’m afraid,” Arthur said in a low voice, “that I can’t tell you why.”

Merlin pulled on the trousers, his expression moving from curious to suspicious in a heartbeat.
“Arthur-“

“Do you remember,” Arthur interrupted, “how you knew about the old path over the ridge?
Answer me with yes or no.”

Merlin had gone very still, his eyes dark in the dim light. “Yes.”

“Do you remember what I asked you in the vaults? A concern of mine, that you thought was no
concern at all?”

Merlin stared at the floor a long moment. Then he looked sharply up at Arthur, at first surprised,
then angry.

Arthur tilted his head, a subtle motion that only Merlin could interpret as ‘yes, as it turns out, I was
right’.

Rage pinched Merlin’s expression, and he turned to glare over at the window.

Arthur grabbed his shoulders and turned him away from watching eyes. “I need you to swear
something to me,” he said, keeping his words slow, his voice firm. “Are you listening, Merlin?”

Merlin had been glancing towards the window. At the tone, he returned his attention to Arthur.
“Yes, sire,” he said firmly.

“I need you to swear to me that you’ll do as I command. Without question.”

The pain of fifteen long centuries of loneliness shone clearly from Merlin’s eyes. “You don’t know
what you’re asking of me,” he whispered.

“I do. I’m asking for you to trust in me. Just as you did long ago.”

Merlin hesitated longer than Arthur would have liked. “I swear it, sire,” he said finally.

“Good.” Arthur took Merlin’s arm and guided him to the door. “Now go and get dressed. Formal
clothes for ceremony. And fetch your staff as well.”

“My staff? From-?”

“Yes.”

Merlin grabbed hold of the doorway, his head bowing, his breath heaving from him.

Realizing the seriousness of the situation, Arthur thought.

“Arthur…” Merlin whispered, sounding as if a question was going to follow, but then falling
silent.

“Believe in me,” Arthur said firmly. “As you once did.”

“There’s nothing that I believe in more,” Merlin said, and he forced a small, sad smile.

Arthur had to fight against a powerful urge to take him into his arms. “Go and find something to
wear that doesn’t look like you’ve scrubbed the floors with it,” he forced out. “And a jacket as
well. I feel like an evening stroll.”

“Yes, sire,” he said firmly, drawing his shoulders back, a flash of strength in his eyes now, or of
resolution, both of which were a good start.

Arthur watched him walk down the corridor, almost at a march, and found himself thinking that
perhaps they did have a fighting chance after all.

When he was alone, he closed both his doors, and walked barefoot to lakeside window, to stare out
at the tower.

The sight of it in the moonlight reminded him of how it had appeared in the images shown to him
by the crystals.

They were the key to this, he thought.

The tower. The lake. The Stone Circle. Excalibur. He and Merlin upon the shore.

And his vision, he thought. That played a part too.

Of standing in his throne room. Of the sparkling strand of gold that had stretched from Merlin’s
wrist to his own, and on to the hilt of his sword, and from there into the ground.

‘You will know what to do.’

‘Now we won’t get lost.’

In the silence of the night, Arthur drew in a deep breath, grinning wildly, a surge of excitement
speeding his heart. The same savagery he’d felt before the first clash of a sword, the first cry of
battle.

I know what you’re about now, Arthur thought at the tower. Finally, I know.

And what’s more, I know, now, what to do.

 and i always have

Merlin had to dig through four wooden chests in his library before he found the clothes he’d worn
at the last formal ceremony in Camelot. Which had been Arthur’s wedding to Gwen.

He nearly fell twice pulling on his dark breeches and stockings and boots, then somehow got
tangled in the laces of his red tunic, and finally almost choked himself tying on his purple
neckerchief.

Something had happened, he kept thinking. Something awful enough that it had set Arthur upon a
course of action he could not even discuss. Because apparently they were being watched.

Merlin fought back an urge to use his magic to see if it were true. Arthur had not told him to do it.
And he could not ask for permission with them being observed.

Who was doing it? he wondered. How are they doing it? The manor should be safe. His
enchantments and the stones themselves enough protection. But apparently they weren’t. And
Arthur had known, when he himself hadn’t.

It seemed impossible. But Arthur had seemed very sure. And then he’d urged trust, and belief, and
obedience. Which were all very, very bad signs, Merlin thought. Because they all meant the same
thing.

Something horrible was about to happen.

Stop, he told himself firmly. Don’t think about that. Just focus on what Arthur told you to do.
Just focus on what he needs. You can face this with him, whatever it is. You can face anything
for him. Even if it means dying for him, or as near to it as you can get.

Merlin retrieved the Sidhe staff from under his bed, a dozen more horrible thoughts trying to force
themselves into his mind, and then strode with it from his chambers.

As he walked down the corridor his muscles ached, sore in ways that he would have liked to savor
without the interruption of imminent death.

“Story of my damned life,” he muttered.

When he yanked open the doors to Arthur’s chamber, he froze in the doorway, staring.

Arthur was standing in the middle of his rooms, in his chainmail, and red cloak, and dark breeches,
and boots.

Excalibur was sheathed in the scabbard at his belt.

And upon Arthur’s head was his crown.

Oh my god he’s beautiful, Merlin thought, which he knew at once was not what he should be
thinking. What he should be thinking was ‘why is he dressed that way’. But he couldn’t help
himself. In the flickering candlelight, dressed in his regal attire with his golden crown, the sight of
his king took his breath away.

I will die a thousand times to protect this man, Merlin thought desperately, as Arthur stepped over
to him, to fuss with his jacket and neckerchief, as if they were preparing to attend a feast together.
“You wore this at my wedding,” Arthur said.

“You remember how I looked that day?” Merlin asked, proving once again that his brain was
utterly uninvolved with the nonsense coming out of his mouth.

“You weren’t the only one who was watching constantly,” Arthur said in a clearly flirtatious tone,
which was utterly disorienting, because weren’t they about to die horrible deaths now? And here
was Arthur, flirting? And still fussing with his jacket?

“I- Arthur- What?”

Arthur gave him one of those fond but exasperated looks that suggested a distinct lack of
brainpower on the part of his servant. “There is something missing, however,” he noted.

Merlin looked down at his jacket. “There is?”

“I have it over here.”

He followed Arthur to his dining table, to the wooden box that sat upon it. The one that had held
his crown all those centuries.

Arthur reached into the box and withdrew a small round metal medallion that bore a raised cross
and a dragon. “This belonged to my mother,” he said. “It bears her sigil.” He stepped very close
to Merlin, taking hold of his jacket, to attach the medallion to the cloth, right over his heart.

“Arthur, I can’t…”

“Just… take it,” Arthur said gently, glancing up at him with his blue eyes earnest now. When he’d
secured the medallion in place, he rested his palm upon it. “When you look at it, remember that we
stand together. You and I. Always.”

Merlin felt his throat tighten, and his stomach twist, positive now that something horrible was
about to happen. “Please tell me what’s going on,” he whispered.

Arthur twitched his brows together. Stern, reproving.

“Right,” Merlin sighed.

Arthur stepped back from him, his cloak swaying around his legs, his expression hardening, his
hand gripping the hilt of his sword.

Battle ready, Merlin thought. He straightened out of reflex, drawing in a deep breath, feeling the
weight of the sigil on his chest.

“Beautiful night for a stroll, don’t you think, Merlin?” Arthur asked casually, his light tone in stark
contrast to his narrow blue eyes, his thin smile.

“Whatever you say, sire,” Merlin said.

“I should like to have that in writing,” Arthur noted, as he strode past.

Merlin choked out a laugh, then hurried to follow his king, as he strode down the corridor, his
cloak trailing behind him, his crown sparkling in the torchlight.

They made their way down the corridor in silence, their bootsteps echoing from the stone walls,
Arthur’s chainmail links scraping softly together, Merlin’s wooden staff thumping into the floor
every few steps.

Without a word Merlin followed Arthur down the stairwell into his residence, and from there out
the North Tower door, into the cool humid air.

It was a night like any other, he thought, as Arthur lead him down the moonlit hillside. Only a few
frogs and crickets disturbed the soft whisper of the waves. No other creatures stirred. At least,
none that he could see.

Merlin’s gaze kept straying to the tower upon its isle. He wanted desperately to reach out to the
ancient magics. To see if anything had changed.

He felt his magic bubbling within him, restless and dissatisfied. The urge to do something was
dizzying. But he resisted it. It was an old impulse. A bad habit. Taking action all on his own.
Making decisions for his king.

Once, long ago, he’d tried to save Albion all alone. And for fifteen centuries he’d lived with the
consequences. Fifteen long, lonely centuries. He would not be making that same mistake again.

I will follow Arthur’s lead, Merlin told himself angrily. I will do what he tells me. I will. Even it
leads me into the very mouth of hell.

Or somewhere very close to it, Merlin thought, as he followed Arthur into the park, to the
heelstone of the Stone Circle of Avalon. The exact spot where he’d sent Arthur away so long ago.

Merlin stepped to Arthur’s side and planted his wooden staff upon the ground.

Arthur drew his sword and held it before him, shoulders back, chin lifted. “I am King Arthur
Pendragon of Camelot!” he yelled to the tower, in his battlefield voice. “I demand an audience
with the Elders of the Sidhe!”

All around them, silence.

Just the water rippling to the shore. The crickets and the frogs.

Merlin glanced over and saw Arthur’s jaw tighten, as expected. Arthur had always hated being
ignored.

“All right,” Arthur said. “If it’s to be that way. Let’s get their attention.”

“How?”

“Let’s begin,” Arthur said sweetly, “by blowing that damned tower to hell.”

Merlin felt his breath rush from him, his eyes widening, his heart beating wildly in his chest.
“You… want me… to…”

Arthur turned a brutal, mirthless smile to him. “Destroy the tower.”

“Destroy the tower,” Merlin whispered, dizzy at the thought of it.

“Now,” Arthur commanded, his voice filled with swords and blood and vengeance.

Merlin felt himself nodding, over and over, because oh god, yes, please, that damned tower, he was
going to be rid of that damned tower, how he loathed that damned tower-
“And Merlin?”

“Yes, sire?”

Arthur clapped a strong hand on his shoulder. “Don’t be subtle about it.”

Merlin laughed from deep in his chest, a hysterical and horrible sound, and he was laughing still
when he turned to face the lake to bring the perfect spell to his mind, because he’d had fifteen
centuries to plan how he wanted to destroy this blasted thing, he’d bloody fantasized about it, and
here was Arthur, ordering him to do it-

“Straight to hell, Merlin,” Arthur said bitterly, from where he’d stepped behind him, to watch over
his shoulder.

Merlin set his feet solidly on the earth, stared wild eyed at the tower, magic dancing upon his skin,
elemental and powerful and singing-

With a ferocious yell Merlin shoved out both arms straight in front of him, his magic exploding
from him, careening across the lake, stabbing deep into the heart of the tower.

Within the tower every stone remembered it had once been the earth, and that the earth had once
been fire, and that fire should burn-

The tower glowed yellow, and then white, and then exploded with a thunderclap that shook the
ground.

Its massive fireball roared outward, turning night to day, expanding in all directions across the
lake, blindingly bright like a sun, before its fires faded to red, and then orange, and then finally to a
grey ash that floated softly down upon the surface of the lake.

Merlin dropped his arms, staggering, choking out a strangled laugh.

Because the island was empty.

Nothing stood upon it at all.

Tears filled Merlin’s eyes, and he drew in a deep wheezing breath, and burst out laughing again,
positively hysterical with it, his body shaking so violently that it almost took his legs out from
under him.

He felt Arthur’s hands upon his shoulders, steadying him.

Merlin turned a proud grin to his king. “You mean like that, sire?” he asked, his voice stupidly
high and tinged with madness.

Arthur looked upon him with grim satisfaction. “Enjoyed that, did you?”

“You have no idea!” Merlin yelled to the heavens.

Arthur stepped to his side, squeezing his shoulder, hard.

Merlin got himself under control, though his heart was still beating wildly. “What do you want me
to do next?” he asked, staring in shock at the empty island. Gone, he thought. It’s gone, it’s gone,
it’s gone-

“What we do next depends entirely upon our friends the Sidhe,” Arthur said.
As if in response, blue mist rose from the lake and its island. A dozen small white lights floated
up from within the mist, to dart back and forth over the water.

“Well look at that,” Arthur said bitterly. “It appears we have been granted an audience. How
courteous of them.”

One of the lights sped towards them, to stop at the water’s edge.

Arthur approached the lake, his sword held at the ready. Merlin hurried to stay by his side,
following him until they stood with their toes nearly in the water.

Merlin could feel ancient and powerful magic radiating from the Sidhe Elder in its flowing robes
with its small wooden staff. The small blue creature was hovering nearly motionless in the air, its
blue wings beating rapidly, so that even Arthur could see it clearly.

It looked, Merlin thought, extremely angry.

Arthur appeared unbothered. “I bid you welcome, Lord Elder of the Sidhe,” he said formally, as if
he were upon the steps of his citadel, with all of his Knights lined up behind him.

“You dare to attack the ancient home of the Sidhe!” the creature bellowed, its voice deep and
echoing despite its size.

“You dare to attack us on our lands,” Arthur growled out in response.

“Attack?” Merlin asked.

“Your dreams, Merlin,” Arthur said over his shoulder.

My dreams? he thought. But they weren’t-

The Sidhe Elder looked over at him, sneering.

And Merlin felt his breath surge from him, as if he’d been kicked in the stomach.

“My dreams,” he whispered, as a dozen hints and signs that he should have noticed before all
finally now resolved in perfect clarity.

Idiot, he thought viciously. To not even consider, not even for a second, that his dreams could have
been caused by something outside of him! And he should have! He absolutely should have,
because of the timing of them, and the nature of them, and even the feeling of them!

But no, he’d been so blindly terrified of the unthinkable, of becoming Morgana, of turning into
everything he hated, that he never stopped for one second to consider any other alternative.

Watching us, Merlin thought bitterly, through a dizzying cloud of rage. They’ve been watching us-
watching me! So of course they knew I would react that way!

“Upon what grounds have you attacked us?” Arthur demanded. “What is it you want?”

“We want what is ours!” the creature hissed at him. “The power beyond the Gates of Avalon! He
will bind it to us, now, so we may take our rightful place within the ancient magics of the world!”

“You could have just asked me to help!” Merlin burst out. “I’ve helped others rejoin the ancient
powers before without them torturing me into doing it!”
The small creature sneered at Merlin, its small face full of disgust. “The Sidhe do not need your
help to leave, Emrys the Abomination, Traitor of the Old Religion! We need you only to bind to us
what is ours!” The Elder flew in front of Arthur’s face, inches from his nose. “Tell your servant to
do as the Sidhe command!”

“What if I do?” Arthur challenged. “What do we get in return?”

“In return, we will leave,” the creature said, and offered a sharp toothed smile. “In return, the price
for your life will be paid, and you will not be drawn back through the Gates of Avalon into
darkness and death.”

Merlin surged forward at the same time as Arthur stepped to block his path, clearly anticipating his
loss of control at the threat.

“I see,” Arthur said casually. “So then it’s the Sidhe who are to decide the price I am to pay for
my life, is it? And it’s the Sidhe who control my ties to Avalon. Is that what you’re telling us?”

The creature’s expression visibly twitched.

“An interesting story,” Arthur said. “But then… most lies are.”

The creature hissed, its wings flapping furiously.

“In the interest of peace,” Arthur said in a tight voice, “I will overlook your… mistake. Just as I
am willing to overlook all of the mistakes of the past.”

Merlin watched Arthur lower his sword and step back, giving the small creature space, regarding it
calmly despite all that had happened.

He was negotiating, Merlin realized. Even after all that had happened, Arthur was trying to
negotiate peace. Just as he had long ago, when he’d offered a king grieving his murdered son a
truce. Or when he’d offered a queen mourning her murdered husband half his own kingdom in
exchange for a battle of champions.

“I want peace between us,” Arthur was saying to the small creature, with a nobility that made
Merlin’s heart ache. “But there can be no peace without honesty. The time for deception, and lies,
must end. Here. Now. With us. So I will ask you once more, my lord Sidhe. If I tell Merlin to
do as you ask, what will happen?”

The creature bared its teeth, pointing its staff at Arthur furiously. “The Sidhe owe you no
answers! We have been here since before your kind spread like a plague upon the world! Who are
you to demand anything of us!”

“I am the one whose name was uttered in prophecy since before you were ever born!” Arthur
growled at him. “And I am the only one with the power to give you any part of your demands! If
you refuse to deal with me, then these negotiations are at an end!”

Arthur turned to walk away, his cloak swirling around his legs.

“Eku kjadra endolez!” the Sidhe roared, and thrust his staff forward.

“Scildan!” Merlin yelled, shoving out an arm, so that the Sidhe’s magic rebounded harmlessly
against a glowing golden sphere.

The creature roared in anger, hovering furiously outside Merlin’s protective shield.
“You will give us what we want, Emrys the Abomination!” it roared. “Through the ceaseless
torment of your dreams or through the madness that claims you after the death of your little king!
When you are hollow and broken and lost you will be ours to do with as we wish! And when we
are finished with you we will make you beg us to end your miserable existence!”

Arthur moved so quickly that Merlin only heard the whistling of his blade, slicing through his
spell and the Sidhe Elder, before the creature exploded like a firework of light and magic.

“I think not,” Arthur said bitterly, his breath heaving from him.

At the center of the lake, all of the white lights of the Sidhe were darting around madly. Several
dozen more were rising up from the blue mists, which were rippling and surging upon the surface
of the water.

“They are definitely going to kill us,” Merlin said.

“They’re welcome to try.” Arthur grabbed Merlin’s arm and pulled him two steps forward, so that
their feet were in the lake.

“What are you doing?”

Arthur crouched down and stared into the water. “They’re distracted. Can you show yourself?”

At Arthur’s feet, the water stilled, and Merlin could see a woman staring up at them, her hands
raised to press against the top of the water from beneath.

“Freya,” Merlin breathed, and he crouched down beside Arthur, reaching into the cold water. But
his hand passed through hers as if she weren’t there at all.

“They’ve been holding her prisoner, along with the rest of the magics of Avalon,” Arthur said in a
low voice, extending his hand into the water. “Here. Reach through me.”

Freya’s hand closed around his, and he pulled her up, standing with her. She smiled in relief, water
dripping from her dark dress and long hair. “Thank you sire,” she said. “Hello, Merlin.”

“Freya?” Merlin asked, dazed. “What-?”

“Behind you,” Arthur said, pointing to the lake.

Several Sidhe had separated from the group and were speeding towards them, armed and
murderous.

“Abædaþ drýlicu,” Merlin hissed, magic surging from him, eyes flashing gold.

Between where they stood and the Sidhe attackers, the air rippled and warped. When the Sidhe
struck the distortion, they rebounded violently from it, ricocheting to the far shore.

Merlin turned to find Arthur speaking with Freya in hushed whispers.

“Then it can be done,” Arthur was saying.

“It cannot be undone for all his long life, my lord,” Freya said softly.

“I understand,” Arthur said.

Merlin frowned at both of them. “Arthur, what-“

“The lake, Merlin,” Arthur snapped.

A dozen more Sidhe were rushing towards them. They passed through his magic barrier with a
surge of their own magic, swiftly closing in on their location.

“Right, fine, don’t tell me what’s going on,” Merlin muttered angrily. “I’ll just stand here and keep
us all from getting killed, then, shall I?” He swept an arm in front of him, growling out
“foerbaernan!” and then watched in furious satisfaction as the water beneath the Sidhe caught fire
in a spectacular fashion.

“Sire!” Freya called out.

The blue mist all over the lake had brightened, and thickened. At Freya’s feet it was surging
upward to engulf her.

Arthur staggered sideways, grimacing, arm grabbing around his stomach.

“Hurry, sire!” Freya called, as she watched the mist climb over her. “Remember the anchor or you
both will be lost! And time! You must make time!”

“Freya!” Merlin shouted, reaching to her, only to have his fingers close on fading blue mist.

“Merlin,” Arthur choked out, and then fell hard against him.

Merlin caught him around the waist, supporting him, even as his own stomach twisted, and his
head started to spin. Arthur had gone ghostly white in the moonlight, even his lips pale as snow.
“What’s happening?” Merlin asked, staggering on weakening legs.

Arthur shoved the point of his sword into the water by his feet, slicing it back and forth. Where
the blade touched the water, the mist receded, but then flowed back at once after it had moved on.

“It’s the Sidhe,” Arthur said weakly. “They’re strengthening the-“ He squeezed his eyes shut.
Grabbed the back of Merlin’s neck. Shoved his head forward. “Look down, Merlin.”

Merlin stared at the lake, fighting his own growing dizziness and weakness. Around his boots and
Arthur’s the thick blue mist undulated and thickened, growing brighter every second.

“Not that way,” Arthur growled, and cuffed him on the back of his head. “Come on, Merlin-“

“Right- Sorry-“ Merlin closed his eyes and shifted his focus, to touch the ancient magics of the
world.

What he saw at his feet took his breath away.

Because the mist wasn’t mist at all. It was a net of of enchantments. Millions of enchantments.
Incredibly ancient and immensely strong. All focused on restraining a greater and more ancient
magic deep below.

Avalon, Merlin thought in wonder, and he tilted his head, looking past the Sidhe magic, into a
churning golden volcano of ancient power. It shone like the heart of a star, its tendrils reaching
deep into the earth and out hundreds of kilometers in all directions.

Freya was there. He could sense her. She was safe, but trapped, so long as the powers of Avalon
were trapped.

And she wasn’t the only one.

“Arthur,” Merlin whispered, and he looked over at his king.

Golden threads of magic from beyond the Gates of Avalon stretched up through the Sidhe magic,
right to where they stood. Golden threads that wound around and through Arthur’s body,
connecting him to the ancient forces. Golden threads that were snapping, as the Sidhe who were
gathered in the middle of the lake strengthened their chokehold of enchantments upon the power
below.

Merlin staggered, and Arthur with him, feeling the horrible pull of the Sidhe magics. It’s because
we’re tangled, he realized. My magic through Arthur. His ties to Avalon through me. That’s why
it was affecting them both. Though Arthur far worse than he.

He felt something clawing at him, ripping at him.

Arthur grabbed onto his shoulder hard, choking out a pained and rattling breath that reminded him
of stumbling towards this lake fifteen hundred years ago.

Dying, Merlin thought in a panic. He’s dying-

“Why didn’t you say something!” Merlin demanded, wild and desperate.

“No time for that,” Arthur said through clenched teeth. “The island, Merlin- The source of their
power- You have to destroy it.”

Merlin glanced over his shoulder, saw the Sidhe all go very still above the center of the water,
evidently still watching them. “I can’t,” he said, as he hauled Arthur up against him. “If I destroy
the island, the enchantments will crumble, and all of the magic of Avalon will burst free all at
once! It will rip the world apart!“

“It won’t.” Arthur squeezed his eyes closed, his face contorting in pain. “For once in your damned
life, Merlin, will you trust me and do as I say!”

Arthur’s hand fell upon Merlin’s chest, his pale fingers closing around the medallion pinned over
his heart.

Merlin saw more of the strands of magic that held Arthur to life snap and break.

Yes, Merlin thought wildly. Yes. All right. Destroy the island. To hell with the world anyway.
The world was nothing without Arthur in it. And if Arthur said to destroy the island, then that’s
what he was going to do.

“Watch me,” Merlin said breathlessly, turning them both to look into the center of the lake.

“Hurry,” Arthur whispered, resting his forehead against Merlin’s cheek, his golden crown cold
against Merlin’s temple.

In the center of the lake, the Sidhe began massing for an attack.

“Here goes,” Merlin said desperately, tightening his arm around Arthur’s back, hearing Arthur’s
breaths turn to weakening wheezes.

He stretched out an arm, and without even bothering to utter a spell, he reached through the ancient
magics of the world, following lines of power deep into the ground, to find where the rock and dirt
and magic bound the island to the earth.
With a vicious surge of magic, Merlin pulled.

Beneath their feet, the earth shuddered.

“Stranglican en flówendlioan,” Merlin said, sending another burst of magic into the untethered
land mass.

Beyond the frantic Sidhe, the island glowed with white light, as solid matter transformed itself into
its liquid form. It melted into the lake with the sound of a roaring waterfall, sending waves in all
directions.

The blue mist undulated all over the surface of the water, dimming in some places, vanishing
completely in others.

Arthur drew in a deep breath and stood entirely upright, his blue eyes wide and bright in the
moonlight. He raised his sword, giving Merlin a proud grin. “Very subtly done,” he said
conversationally, as if he hadn’t just been nearly dead in Merlin’s arms. Again.

“I really do hate you sometimes,” Merlin said, through his indescribable relief.

“You really don’t,” Arthur turned to the center of the lake, and frowned. “We appear to have a
small problem,” he noted.

“The end of the world?” Merlin asked, because below the rapidly dissipating blue mists, the water
had begun to glow faintly gold.

“The Sidhe, Merlin,” Arthur said impatiently, pointing with his sword to where a hundred lights
were racing towards them, their magic warping the air as they flew. “The little problem is the
Sidhe.”

“Was that a size joke?” Merlin asked nervously.

“Just a little one,” Arthur said.

Merlin snorted out a laugh despite himself.

“Feel free to stop them whenever the mood strikes,” Arthur said.

Merlin started to raise his hands, then felt a swell of power from beneath the lake. “I don’t think
I’m going to need to.”

A geyser of golden magic erupted from the churning waters, shooting five meters in the air,
engulfing a dozen of the Sidhe at once. When it vanished, they were gone. Another eruption
followed it, in another location, taking out a dozen more warriors.

Everywhere that the blue mist had vanished, golden magic was surging up from the lake, boiling to
the surface, bursting up and falling back in glowing arcs of light to the water, like flares on the
surface of the sun.

Beneath their feet, Merlin felt earth begin to quake.

The Sidhe scattered in all directions, retreating into the night.

“That is not a good sign,” Merlin said, looking around at the bubbling golden waters around his
feet.
“Come on,” Arthur said, grabbing Merlin’s arm. “We don’t have much time.”

“Time to do what?” Merlin asked, as he was pulled over to the heelstone of the Stone Circle.
“Time to stand here and die? Because that’s what’s going to happen when the last of the Sidhe
spells are gone! On account of you ordering me to rip out the bloody source of their power! And
free the largest collection of magic I’ve ever seen in my life!”

“We’re going to be fine,” Arthur said, as he paced around the heelstone, examining it closely.

“Oh, we are?” Merlin said incredulously.

“Yes, we are, once you channel the magics beyond the Gate of Avalon into yourself, and then
distribute them through the earth.”

Arthur had spoken confidently, as if this were a perfectly logical solution, instead of the stupidest
thing Merlin had ever heard in his entire life.

“What?” Merlin burst out, his voice echoing across the boiling golden water, over the rumbling of
the earth.

“It’s the only way to put the world back into balance, even you must see that,” Arthur said
impatiently.

“This was your plan all along?” Merlin yelled. “When you told me to rip the island out of the
earth? For me to harness the power of Avalon? Are you mental? I can’t control that much
power!”

“You don’t know until you try,” Arthur insisted.

Merlin staggered as a strong vibration rose up from beneath them, making the leaves in the trees
hiss with their shaking.

“Give me your hand,” Arthur said. When Merlin just stood and stared, Arthur grabbed his hand,
turned his palm upward, and then sliced Excalibur’s blade across his flesh.

“The hell, Arthur!” Merlin yelped, trying to pull away, as Arthur pulled him forward, to slide his
bleeding palm painfully along the rough rockface of the heelstone.

“For the anchor,” Arthur said, releasing him, so that he could slice his blade across his own palm,
and then drag his bleeding palm over Merlin’s blood on the stone.

When he’d finished, he lifted his blade over his head, and then drove it deep into the heelstone,
through the stains of their blood. Golden light sparkled around the metal as it passed into the
stone, shining from the sword’s hilt when Arthur released it.

“And now your staff,” Arthur said, grabbing it with his wounded hand, pressing Merlin’s bleeding
hand against it as well, and then shoving the staff deep into the stone, through the trails of their
blood, right beneath his sword.

“How do you know how to do any of this?” Merlin asked in a daze, because this was ancient
magic, and though he still didn’t grasp what it was for, somehow Arthur did.

“Later,” Arthur told him, grabbing onto Merlin’s hand, their blood slippery between them. He
pulled Merlin deep into the lake this time, striding forward until the cold water was to their waists,
Arthur’s cloak floating behind him.
Merlin watched the last of the Sidhe enchantments disappear. The lake shone with gold, its waters
churning, the earth heaving beneath their feet. “I don’t think there’s going to be a later, Arth-“

Raw power pulsed through Merlin’s body, scattering his thoughts, electrifying his blood, vibrating
through his bones.

“Hold fast to me!” came Arthur’s voice. “Dammit- we’re not done-!“

Another surge of power washed over Merlin, and he gasped, his body arching backward, his head
tilting so that he could see the stars wheeling above him in pinwheels of color and power and light.

“Bind us together!” Arthur yelled into the ear. “Quickly, Merlin.”

Bind us, he thought dizzily. He looked down at the thousands of gossamer golden strands of the
magics of Avalon that wound around his king. Silver ropes of his own magics already wound
tightly around Arthur too, stretching from his own magics.

“Ropes of magic,” he whispered, staring at them, dizzy with power. “No-” He tried to pull his
hand from Arthur’s grasp, where the feeling of connection was strongest. But Arthur wouldn’t let
go. “Ropes- no-“

“They’re not a danger, they’re the answer, Merlin! Now hurry- Take hold of me- Take hold of the
anchor- Of Excalibur in the stone- And bind us all together!”

Merlin felt himself fall forward against wet chainmail, his medallion pressing into his chest, his
cheekbone resting upon soft material covering a strong shoulder. “Can’t do that to you-“ he choked
out. “If I bind you- to me- You’ll be- immortal-“

Another wave of power had him convulsing, scattering his thoughts to the wind, dragging him out
of his body, away from the lake, into the surging forces of the world.

Arthur squeezed his hand in the cold water, a brilliant point of contact and pain, snapping him back
into himself. “I know, Merlin,” Arthur said firmly, his lips cold and wet and moving against his
own lips. “Now do it, please, before everything we worked to build is lost.”

The ‘please’ drove Merlin’s resistance from him, and he collapsed against his king, sending ropes
of magic around the sword of legend, and through the staff beside it, and down through the
heelstone, into earth, before stretching back to them both, to wind around them both, before
repeating the cycle, over and over again.

The sword, the stone, and the both of them together, in the lake.

“It’s done,” Merlin breathed out, and he wanted to cry, and wanted to laugh, but he couldn’t
remember why anymore, not with the ancient magics singing in his head.

Free, it wanted to be free, he could feel it far below, calling to them. It had been caged for so long.
It wanted to be free, now, to flow over the earth.

“It knows you,” Merlin said in wonder. “It knows both of us.”

“Tell it to trust us,” Arthur said into his ear. “Ask for time to channel it back into the earth without
destroying everything. Ask nicely, Merlin.”

Merlin closed his eyes, the power singing in his blood, in his bones.
Or no. Those weren’t his bones. Those were the rocks. Those were the mountains. And it wasn’t
his blood either. It was the rivers. It was the seas.

He felt hands moving over his back, sliding up into his hair.

“Don’t forget who you are,” came Arthur’s voice. “Don’t forget who I am. You belong to me,
remember? And I to you.”

A pressure against his chest. Something round and hard over his heart.

Merlin forced his throat to work. “Hold me.”

“I am holding you. Now come on. You can do this. I believe in you. I always have.”

Merlin reached into the churning magics deep within the earth, so powerful, so ancient.

But he was ancient too, wasn’t he. And here, deep within the earth, was his home. This was what
he was. A part of the earth and the sea and the stars. Magic itself.

His memory of being human felt like a strange dream.

“Merlin,” came his king’s voice. Desperate. Needing him.

Please, Merlin thought to the swirling powers below. Give us time. We will help you. We will
give you peace. But we need time. Or death will sit heavy upon you.

A swell of power washed away all he was, filling him with the feeling of being trapped,
manipulated, kept from where he belonged.

“Merlin,” came a voice in his ear, and strong arms around his body.

Just a little time, he thought. Please. If you give us time, I promise I will watch over you. Protect
you. For now and for all time. I swear it.

“As do I.”

A sigh from the ancient forces, a sigh that engulfed him, that pulled him down, beneath the surface
of the lake, into the water that was not water, into the forces of the earth, through the Gates of
Avalon.

An ocean of magic churned around him, and inside him, and was him, and wasn’t.

Within the undulating waves, a storm swirled in upon itself.

He fell into the storm, and shattered.

He was the waterfall and the sea, the bedrock and the sand, the sunlight trapped in the bark, the
flame dancing out into the air, the wind pressing into the vacuum, the colors dancing on the
borders of space.

He was all of these things, all at once.

He had always been, and always would be.

‘Merlin, stay with me.’

He remembered a brilliant smile, soft laughter, the weight of a body laying upon his own. He
remembered a wet red cape and armor, and driving down country roads, and the press of a body
against his back, of a warm mouth against his neck, of arms strong around him.

My king, he thought. My love.

‘Yes, Merlin, I’m here.’

‘I can’t see you. Why can’t I see you?’

‘It’s dark here. Don’t look. Just feel. Can you feel me with you?’

‘I can.’

‘Good.’

A surge of power, deep in the earth, yearning for freedom, straining to be free, to rejoin the ancient
magics of the world.

‘Come on, Merlin. We gave our word. Are you ready?’

‘Yes, sire.’

‘Good. Let’s begin.’

 the cycle of the year

The disappearance of the Island of Avalon heralded a summer more beautiful and bountiful and
gentle than any other on record.

It was a phenomenon that was not only limited to the lands formerly known as Albion, but that also
stretched all over the northern hemisphere.

Rains came when they were needed, sunny days as well, and temperatures stayed exactly where
they should be, with storms gentling the temperatures without any harm.

Crops grew with no tending, neglected fields yielded food from dormant seeds, and harvests were
bountiful and healthy, unbothered by drought or blight.

Untended patches of land sprouted blueberry and raspberry bushes, apple and cherry trees, all
growing years within one season, to bear fruit within weeks, delighting hungry wanderers as they
ventured through.

Along every roadside where there was a strip of grass, wildflowers bloomed in every color
imaginable. From cracks in the pavement in the most densely populated cities, wild roses stretched
forth, and climbed up brickwork and benches and signs.

Rivers near industrialized cities transformed into pristine waterways, lakes revealing their secrets
deep below their clear waters, and even the great oceans evened out in their temperatures, easing
hurricanes into summer storms.

Once the Northern Hemisphere lost its hold on the plentiful daylight hours, and passed into
autumn, life flooded into the Southern Hemisphere of the world.

Beauty sprang from every inch of earth. Food grew plentiful and fresh. Rain and sun brought with
them the promise of life and a relief from hardship.

Advancing deserts receded, crops grew without drought, trees held back the forces of erosion,
deforested mountainsides regrew fields of lush and blossoming trees.

All around the world the price of food dropped, and famine and disease were hardly ever brought to
mind.

And everything grew a bit quieter, and a bit more peaceful, at least for a time.

In the town of Avalon, the late Spring of the following year brought with it scores of blue
butterflies, all emerging from their winter slumber.

Entomologists delightedly called this newly discovered species Polyommatus Avalonica, after their
home in a meadow beside the legendary Lake of Avalon.

Eleanor Godwyn thought they were a damned menace.

It was by swatting at the things with a broom two months ago that she wound up falling down the
last two steps of the café porch, and breaking her leg in too many places for a woman her age.

Eleanor glared at several butterflies dancing over the lake, shifting uncomfortably in the folding
chair that the boys had set by the Stone Circle.

She appreciated Heath and Danyl involving her in the preparations for the Summer Solstice
Festival this year. But the damp weather and all the walking were playing hell with her leg, even
with her cane. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold out before the pain became too
much, even with the damned pills.

“Eleanor, are you listening?” Heath was asking.

She planted her cane on the ground between her feet, and stared at the sign that Heath had set up by
the heelstone.

Two quid to try and pull out the sword of the Stone Circle of Avalon, she read. A good idea, quite
honestly. But then, Heath was always full of good ideas. He had been ever since he’d taken over
that part of the business from her.

“You can’t see that it’s for charity easily enough,” she told him, because she couldn’t have
him getting a big head about things. The boy’s ego was already as big as the lake. “I’ll not have
people thinking we’re gouging them to do something they could come here and do for free.”

Heath planted his hand on the hilt of his sword and frowned at the sign. He was already dressed in
full chainmail and armor as a knight, even though the festival didn’t start until the next day.
Something about practicing for a sword exhibition later, she thought. Hadn’t he said something
like that?

Damned pain medication, she thought angrily. Making her memory fuzzy. Horrible thing, getting
old. She wished she had someone to complain to about that. Someone other than Frederick. He
worried about her enough already.

Emrys would understand, she thought wearily. But there’d been no sign of him, or of Merlin, or of
Arthur, for a year now.

She was beginning to lose hope that she’d ever see any of them again.

“I think it looks fine,” Heath was saying, his arms crossed over his chainmail. “The hand lettering
matches the sign for the Museum, and all the Festival stands too. Keeps our branding consistent.”

“I’ll have him write it again a little larger,” Danyl said softly at her side, hefting his clipboard, to
jot it down.

“There’s a good lad,” she told him, and he smiled down at her, brown eyes shining beneath hair
swept back from his eager face. He was looking quite a lot more confident these days, she thought.
Likely from the past year of running the Apothecary and managing the greenhouse.
Responsibilities like those will do that to a man.

“You’re supposed to be on my side,” Heath complained.

“I’ll make it up to you when we’re home,” Danyl told him, with a sly smile.

Up the hill, Eleanor noticed two vendors debating something loudly enough near their half
constructed booths that their voices were carrying down to where she sat by the lake. She tapped
Danyl’s leg with her cane. “We’re done down here. Let’s go see what that’s about.”

“Actually, there’s, um, one more thing on the list I was going to ask you about?” Danyl said,
sounding more hesitant than she’d heard him in months.
Eleanor reached for his clipboard, saw the item in question, and shoved the clipboard back at him.
“Nothing needs tending to there. Emrys will be back to dress like Merlin and tell the story of King
Arthur by the bonfire. He hasn’t missed telling that story in thirty years.”

“Eleanor,” Health said gently, “no one’s heard from him in a year. We can’t even get a hold of
Merlin or Arthur. The Constable told us-“

“What do the police know anyway?” she snapped at him. “They couldn’t even find any record of
Emrys, and I have plenty of paperwork with his name all over it.”

“Legal paperwork, not government paperwork,” Danyl said.

“Does it matter?” she snapped. Yes, the paperwork she’d found after Merlin had left had all been
legal documents, and land deeds, and bank accounts. But what did that matter? They were all
properly created, even if some of them had been been created without her permission.

Old fool, she thought angrily. Handing full authority to her to take care of the business ‘in the
event of his absence’. Just like Emrys to do some damn idiotic thing like that, without even talking
to her about it first.

She was absolutely going to have a word with him about it when she saw him again.

“I’m just saying,” Heath told her, “that Danyl could tell the story this year if-“

“Emrys Hunithson has never missed a Solstice Festival!” she said loudly. “And he won’t this year
either, not if he knows what’s good for him!”

“All right, fine, calm down,” Heath said, rolling his eyes at her. “Is that it then, Dan?”

Danyl checked the clipboard. “That’s it down here. Let’s go see what- Oh for pete’s sakes, Heath,
you know you can’t pull that thing out of there.”

Heath grabbed hold of the hilt of the sword, planted a foot against the rock, and hauled back
furiously, before letting go, shaking his head. “I’ll get it out eventually,” he said, and he grabbed at
the wooden staff halfheartedly, pulling upon that too, without success.

“Still wish we could catch whoever defaced the stones like that,” Eleanor said, gesturing for the
boys to help her up. She got to her feet with stabbing pains down her leg, and had to grind her teeth
to keep from making any noise about it. “Come on,” she told them both. “Up the hill.”

“I love that sword,” Heath was saying, as he put an arm around her back, guiding her up the hill.
“It’s great free marketing. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that one myself.”

“We don’t need any more people here,” Eleanor snapped. “We’re going to have enough of a crowd
this year with every nut in the tree coming to look at where the island used to be, claiming it’s
some sort of mystical nonsense.”

“I still can’t believe it’s gone,” Danyl said, and he glanced over his shoulder.

And then stopped walking.

Eleanor planted her cane on the ground and tried to take another step, but Danyl had stilled by her
side. “Well come on,” she told him.

“Eleanor,” Danyl breathed.

Upon the hill, the vendors and construction workers and musicians were all turning one by one to
stare at the lake.

Eleanor grabbed hold of Heath’s shoulder, and turned herself around to face the water.

A wall of white mist was rolling across the water, moving like a wave toward them, opaque and
several feet high.

She felt Heath take her arm as if to pull her up the hill, but she shook him off, starting back towards
the water’s edge. Danyl hurried to help her, walking with her to the heelstone, Heath at her other
side, steadying her.

The mist rolled up to the shore, and then stopped, as if hitting an invisible wall.

“So that’s strange,” Danyl said. He stepped to the edge of the water, reaching out to touch where
the mist simply ended.

Within the mist, Eleanor heard laughter.

“I can’t see,” said a familiar voice.

“You said to be subtle!” came a second voice.

And then more laughter, getting closer.

Eleanor saw two silhouettes staggering towards her. They emerged from the wall of mist in perfect
clarity, easily recognizable in the overcast light of morning.

Merlin Hunithson and Arthur Pendragon.

Arthur stepped upon the shore first, dressed in shining chainmail, a red cape flowing behind him, a
golden crown gleaming upon his head.

Arthur pulled Merlin to shore by the hand, but Merlin tripped on some reeds, and staggered into
Arthur, sending them both backwards to fall against the heelstone, next to the sword and the staff.

They both burst out laughing, clinging to each other, nearly falling down even with the heelstone
supporting Arthur’s back, Merlin leaning heavily upon him.

Drunk! Eleanor thought furiously. Gone for an entire year and worrying her out of her mind, and
now here they were, showing up with no warning as some sort of- of- drunken stunt!

“Merlin Hunithson!” Eleanor yelled.

Merlin looked over at her, still clinging to Arthur’s shoulders. He blinked several times, then
grinned wildly. “Eleanor!” he cried. He patted Arthur on the chest. “Look! It’s! It’s! Hello
there!”

Arthur fumbled his way free of Merlin’s embrace, swatting at him, giggling as he turned to face
her. “My lady!” he said grandly, one hand pressing to his chest.

He bowed low, and then swayed forward, and fell over, his crown falling off of his head.

Merlin burst out laughing, wrapping his arms around his stomach, pointing at where Arthur was
tangled in his cloak and trying to get to his hands and knees, still smiling like a drunken loon.
“Can’t hold his magic,” Merlin said to her, and then giggled himself silly, leaning sideways against
the heelstone.

“They’re not wet,” Danyl said.

“What?” Heath asked absently.

“They came out of the lake,” Danyl hissed, “and they’re not wet.”

“Where the hell have you two been?” Eleanor snapped. “Are you both drunk?”

Arthur grabbed his crown and climbed to his feet. He fought to untangle his cloak, finally shoving
it behind his shoulder, then planted his crown crookedly on his head. When he started to speak, he
got distracted by something up above. “Oh,” he said, and grabbed Merlin’s arm, pulling on it.
“Look. Look that’s. It’s. So beautiful.”

Merlin stared upward with him. “Pff. That’s nothing. Watch this.” And he swatted his arm
through the air.

Warm sunlight shone down upon them.

Eleanor looked up into a sky which moments before had been covered with grey clouds, but which
now was perfectly blue.

“Oh yes, that’s-” Arthur stared hard at Eleanor. “Do you have any scones?”

“Oh scones, yes, yes, yes,” Merlin said, pulling at Arthur’s arm.

“That is not drunk,” Heath said firmly. “That is something else.”

“Seriously,” Danyl said, “how are they not wet? They came out of the water.”

Arthur had leaned against Merlin, his head tipping forward, face pressed into Merlin’s neck.
“Chambers,” he said.

“Yes, chambers, yes, no, no, wait, wait,” Merlin slurred out, pulling Arthur over to the heelstone.
“Don’t forget- You have to- Thing.”

“Right. My.” Arthur pointed vaguely at the heelstone.

And then Arthur grabbed hold of the sword hilt, and pulled the sword free of the stone.

Eleanor swore she saw sparks arcing through the air as he did it, and even more shining upon the
blade as he slid the weapon into his belt.

“The hell!” Heath burst out.

“Now you,” Arthur said, pointing at the rock.

Merlin grabbed hold of the wooden staff, but got distracted by the people on the hill. “Wait, is it?
It’s the Solstice Festival!” he said happily, pulling free the staff as if it hadn’t been stuck fast for
the past year either.

Eleanor watched Merlin walk towards her, only to trip over the staff he held and fall to the ground
at her feet. Arthur burst out laughing, holding onto his crown as he doubled forward with it, his
cape sliding around his shoulders.
At her feet, Merlin looked up at her, grinning, his eyes half-lidded and unfocused.

“You were gone a year!” she yelled down at him, furious, because no one was answering her
questions, and she had had quite enough of their nonsense. “Where were you?!”

Merlin set his hand upon her ankle and looked up at her, his blue eyes concerned now. “You’re
hurt.” He looked over at Arthur. “Can I help her?”

Arthur shrugged. Looked at Eleanor. “Can he?”

“Can he what? What is the matter with you two? What were you doing in the lake?”

“Let me fix it,” Merlin said, as if she hadn’t just yelled at them both. “Here.”

She opened her mouth to call him a drunken inconsiderate arse when quite suddenly she felt a deep
rush of warmth in her bones, surging up from where his hand rested upon her ankle.

In amazement she stared down at the ground, looking for the source of the heat, only to find herself
looking into Merlin’s blue eyes, which weren’t blue now at all, but instead sparkled with flecks of
glowing gold.

When the gold faded, Merlin grinned up at her. “There you go!” he said brightly.

“God’s sakes,” Arthur said. He walked over to where Merlin lay, grabbed the back of his jacket,
and pulled him up off of the ground. “You shouldn’t- not in front of-” He broke off, frowning,
staring at Merlin’s lips.

“Someone needs to explain what is going on!” Eleanor yelled.

Merlin opened his mouth to speak. Arthur covered it with his hand.

“He’s too drunk on magic,” Arthur said sagely. He put his arm around Merlin’s shoulders.
“Chambers,” he said, grinning.

“Chambers,” Merlin agreed, nodding enthusiastically.

And they staggered up the hill together, arm in arm, occasionally tripping over nothing and almost
falling over.

By the lakeside, Eleanor stood with Heath and Danyl and watched them go.

“How the hell did he get that sword out of the stone?” Heath asked in wonder. “I just tried that!”

“It’s a trick,” Eleanor snapped. “They’re having us on, and I’ve had enough of it!”

She planted her cane upon the ground and stepped forward. And then stopped.

And then took another step without leaning on her cane. And stopped again.

Her leg didn’t hurt at all. In fact, it felt stronger than she could remember it feeling in a long, long
time. Both of her legs did.

She lifted her foot from the ground. Balancing herself on her injured leg.

Laughter echoed down from on top of the hill, as Arthur in his red cape and crown and Merlin in
his strange clothing walked towards the North Tower door.
She saw Merlin wave his arm in front of him. Saw the North Tower door swing open for them.
And then swing closed after they’d passed through.

Eleanor took several more steps without her cane, strong and stable and pain free.

“Be careful!” Heath said, coming to her side.

Eleanor stared up at the manor, which had stood on the shores of the Lake of Avalon for hundreds
and hundreds of years.

Always a Hunithson living there, she thought.

Merlin or Emrys. Emrys or Merlin.

‘I know everything he knows’, Merlin had told her once. ‘It’s like we’re the same person.’

Eleanor started forward again, each step more certain and more swift, until the boys had to hurry to
keep up, because she was striding up the hill faster than they, taking big steps over twigs and
stones, under a shining sun and clear blue sky which had not been there moments before.

When she reached the North Tower door, she tried to pull it open, but found it locked.

“Eleanor,” Danyl said, huffing as he caught up to her. “How are you doing this?“

“Inside,” she said, and she took the porch steps two at a time, and then jogged over to the door, her
heart beating wildly in her chest. Once inside, she flat out sprinted to the door to the residence, her
legs strong under her, her back not twinging at all.

The door to the downstairs residence was locked too, the doorknob not even moving, which is not
what it should be doing, even when locked.

“Eleanor!” Heath said, running through the crowded café, and over to the residence door, with
Danyl in tow. “How the hell are you running?”

“What is going on?” Danyl was asking Heath. “Was that a trick? Did you plan that with them and
not tell me?”

“No, Dan, I- Did you have something to do with this?” Heath asked Eleanor.

Eleanor turned to them both, thinking of her years here in this place, years working with Emrys,
and then working with Merlin, and then the long year of no Hunithson there at all, for the first time
in her living memory.

She thought of Merlin and Arthur emerging from the lake of Avalon completely dry, and Merlin
waving his arm, and the clouds turning into blue skies, and Arthur pulling free the sword in the
stone, dear god, he’d pulled free a sword from a stone, and of Merlin pulling free a wizard’s staff
as well.

She’d seen gold in Merlin’s eyes when that warmth had moved through her leg. Merlin’s eyes,
which were the same as Emrys’.

Eleanor drew in her breath, frowning at the impossibility of what she was thinking.

But this was Avalon, wasn’t it. Anything could happen here.

“Eleanor,” Danyl said, “are you all right?”

“I’m going home,” she said softly, and went to get her purse and coat.

Heath and Danyl both followed her to the front door, full of questions.

“What do you mean, you’re going home?” Heath demanded.

“We’re not done planning for the Festival!” Danyl said.

“I’m sure you boys can handle it,” she told them, and she didn’t even bother looking back when
she strode out the front door, her legs carrying her through the sunny day without a single twinge of
pain.
 only if you are king
Chapter Notes

Chapter contains sexual content

Merlin’s world was filled with Arthur.

With his breaths loud in his ear. With his chest sliding sweat slicked against his own. With his
hips pressing hard against his body, each time Arthur thrust deep inside him.

He tangled desperate fingers into soft blond hair, arms wound tight around strong shoulders,
arching on the bed as Arthur claimed him, rhythmic and slow, like waves washing from the lake to
the shore and back again.

The lake, he remembered. Yes, he had been with Arthur in the lake. And in the rivers rushing to
the lake, and in the streams bubbling into the rivers, and in the rain falling to the streams, and in
the droplets in the clouds high above vast blue oceans, far above the face of the earth, but still
safely anchored to the ancient magics, to their home, to each other.

Arthur’s moan brought him back to the present, to the feeling of Arthur’s hands roaming over his
body as if trying to claim lordship over every inch of him all at once.

Pleasure and magic surged forth in the wake of Arthur’s fingertips, dancing over his skin, wrapping
around Arthur, then winding back into him.

“You smell like magic,” Arthur said, pressing his face into Merlin’s neck, his words slurring
together. “Want to taste…” he said, and then did so, a low moan escaping him.

Merlin tilted his head on the pillow to give Arthur better access, grabbing the back of Arthur’s
neck to pull him closer, his thoughts scattering like leaves upon the fields.

He’d been in the fields with Arthur too, hadn’t he. In the fields and the pastures and the meadows
all over the world, guiding the magics of Avalon into them, renewing the soil and directing life into
thick green stems and leaves and fruit and flowers that reached eagerly for the sun and the rain.

Arthur spoke into his ear, words of devotion, and of desire, and of love.

It pulled Merlin’s thoughts back to trembling muscles and sweat soaked bodies and Arthur’s hand
sliding between them, stroking him with reverent fingers.

Merlin gave himself over to a swell of pleasure, yielding all that he was to this man who was his
world, his life, his heart. When his release washed over him, it felt like his magic, rising from deep
within, flowing over him and through him and out of him.

He drifted into ecstasy and magic and Arthur, his thoughts swimming, before slipping with a sigh
into darkness.
When he came back to himself, it was night.

Beyond the open lakeside window, the round white circle of the moon hung in the sky. As he
stared at it in wonder, trying to remember what it was, a cool nighttime breeze ghosted over his
bare body, making him shiver.

Arthur rubbed a palm over Merlin’s back. “Be still.”

“Cold,” Merlin said, shivering again, pressing himself to Arthur’s side.

“Blankets,” Arthur said.

Merlin nodded. “Cume mec wæstlingas.”

From the tangle at the bottom of the bed, the sheets and blanket slid up and over them, bringing
with them the stale smell of a year’s worth of dust and neglect.

“Lazy,” Arthur murmured.

“Yeah.”

“S’good though.”

“Mm hmm.”

For a while they lay together in the dark, as the night breezes blew humid lake air into the room,
stirring the cobwebs, fluttering yellowed papers on the dirty floor.

“Can’t figure,” Arthur said. “How long. Since the lake. It’s muddled.”

“Blurry,” Merlin agreed, rubbing his cheek against the fine hairs of Arthur’s chest.

“Not this though,” Arthur said, and he slid his fingernails along Merlin’s spine.

A sharp surge of desire had Merlin writhing against Arthur’s body. “Side effects,” he said.
Though of what, he couldn’t remember. Something to do with magic. Something important…

“I’m not hungry,” Arthur said, both hands moving over Merlin’s back now, warm against his bare
skin. “Not thirsty.”

“Not sore,” Merlin added, smiling.

“Good,” Arthur told him, low and husky and promising many filthy things.

Merlin drew in a deep breath, inhaling Arthur’s scent, trembling already from his light touches.
“Won’t last.”

“Come here then,” Arthur said, sounding breathless, and he cupped the side of Merlin’s face,
tilting it up to receive his kiss.

Merlin surrendered to it, writhing mindlessly against him. But even as his body sought its pleasure,
his mind kept nagging at him. He was forgetting something. Wasn’t he?

He frowned, pulling back from Arthur only enough to speak against his lips. “We should… Talk
about… About something…”
“Later,” Arthur said, and he rolled them together on the bed, settling between legs that Merlin
opened eagerly for him, and oh god Arthur was hard again, just like he was, and he wanted, he
wanted-

“Answers,” Merlin breathed into Arthur’s mouth, remembering at last what he’d been trying to say.

“Later,” Arthur said against his lips.

An argument that sounded all the more logical as Arthur thrust against his body. “Yes,” he said.
“Yes, please, Arthur-“

“Want you,” Arthur growled, one arm sliding around his back, hauling his hips upward.

“Take me then,” Merlin said, and then arched upon the bed, a gasp escaping him, as Arthur thrust
back inside, right where he wanted him, right where he belonged.

For a long while their sighs and moans filled the room. Merlin let himself float in the haze of
desire and of magic, coming back to himself only at the touch of Arthur’s hand, stroking him to
completion as Arthur trembled and cried out and spent himself inside him.

As his pleasure faded, he realized that the echoes of magic had begun to fade as well. He had
begun to feel sore, his muscles cramping, his body more exhausted from the exertion than the
times before.

Arthur was feeling the change as well, judging by how abruptly his weight fell upon him, crushing
him to the bed.

“Off,” Merlin breathed, patting at Arthur’s shoulder.

“Mmff,” Arthur said, shoving off of him to flop onto his back beside him, where he promptly
passed out.

Merlin intended to check on him, and to mock him for his lack of stamina, but instead passed out
himself.

When he awoke, he felt as if a fog had lifted from his mind.

His thoughts were clear. His memories intact. Of the lake. And the Sidhe. And the magics of
Avalon.

And of Arthur.

Merlin sat up so violently that he tipped off balance and fell sideways onto where Arthur lay
sprawled out next to him.

Arthur jolted awake, kicking beneath the blankets, grabbing at his attacker, blue eyes wide in the
dark moonlit room. When Arthur realized who lay atop him, he grunted and let go, falling back
onto the bed.

Merlin shoved himself to his knees at Arthur’s side, bending over him, pressing frantic fingers to
Arthur’s neck and a shaking palm to Arthur’s chest.

“I’m alive, Merlin,” Arthur said, covering Merlin’s hands with his own, his voice thick with sleep.

“What did I do,” he choked out, staring down at his king.

Millions of golden and white gossamer strands of magic stretched from Arthur’s body to his own,
binding them to each other through his own magic and the ancient magics of the world and the
forces of Avalon now living harmoniously within them.

The tangle of magic was so delicate and so intricate that he could never possibly hope to undo it.
Not without killing one or both of them in the process.

“What did I do to you?” he said again, his voice breaking on the words.

Arthur drew in a deep breath to wake himself fully, stretching out his legs as if rousing from a
leisurely nap. “You did exactly as I told you to do. I know it’s entirely unprecedented in your
history as my servant, but-“

“Don’t,” Merlin whispered, shaking his head at Arthur’s teasing. “Not- Don’t…”

“It’s all right,” Arthur said, giving a crooked smile, eyes sparkling as if they were discussing
something other than the horror of what Merlin had done to him.

“Don’t you understand? I can never undo what I did to you! You’re bound to me now! For as
long as I live! You won’t die until I do!”

Arthur rubbed his fingers over the back of Merlin’s hands, his expression turning thoughtful. “Is
the thought of having me around for the rest of your life truly so awful?”

The words struck like a blade in his chest, and Merlin drew in a shocked breath, because no, of
course not, it wasn’t awful, it was absolutely everything he’d ever wanted. Arthur staying with him
forever. For as long as he lived. It was what he’d dreamed of in his most fevered fantasies, for
Arthur to be back, and to never die again-

“Oh god,” Merlin whispered, his breathing speeding up. “I made this happen- Because I- I wanted
it- Just like that morning- When I stopped time- I did this to you on purpose- It’s my fault-“

“Don’t be stupid,” Arthur said. “This is not your fault. Now come on. Lay down before you
collapse. You’re the color of a sheet.”

“But I-“

“Shut up and lay down,” Arthur said firmly.

Arthur’s commanding tone had Merlin complying at once, damn his stupid reflexes. He even let
Arthur settle him as his king pleased, all stretched out along his side, nose pressed into Arthur’s
neck as if he were a blushing virgin.

“Better,” Arthur proclaimed, adjusting the blankets over them both, then settling his arm around
Merlin’s shoulders. “Now breathe before you pass out.”

“I am breathing,” Merlin snapped.

“Breathe slower,” Arthur clarified, as if speaking to a child.

Merlin grunted his aggravation at the tone, but closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, the scent of
sweat and sex and musk filling his nose. Despite his anger, he felt himself begin to immediately
relax, the smells bringing back memories of what they’d done together in this bed.

I can have that forever now, he realized.

I can have him forever.

A piercing wave of guilt immediately washed away his joy. Selfish bastard, he thought bitterly.
How dare you feel happy, even for a second, for what you’ve done to him. You know the pain
he’ll face living an immortal life. You know it. And he doesn’t. You have to tell him. You have
to tell him now.

“You’re going to hate me,” Merlin said tightly, before he lost his nerve.

“Hate you for what?”

“For binding you to me. For forcing you to watch the people you love grow old and die around
you, over and over, generation after generation. For making you watch the world change all around
you, and you stay perfectly still, looking young but growing ancient in your heart. Eventually, after
enough time passes… You’re going to despise me for it, for making you suffer through it, and I’m
going to despise myself, for doing it to you-“

“Stop this-”

“It’s the truth-”

“It is not.”

“It is. I know. I’ve walked the earth for-“

“Fifteen hundred years, yes, you’ve told me, repeatedly.”

He said it so patronizingly that Merlin shoved himself up to an elbow, glaring furiously down at
him. But Arthur only smiled in response.

“As usual, Merlin, in your rush to see the absolute worst in all situations, and to blame yourself for
every single problem in the world, you’ve overlooked something quite important.”

Merlin wanted to say so many things in reply to Arthur’s words that it took him a while to say
anything at all. “What?” he demanded. “What have I overlooked?”

“That our future won’t be anything like your past. This time around, you won’t be alone. Neither
of us will be alone. And neither of us will be trapped here.” Arthur really smiled now, a broad
happy thing that made his eyes sparkle in the moonlight. “We can go wherever we want. We can
do whatever we want. We’re free.”

“You’re not free,” Merlin protested. “You’re bound to me.”

Arthur actually laughed at him. “Do you honestly think we weren’t bound together before? Have
you not been listening to those absurd creatures of magic all those years? The ones who so
insolently called a king and his servant two halves of a whole?”

“That’s not the same, it’s-“

Arthur cut short his argument by kissing him, tenderly and deeply. When he finished, he placed a
gentle hand upon the side of Merlin’s face, thumb running over a sharp cheekbone. “We’ve
already tried doing things alone. Protecting Camelot. Protecting each other. It never worked out
the way we wanted it. And do you know why?”

“Because you’re a stubborn arse who doesn’t listen to me?” Merlin muttered.
“No,” Arthur said, scolding him with a look. “It’s because we were meant to do those things
together. One of us without the other truly is a world out of balance. Gaius was more right about
that than he knew. Just like your seers of destiny.”

“But my destiny was for me to protect you-”

“You did protect me. You protected us all.”

“But what I did to you-“

“What you did to me was at my command,” Arthur said, in a tone that spoke of the battlefield and
the crown. “I was the one who decided it must be done. So stop claiming responsibility for it.
The decision was mine, and mine alone.” He hesitated a long moment, thinking upon his own
words. “For once, Merlin. The decision about my fate, and the fate of my kingdom, was truly
mine.”

“But what you sacrificed…” Merlin said softly.

Arthur sighed at him, his patience clearly run out. “Get up.”

“Why?”

“For god’s sakes- Because I told you to, now come on, move.”

Merlin climbed with Arthur from the bed, following him unsteadily to the open lakeside window,
naked and barefoot and shivering against the cool breezes.

Arthur stepped behind him, pressing his chest against Merlin’s back, his arms winding around his
waist. “Look outside.”

Beyond the softly swaying trees and wide lawns, the moonlit waters of Lake Avalon rippled
uninterrupted from shore to shore. At the edge of the waters, dark rolling hills hid the sleeping
towns and villages nearby.

“If you hadn’t done as I commanded you to do,” Arthur said, “the powers of Avalon would have
laid waste to everything you see.”

“If I hadn’t done as you’d commanded, they wouldn’t have been set free in the first place,” Merlin
mumbled.

“Yes, they would have,” Arthur said. “Either by you under the Sidhe’s control, or by the Sidhe
themselves if you’d somehow managed to resist them.”

“Why would they do that?”

“No army leaves behind their armory when they abandon their castle. They destroy it instead,
killing as many enemies as possible in the process.”

“They would have turned the magics of Avalon into a weapon?” Merlin said, feeling nauseated at
the thought.

“Against what they saw as the ‘plague upon the earth’? Yes. And that weapon would have turned
everything beyond this window into a wasteland piled high with the bodies of the dead.”

Merlin had a vivid flash of memory, of the killing fields of Camlaan, of the knights who lay dead
upon them, of Arthur’s body crumpled to the ground and dying among them. He grabbed hold of
Arthur’s forearms, holding on tight.

“Eleanor would have lain among the dead,” Arthur went on. “And Heath and Danyl. And all your
friends from the village. And their children as well.“

“All right, yes, I-“

“And it wouldn’t have just been here,” Arthur continued. “You felt how strong the ancient forces
were. They would have torn apart whole countries, leaving nothing but blood and death and
ashes-“

“I understand,” Merlin said, sharper than he’d intended.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, sire,” he whispered.

Arthur relaxed against his back, arms still tight around him. “We were lucky,” he said. “All those
centuries they watched you, they only learned half the story. They didn’t know what you and I are
capable of together. They had no idea of the lengths to which we’d go to protect what is ours.”

“What do you mean, all those centuries?”

“I suspect that the Sidhe have been watching you a very long time. Perhaps since you first brought
me here.”

“Why? I wasn’t doing anything here to threaten them.”

“Your existence itself was a threat. One they couldn’t begin to understand. You heard what they
called you. An Abomination of the Old Religion.” Arthur chuckled, dark and bitter. “I could see
how they’d see it that way.”

“Well that makes one of us,” Merlin muttered.

“That’s because you’re thinking of it like a man, and not like a creature of magic,” Arthur said, and
then ran a soothing hand over Merlin’s chest, when he tensed at the description of himself. “To the
Sidhe, you must have been a dangerous and unsolvable puzzle. You’re made of magic, and yet you
embrace your humanity. You could rule over us all, and yet you serve a mortal king.”

Merlin frowned, not sure what to say about that, and not sure how he felt about it either.

“My family’s war against the Old Religion didn’t help matters either,” Arthur said, his voice low
and weary. ”Even if you hadn’t been such a puzzle to them, or interfered with their plans in
Camelot, then your loyalty to me would have still branded you a traitor to their kind. Quite
unfairly, I might add. They were the ones betraying the ancient powers of the earth. Not you.”

Merlin thought back to the way the Sidhe Elder had sneered at them both. “There never was much
hope of negotiating peace with them, was there.”

“Not with them lying to us at every turn. Or attacking you in your dreams.”

“All those times that I woke from a nightmare thinking that I was losing my mind,” Merlin ground
out angrily. “All those times I feared I was turning into Morgana. It was just them. Making me
watch you being pulled under the lake. Making me watch you die. Over and over again. When
they knew that was the thing I most feared.” He drew in a shaking breath, his heart pounding.
“They made me doubt my magic. They made me doubt myself. And all along, it was them,
driving me mad, to turn me into a weapon, to destroy all we’d built, to destroy you!”

He snapped his mouth closed, jaw tight and hands balled into fists, seething and shaking and
glaring his hatred at the lake.

Arthur stood pressed close to him, chin resting on his shoulder, moving a hand lazily over his
chest. “Do you hear that?” he whispered.

“Do I hear what?” Merlin snapped.

“Nothing.”

Beyond the window, the night breezes rustled through the leaves, as tree frogs and crickets spoke
to one another of secret things.

Merlin let out a deep breath. “Oh,” he said.

Because Arthur was right. Nothing was happening in the world around him in response to his fit of
rage.

“A world in balance,” Arthur said, resting his palm over Merlin’s heartbeat. “A world at peace.”

All because of Arthur, he thought. All because of what had happened that night at the lake.

“How did you know?” Merlin asked in wonder.

“Know?”

“What was happening. And who was behind it. And how to fix it. You used blood magic,
Arthur. You shoved Excalibur into the heelstone. How did you know to do that? How did you
know to do any of it? And you knew Freya. How did that happen? Did you-”

“That,” Arthur interrupted, “is a frankly exhausting number of questions for such a late hour.”

Merlin felt Arthur push his nose into his hair, lips sliding against his neck. Arthur’s hand had
begun moving upon his chest as well, fingertips dragging through his chest hair.

He stared down at Arthur’s hand, at the strong fingers upon his pale skin, at the ring on Arthur’s
thumb catching in the moonlight. “You’re trying to distract me,” he said absently.

Arthur hummed against his neck, and slid his hand lower.

“You’ve been keeping secrets about my magic for weeks,” he said, stubbornly clinging to his train
of thought

“Plus a year,” Arthur said, moving his other hand to rest upon Merlin’s hip, fingers pressing firmly
into his skin.

“Right. Weeks and. Plus. That. So how-”

“The crystals,” Arthur said, a hot whisper against his ear.

“The- what?” Merlin asked, as Arthur’s hand ventured lower on his abdomen, closer to where his
traitorous body was enthusiastically responding to Arthur’s touch.
“Crystals,” Arthur said, sounding very smug, clearly noticing Merlin’s reaction. “They showed us
the answer.”

“They-” Merlin inhaled deeply, as Arthur settled his wandering hand upon his other hip, holding
him firmly in place, so that he could press himself against his back.

“The images,” Arthur said in a low rumbling voice. “The island. The tower. Excalibur. The
Stone Circle of Avalon. And you and me, by the lakeside.”

Merlin made a strangled noise, feeling Arthur shifting his hips from side to side, rubbing an
impressively hard erection against his backside. “Doesn’t. Isn’t. A... a thing.”

“What's that?” Arthur asked, all amused innocence.

“Binding,” Merlin forced out. His entire body was urging him to bend forward, to brace his hands
against the windowsill, to push back against Arthur, to let himself be taken. “The crystals!” he
blurted out. “Didn’t explain. Binding us.”

“Yes, that,” Arthur said calmly, which absolutely wasn’t fair, because Merlin knew for a fact how
aroused Arthur was. “That idea came from what I saw magic itself doing to us, several times.
Though my visions were also a help in that regard.”

“Your visions? Since when do you-“ Merlin gasped, his thoughts scattering, as Arthur’s fingers
closed around his erection, to stroke him gently.

“The visions were cries for help, from the magics of Avalon,” Arthur said, finally sounding
breathless.

“Stop trying to. You’re. You need to.” Merlin let his head drop backward to Arthur’s shoulder,
moaning, as Arthur tightened his grip and sped his hand.

“That’s enough talking for now,” Arthur said in a low voice.

“But- You said… And the thing…”

Merlin shuddered, his eyes rolling back at a twist of Arthur’s hand, and at the wet heat of Arthur’s
mouth upon his neck, and his tongue sliding against his skin.

“Oh the hell with it,“ Merlin panted out, and he turned his head on Arthur’s shoulder to taste
whatever part of him that he could.

Arthur coughed, stepping back so abruptly that Merlin staggered backward. Arthur caught him,
steadied him, then stepped in front of him, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, face
screwed up in disgust. “You need a bath,” he pronounced.

“A- What?” Merlin croaked out, swaying forward into Arthur’s space.

Arthur caught his shoulders. “A bath.”

“Now?” Merlin protested, glancing down at himself.

“Now,” Arthur said, and grabbed his hand to pull him from the room.

“But. No. I still. I have questions,” he said, as he followed behind Arthur, eyes roaming over his
naked body.
He looks like a living statue, Merlin thought wildly. All those muscles-

“Even you should be capable of talking and bathing at the same time,” Arthur said, casting a
condescending glance over his shoulder.

Merlin knew he should respond with sarcasm, but he was too distracted by how Arthur’s thigh
muscles and backside flexed and stretched as he walked, and by how hard he still was, for god’s
sake, as he was pulled naked down the hallway by his also entirely naked king.

“I,” Merlin began, but then forgot the rest of what he was going to say.

“Eloquent as usual,” Arthur said, as he pulled Merlin into the washroom.

Out of force of habit, Merlin went to fill the tub while Arthur stood at the sinks, brushing his teeth
and shaving. Merlin watched him the entire time, blatantly staring, dazed by the experience of
drawing Arthur’s bath while naked and still vaguely aroused.

How had any of this happened? Merlin wondered. It was like he’d stepped into a fantasy world.
One where Arthur wanted to have sex with him, and would never die before him, and had
somehow known how to defeat beings of magic with him, and had spent a year within the ancient
forces of Avalon with him.

“I’m hallucinating,” Merlin said. “I’m definitely- Ow!” He put a hand to the back of his head,
frowning up at where Arthur was standing at his side.

“Feel real enough to you?” Arthur asked, looking very satisfied at how he’d made his point.

Merlin dragged his eyes down and up Arthur’s naked body, and realized that Arthur’s hips were at
the level of his mouth, and promptly forgot the question.

“That should be full enough, don’t you think?” Arthur said into his thoughts.

Merlin realized that the water was nearly spilling over the top of the tub, and hurriedly turned off
the taps. As Arthur climbed into the bath, Merlin set out washcloths and towels on a nearby chair.

“Shave off that scruff on your face.” Arthur rubbed at his neck thoughtfully. “I never thought I’d
have to worry about another man’s beard scratching me.”

Merlin stumbled over the chair, knocking it and everything upon it over, astonished at those words
coming out of Arthur’s mouth. He righted it with a startled glance backward, to see Arthur
laughing at him from the tub, before disappearing under the water, only to reappear right away,
slicking his hair back from his face.

Twice Merlin wound up nicking his face while shaving at the sinks. Both times it had been
because he was watching Arthur’s reflection in the mirror. After cleaning his teeth, he bent
forward to drink water from the tap. In the mirror, he caught Arthur watching him, his eyes
focused upon his backside, his expression intense.

Merlin swallowed his mouthful of water, smiling to himself, remaining half bent over the sink.
After waiting for Arthur to meet his gaze in the mirror, he cocked an eyebrow, then shifted his
weight on his feet a bit, moving his hips suggestively.

Arthur chuckled, startled and appreciative. “Harlot.”

“Only for you,” Merlin said, approaching the tub, caught again in that feeling of strange-and-not-
strange. Because he’d seen Arthur in the tub countless times before. But never with them both like
this. Naked and flirting with each other.

“Well?” Arthur asked, and gestured to the tub.

“Well what?”

Arthur gestured again to the tub.

Merlin stared at him, confused.

Arthur’s sigh echoed off of the tile walls. “Did you hit yourself on the head while we were in the
lake?” he asked, and grabbed Merlin’s wrist, pulling him into the tub.

Merlin half fell into the water and onto Arthur, sending a great wave splashing all over the floor.
“I’m the one who has to clean that up,” he said, unable to suppress a grin.

“That’s right, you do,” Arthur said, and then grabbed Merlin around the shoulders, and pulled them
both under the water, sending another wave splashing to the floor.

Merlin emerged from the soapy bathwater and spat a stream of it in Arthur’s direction. Arthur
splashed him in return, then threw a washcloth at him, grinning the entire time.

“Get rid of that awful taste,” Arthur commanded, and tossed the soap at his head.

“Arse,” Merlin muttered at him, but did as Arthur told him.

Arthur leaned back against the opposite end of the tub, watching as Merlin bathed. Once he’d
finished, Arthur took the washcloth from him, and shoved him back against the narrow end of the
tub.

“What are you-?” Merlin asked, arms held out to the sides as Arthur twisted around and settled
himself between Merlin’s legs, his back pressed to his chest, his head leaning back upon his
shoulder.

Arthur shifted his hips rather excessively between Merlin’s splayed open legs to get comfortable,
then relaxed back against him with a sigh. “Here,” he said, shoving a cloth into Merlin’s hand, and
then pressing his hand upon his own chest.

Merlin rested his free hand on the cool round side of the tub, intensely aware of Arthur’s backside
still wiggling between his thighs. “Comfortable yet?” he asked hoarsely, because the sensation of
wet skin sliding against him was more than a little arousing.

“Wash,” Arthur said, poking at his hand.

Merlin moved the cloth obediently over Arthur’s chest, just as he’d done in Camelot, though never,
ever from this position. In utter amazement he stared down at Arthur’s body in the soapy water,
relaxed and heavy upon him. “I still have questions,” he found himself saying softly.

“Go ahead then,” Arthur said, sounding put upon.

Merlin breathed in vanilla soaps and the smell Arthur’s wet hair and skin. There were so many
questions still to ask, he thought. But when it came down to it, only one really mattered.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, unable to keep the hurt from his voice. “I know they were
watching us. But couldn’t you have found some way to let me know what was going on? I could
have helped you. I’m meant to help you.”

“I did what I felt was best, to protect us all,” Arthur said.

Merlin recognized that guarded tone. “You didn’t want to tell me.”

A very long pause. “No.”

Merlin drew in a harsh breath. Held it. Struggling for control. “You didn’t trust me.”

“Don’t be an utter idiot, of course I trust you,” Arthur said, shifting in the water to look over his
shoulder at him. “I always have. I always will. Never doubt that.”

“But…” Merlin prompted.

“But I know you would have done anything in your power to keep me from harm. Even if it meant
taking your own life. Even if it meant choosing me over the kingdom.”

Merlin couldn’t bring himself to deny it. “I'm not sure what I would've done.”

“And I didn't want to put you in that position.”

The words had him flashing back to sitting on a log with Arthur in a forest, mopping at Arthur’s
brow, sick with worry and fear, the smell of sweat and blood and armor thick around them both.

“I’m sorry for lying to you,” Arthur said into his thoughts. “But sometimes it’s necessary to lie, to
protect the things that are important.”

“I thought you said that lying was very bad.”

“Only if you’re not the king, Merlin. Everybody knows that.”

Merlin’s lips twitched in the beginnings of a smile. “Is that how that works?”

“When faced with power hungry creatures of magic and stubborn devoted sorcerers, yes, that’s
how that works.”

With that, Arthur relaxed back against him, and moved Merlin’s hand with its washcloth again
over his chest, releasing it only when Merlin started moving the cloth on his own.

“So are there any other lies that I can know the truth about now?” Merlin asked, and to his own
surprise, he didn’t even sound angry about it.

“A few.”

“Such as?”

“I’ve been speaking with that friend of yours, Freya, through the waters of the lake and through
visions.”

Merlin went still, staring wide eyed across the candlelit washroom.

“And also you really must burn that Chronicle of Grey Eddimon the Lessor, Sorcerer of Montshire.
Becauase his accounts of blood magic really don’t do justice to the actual practice of it.” Arthur
lifted his left hand, across which there was a long thick white scar. “He said nothing of scars, for
god’s sake.”
Merlin lifted his left hand, where Arthur had cut him with Excalibur, and discovered a duplicate
scar across his own palm. “Grey Eddimon the who?” he asked.

“I knew it,” Arthur said, jabbing into his rib with an elbow. “You really were sleeping down in the
vaults, instead of suffering through those horrible chronicles of magic with me.”

“I was not sleeping, I just-”

“I also neglected to mention to you how you licked my neck the night the crystals lost their magic.”

“Licked your-“

“Neck. On the stairs. Twice.”

“Twice,” Merlin said, remembering that now, and he had indeed forgotten about all that, what with
the earthquake and the manor exploding.

“And then you licked the floor, and liked that just as much, which was frankly insulting.”

“Right,” Merlin said weakly, staring across the washroom. “So. Anything else?”

“I could also feel magic calling out to me for help all those times you lost control of it,” Arthur
noted.

Merlin dropped the washcloth to the water and leaned back hard against the tub, pressing dripping
wet palms to his face. “You are kidding me,” he groaned, in utter disbelief.

“Now you know how I feel,” Arthur said, sounding enormously smug.

Merlin was too overwhelmed to come up with any kind of reply. He was still trying to reframe the
past weeks – well, the past weeks a year ago – in light of everything Arthur was saying.

And yes, he suddenly did have much more sympathy for the entire ‘I have magic’ thing, and how
that must have made Arthur’s head spin and his world turn upside down, after he’d gotten over the
shock and the betrayal of it.

“I have a few more stories,” Arthur informed him. “But I’ll be sure to pace myself. So as not to
overwhelm you.”

“I really do hate you,” Merlin muttered.

Arthur rubbed his backside between Merlin’s legs, and chuckled at the sharp indrawn breath
Merlin made. “I sincerely doubt that.”

Merlin splashed at him, pushing him halfheartedly away. “Don’t think for a moment that any of
this means that I ever want advice from you on magic ever again.”

“You have absolutely nothing to worry about in that regard,” Arthur said. “Now that this is settled,
I intend to put all of that magic nonsense out of my head so I can focus on other concerns.”

Merlin sighed wearily. “Right,” he said. “Like the prophecy.”

Arthur went very still. “What?”

“The prophecy,” Merlin said. “The reason you’ve returned. That’s all we need to concern
ourselves with, now that this has been settled.”
Arthur turned himself in the tub and knelt between Merlin’s legs, grinning lopsidedly at him. “Are
you serious?”

“Of course I’m serious,” Merlin said. “We’re just lucky we got this out of the way first. Now we
can focus on what’s important.”

Arthur’s eyes went wide, and he burst out laughing, the sound echoing off of the washroom walls.

“What?” Merlin demanded.

“Show me where you hit your head!” Arthur grasped both sides of Merlin’s head, tilting it left and
right, laughing the entire time. “Come on! Show me!”

“Let go! What is wrong with you!”

Arthur dropped both hands to Merlin’s shoulders with a wet slap of skin. “You absolute idiot,” he
burst out. “What do you think we just did, if not fulfilling that damned prophecy?”

Merlin looked into sparkling blue eyes and a broad victorious smile. “No. That’s not. Don’t be
ridiculous. Your destiny is to save Albion at her time of greatest need. Not to stop a bunch of
magical creatures from…”

Arthur gave him a pitying look as he trailed off into silence. “Finally catching up, I see.”

“But- But that’s not- I mean- Surely that’s. It’s.”

“Are you experiencing some sort of mental affliction?” Arthur asked. “Should I call a physician?”

Merlin just stared at him, watching drops of water falling from Arthur’s wet hair and down his
smiling face.

It couldn’t be true, he thought. This couldn’t have been the time of Albion’s need the dragon had
mentioned.

Because if it were, and if it were done, and if they were still alive, then that meant… It meant…

“No, that’s not possible,” Merlin insisted, feeling lightheaded. “There was going to be a war- A
massive war- And a great battle- And everyone would see you were back and- And they would all
know that King Arthur had- And that you had saved all of Albion- And everyone- They would
all know- That you’re their king!”

“Easy, Merlin,” Arthur said, clearly worried now, because he’d moved closer, one hand lightly
squeezing the nape of his neck, the other soothing back his wet hair.

Merlin wheezed in an enormous breath, pressing wet hands over his face. His next breath was
even louder, echoing in the washroom. “Can’t be,” he whispered. “It can’t.”

It wasn’t possible, he thought.

That it was over.

After almost sixteen hundred years.

That it was over.

That they were alive.

That they were free.

Merlin looked at Arthur, wild eyed and shocked, the entire world sliding into a surreal dream.
Arthur was studying him patiently, a single brilliant point of focus, naked and kneeling between his
legs, hair wet and gaze fond, waiting for his dimwitted servant to catch up, as usual.

“But you’re the Once and Future King!” Merlin burst out, his voice echoing in the room. “You’re
meant to rule the greatest kingdom the world has ever known!”

“There are more ways to be a king than to sit on a throne,” Arthur said simply. “There are more
ways to have a kingdom than by drawing lines upon a map.”

Merlin shook his head, heaving in breath after breath, nothing making any sense, words absolutely
failing him.

It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t.

“Back to bed with you I think,” Arthur was saying. “Come on. Get up.”

Arthur climbed out of the bath, beautiful and naked and dripping wet, and pulled Merlin out after
him. As Merlin stood there staring at nothing in particular, his head full of white noise, Arthur
grabbed a towel, and dried him off with it.

“There was going to be a war,” Merlin said again, frowning at the wall tile.

The eighteen hundreds, he remembered. That’s when he’d tiled the room. Lovely man in the town
gave him a discount on the stone.

“There was a war,” Arthur said.

“There was?” Merlin heard himself ask.

“Yes. A very small war.”

“Did we win?”

Arthur gave him a very strange look. “Yes.”

“Oh, that’s good.” Merlin felt a towel fall onto his head. Strong hands rubbed it against his scalp.
“Did anyone die?”

He heard a soft chuckle, and then the towel slid around his shoulders, and he found himself staring
into Arthur’s smiling face. “No one on our side.”

Merlin nodded, frowning at the tub filled with water. “I should take care of that.”

“Later,” Arthur said, wiping himself off with the towel, then throwing it to the floor.

“That too,” Merlin said.

Arthur put a warm hand at the small of his back, urging him forward. “I trust that you will snap
out of this sooner or later, won’t you?”

“Yes, sire,” Merlin said, without really knowing to what he was agreeing.

“I’d take you out onto the training field and knock some sense into you. But that never worked
even when you were of relatively sound mind.”

“Yes, sire,” Merlin said, thinking of prophecies and dragons and the time of Albion’s greatest
need. He walked past pennants and torches down a stone hallway he’d walked millions of times
before, often thinking about the end of the world and Arthur’s return.

Never, for a moment, had he spared a thought for what would come after.

Of course he hadn’t. Why would he? He didn’t think he’d live to see the “after” part of the
prophecy. Arthur, perhaps. But him? No. He was going to die protecting Arthur. There would be
no ‘after’ for him.

“Don’t you think, Merlin?” Arthur was asking.

“Yes, sire.”

Arthur laughed, and pushed him through the door to his chambers. “You do realize that you’ve
just agreed it’s a good idea to train with me using the mace for a month.”

“I did?” Merlin asked, remembering no such thing.

Arthur gave him another worried look, then went to get sleeping breeches for them both. “Here,”
he said, shoving them at Merlin. “Put these on.”

Merlin wandered over to the bed, to sit upon its edge by the lakeside window. The waters of the
lake caught the moonlight as they rippled to shore, soft and beautiful. “Not such a bad lake,” he
said absently.

He felt the cloth slide from his hand, and saw Arthur crouch down in front of him, bare chested
and damp haired and frowning as he tried to pull the clothing over Merlin’s feet and up his legs.

“You shouldn’t be dressing me,” Merlin said, though he couldn’t bring himself to stop Arthur from
doing it.

“No, I should be undressing you,” Arthur said, pulling Merlin to his feet to haul the breeches up
over his hips. “But you’re useless at the moment, so here we are.”

Merlin climbed into stale sheets that smelled of dust and sweat and quite a lot of sex. “Need to
wash these,” he said, curling up on his side, facing the middle of the bed.

“You need to burn these and get an entirely new set,” Arthur said, crawling into the bed next to
him. “These smell like a brothel.”

“How would you know?” Merlin asked, genuinely curious.

“I know because I’m sleeping with a harlot, and this is what our bed smells like,” Arthur said, and
pulled the blankets over top of them both, before settling in by his side.

“Who are you sleeping with?” Merlin asked, frowning. “I didn’t let anyone from the lower town
into the castle.”

Arthur squinted at him. “I honestly don’t know if I should hit you or hold you to try and clear your
head.”

“Don’t hit. Tired of being hit. Been getting hit for centuries.”
Arthur rolled onto his back, guiding Merlin to lay at his side, all along the warm length of his
body.

Merlin moved as close as he could, his head on Arthur’s pillow, his lips pressing to Arthur’s pulse.
“Alive,” he whispered, breathing in vanilla and musk and Arthur.

“Yes. We’re both alive. And we’re going to stay that way.”

“No more boats,” Merlin said.

Arthur’s chest compressed quickly, and he drew in a sharp breath. “No more boats,” he said, and
his king’s voice was rough with pain.

Merlin tightened his arms around him. “S’good,” he mumbled.

“Yes, it is.”

He felt Arthur’s fingers sliding through the damp strands of his hair. “I expect you to be yourself
when you wake up,” he said softly.

“Yes, sire,” he said, pressing his face into the warm skin of Arthur’s neck, feeling muddled and
thick and unable to think.

“The other thing,” Arthur whispered. “Say the other thing.”

“Yes, my love,” Merlin sighed out.

“As you are mine. Now go to sleep.”

But there was something important he should think about, Merlin thought. Something about a
prophecy, and a dragon, and Albion in danger, or was that over now, was that behind them, were
they free.

“Don’t think about it,” Arthur said, making him realize that he’d been muttering aloud, and
keeping his king awake.

He nodded, relieved, relaxing at last.

A press of lips against his forehead. A warm breath on his face. “Good night, Merlin.”

“Good night, Arthur,” Merlin said, and he slid into dreamless sleep.
 we begin again
Chapter Notes

Chapter contains sexual content

“Stop staring,” Arthur said, without opening his eyes.

“I’m not staring.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

Arthur sighed and pressed his face deeper into his pillow, stretching out on the bed. He’d awoken
a while ago, and knew from the glow beyond his eyelids that it must be the middle of the day.

But he’d intentionally stayed as he was. Enjoying the steady beating of his own heart. The
expansion of his lungs with air. The distant sounds of music and laughter. The fresh breezes
moving over his skin.

It was proof, all of it, that he once again lived in a world that was tangible and solid and familiar
and real.

Although the time he’d spent within the magics of Avalon was… Well. There were no words for
that. ‘Breathtakingly astonishing’ hardly began to come close.

Still, he’d missed being human.

Or as close to human as he was, now.

“How did you know I was staring?” Merlin asked.

“Magic,” Arthur said.

A stunned silence.

Arthur could only feign seriousness for a few more seconds, before a corner of his mouth twitched
up into a smile.

An outraged huff of breath was his only warning before he felt knuckles drive against his shoulder,
knocking him onto his back.

Arthur laughed to himself as he sprawled out on the bed, squinting against the daylight at where
Merlin sat cross legged next to him, sheets bunched in his lap, bare chested and pale and glaring
down at him furiously.

“That wasn’t funny!” Merlin snapped at him.

“Your hair looks ridiculous this morning,” Arthur said in reply, shoving himself up to his elbows to
get a better look.

“Yes, well, you-” Merlin’s eyes darted all over his body.

Arthur raised his eyebrows, delighted at Merlin’s inability to find anything wrong with his
appearance.

“You’re an insensitive arse,” Merlin finished.

“It looks like a haystack after a strong wind,” Arthur said, pointing at Merlin’s head. “How does it
stick up in all directions at once like that?”

Merlin slapped a palm to his head and dragged it over his hair. “That’s your fault.”

“Well then I should fix it,” Arthur said, and he sat up, shoving his fingers into Merlin’s hair.

Merlin pushed at him. “Leave off-“

“Good gods, Merlin,” he said, when his fingers kept getting trapped in knots and strange curls he
hadn’t expected. “It really is like a wyvern’s nest-“

“Ow! Stop it-“

“Stop me yourself.”

Arthur ducked a wide swing of Merlin’s arm, then stared at him, grinning wickedly.

Merlin stared back, his gaze hard, his body tense with barely contained frustration.

They moved simultaneously, wrestling for control, grabbing at each other, knocking elbows into
jaws, banging knees into thighs, kicking the sheets from the mattress corners and shoving the
musty blankets to the floor.

Arthur ended things by dropping himself fully onto Merlin’s back, shoving both of Merlin’s arms
over his head, pinning his thin wrists to the bed with both of his hands.

Merlin kicked at the bed, toes digging into the mattress to try and push them over, so Arthur
pressed his hips against Merlin’s backside, wrapping both of his legs around him, crossing his feet
beneath Merlin’s shins.

After squirming uselessly, Merlin gave up, going still with a sigh, fully stretched out beneath him.

Arthur had to catch his breath, his nose pressed into a mess of black hair, inhaling vanilla and
sweat and spice.

A sharp bolt of arousal surged through him at the scent, which was simply ludicrous, considering
how often they’d fallen upon one another since stumbling from the lake.

“Why do you always smell so good,” Arthur complained, without intending to say it aloud. But it
was aggravating in the extreme.

I want to taste him all over, he thought. I want to put my mouth everywhere on him.

“Ridiculous,” he muttered against Merlin’s skin, and inhaled deeply again.

Merlin drew in a deep breath in response, lifting Arthur upward as his lungs filled with air. When
he sighed, all the tension vanished from his body.

Arthur let go of Merlin’s wrists, and started to pull his hands away. Merlin caught his hands,
lacing his fingers through Arthur’s, before resting both of their hands upon the bed over his head.

“It wasn’t funny,” Merlin said softly. “You saying that. About magic. Don’t make fun about it.
Not after what I did to you.”

“You mean after what I ordered you to do, to us both, to save most of the northern hemisphere,”
Arthur clarified.

“I know that. I do. It’s just… I wish…”

Arthur watched pain pinch Merlin’s sharp profile. He was still blaming himself for it, he thought.
Likely he would be for a long time to come. Because that’s what Merlin had always done. Take
the blame for everything. Even the things that weren’t his fault.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur said. “You’re right. I was being an insensitive arse.”

Merlin turned his head to rest a cheek against the mattress, peering up at him over his own
shoulder. “Did you just say I was right and then call yourself an insensitive arse?”

“It’s like hearing your words in my voice, isn’t it,” Arthur said. “You don’t even have to say things
out loud anymore.”

A strange expression passed over Merlin’s face. He squinted up at Arthur, brows pulling together.
“Did you hear that?”

Arthur lifted his head, staring out through the lakeside window, at the green hills and the blue
skies and the sunlight dancing upon the waves. He heard distant voices, and strains of music, and
children’s laughter. Wonderful smells were wafting into the room as well, reminding him of
holiday feasts. “Is there a celebration going on outside?”

“I don’t mean outside. I mean in your head.”

“In my head,” Arthur repeated.

“Yes. Did you just hear my voice in your head?”

“What sort of gibberish is that?”

“The druids and the dragon and other creatures of magic could all hear my voice in their thoughts
without my speaking out loud to them. I’d just wondered if now that- I mean after the spell- If you
could hear me too.”

“Inside my head?” Arthur asked.

“You don’t have to sound so horrified-”

“I assure you that I do. Because that is an absolutely terrifying idea. You, prattling on, inside my
own skull-”

“All right, never mind-”

“Gods above, Merlin, it’s bad enough I have to listen to you talking rubbish all the time with my
ears-“

“I do not talk rubbish,” Merlin insisted, clearly fighting a grin. “And you don’t need to be such a
prat about the whole thing. I was only asking.”

“Well don’t,” he said, then watched with great satisfaction as Merlin rolled his eyes and heaved a
loud sigh at him.

Arthur rested his chin atop Merlin’s shoulder, resettling their legs together. To his surprise, Merlin
gave no indication of wanting him to climb off of him or change position in the slightest. If
anything, he seemed to be relaxing beneath his weight, a long silent breath sighing from his chest,
his eyes closing in contentment.

What had Merlin said before, when they’d lain together like this? That it made him feel anchored,
wasn’t it?

Anchored, Arthur thought. Yes. You are. Anchored to me. Just as I am anchored to you. Just as
we were fated to be. Just as I want you to be.

“How are you feeling?” Arthur asked.

“Better,” Merlin said softly, giving a small nod.

Arthur pressed his lips to a bony shoulder. “I thought I’d broken you.”

“I’m sorry I-“

“Nonsense,” Arthur whispered into his skin.

“I don’t like it. When I get like that.”

Nor did Arthur. But there was nothing to be gained from the saying of it. Because like any other
wound, he knew that this would take time to overcome.

“You seem to be recovered now,” Arthur said instead.

“I’ve had some time to think.”

Arthur hummed in agreement. He’d done some thinking himself last night, after Merlin had all but
passed out in his arms.

He’d lain awake a long time, trying to imagine what it was like for Merlin, to wait for something to
happen for so long, and then to actually see it come to pass.

The astonishing thing wasn’t that Merlin had fallen to pieces in the learning of it. The astonishing
thing was that he’d managed to pull himself back together afterward at all.

“I just don’t know,” Merlin said.

“What?”

“I just think that maybe… The thing with the Sidhe... It wasn’t why you came back.”

Arthur raised himself to his elbows and stared down at Merlin, at his full lips now pressed thin
with worry, at his dark eyelashes pressed tight to his pale cheeks, as he squeezed his eyes closed in
distress.
He wanted to cuff him on the back of his head. He would have, if they weren’t laying in such
close quarters. Instead, he flicked Merlin on the back of one of his ridiculous ears with his finger.

“Ow!” Merlin said, pulling back a hand to cover the side of his head, glaring up at Arthur over his
own shoulder.

“I’m going to have to deal with this for years, aren’t I.”

“Deal with what?”

“You, not accepting that the damned prophecy has been fulfilled.”

Merlin slapped his hand back to the bed and halfheartedly tried to shove himself to his elbows.
Arthur shoved him back down again.

“Stop being an idiot,” Arthur snapped at him.

“I’m not being an idiot, I’m just saying that we can’t know for sure if-“

“Are you seriously suggesting that preventing the destruction of the northern hemisphere wasn’t
enough of a reason to warrant my return?” Arthur asked, exasperated.

“I just… I always thought… That there would be a war. An actual war. Something bigger than
the last world war. And that you’d lead all of the nations against whatever evil was threatening
them. And everyone would see that you’d come back. And you would be… their king,” he
finished weakly.

“I am their king, whether they know it or not.”

“But I don’t think that’s really what the prophecy-“

“You,” Arthur interrupted, “are the single most maddening person I’ve ever met in my entire life.
And that includes every single creature of magic that I’ve ever had the misfortune to come across,
including the one who gave me those ridiculous ears that you are forbidden to ever mention!”

“If you’d just listen to why I-“

“Are you physically incapable of accepting even a single moment’s happiness?” Arthur demanded.
“Must you always seek out defeat in even the clearest victory?”

“You’d be the same way as I am if you’d seen all the horrible things that I have,” Merlin said
angrily, surging upward to his elbows. “So forgive me if I’m always expecting something awful to
happen! Because something awful always does! Over and over again! No matter what I do or how
much I sacrifice or how much pain I endure to try and prevent it!”

Merlin collapsed back to the bed after he’d finished, heaving in deep breaths, wide eyed and
surprised by his outburst.

When his breathing didn’t slow, Arthur lay himself carefully back down upon the man beneath
him, finding Merlin’s hands on the bed, threading their fingers together, as he rested his forehead
upon a sharp cheekbone.

“Decades,” Arthur said softly.

“What?” Merlin breathed.

“It isn’t going to take years for you to accept the world as it is now. It’s going to take you decades.
Several decades.”

“But the prophecy-”

“Enough, Merlin,” Arthur said.

Merlin heaved an aggravated sigh that sounded as if it contained several paragraphs of protest and
more than a few insults about his royal person.

Decades, Arthur thought. It was going to take decades before he accepted it. Fortunately for them
both, they had that time. That time, and so very much more, besides.

“Stupid runes,” Merlin was whispering softly. “Wasn’t what he said. Never used my name
anyway. Not the way… Never that way…”

Arthur let go of one of Merlin’s hands to slide fingers through his hair, recognizing the signs of
Merlin slipping too far into distant memory. He wondered how long it would take until this, too,
became a thing of the past.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, right into his ear.

He felt Merlin jolt under his body. “Arthur?”

“Stay with me.”

“You keep saying that,” Merlin said. “Stay with me. It’s… I said that. To you. Before you died.”

For the first time since his return to the world, Arthur tried to remember those moments in the
meadow, when he’d felt life sliding from him, and darkness crawling in. Not something he
preferred to dwell on. The memories were still distressingly clear. Especially the memory of
Merlin’s face above him, eyes filled with tears, face lined with anguish, voice strained with
desperation.

A sharp inhale lifted Arthur from the bed. Beneath him, Merlin’s body had gone tense, his eyes
squeezing closed, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“I have strange memories of being a tree,” Arthur said quickly.

Merlin’s eyes snapped open. “What?”

“A tree. Many different trees, in fact. And of being part of the ocean. I’d never realized that so
much of the world was made up of water. Or that it felt the pull of the moon.”

To Arthur’s relief, he saw curiosity sweep away the pain in Merlin’s eyes.

“You can remember it, then?” Merlin asked. “Channeling the magics of Avalon into the world
with me?”

“With every hour it’s more like a dream. Though I doubt I’ll ever forget it. I’m certainly going to
endeavor not to, in any case.”

“You are?”

“Something that beautiful?” Arthur asked. “Gods, no. Why would anyone want to forget such a
thing? It was just… There was so much of it, wasn’t there? In simply everything. All around us.
In the seas and the mountains and the earth and the sky… The feeling of life, flowing through it,
like water rushing through a million streams… all sparkling with sunlight…”

Arthur let his attention drift away from the things he could see and hear and taste and touch. And
toward a new, barely detectable, sense of the world.

It was barely there. And frustratingly elusive. He had to focus very hard to feel it at all. Even a
second’s distraction and it would be gone. But from time to time, he could catch a glimpse of it.
Like hearing a few distant notes of a lovely song. Or detecting the ghost of a breeze upon your
arm.

There, he thought. And for just a second he felt filled with life, and with joy, and with beauty, and
with the feeling of being everywhere at once, and bound to everything that lived, including Merlin
– gods, the feel of Merlin like this – shining like a sun, incandescent and ethereal, human and
magic, ancient as the earth, powerful as the sea, unpredictable as the sky-

“Arthur?” Merlin said in a small voice, sounding worried.

Arthur snapped back to the moment, everything else disappearing as if it had never been. “What?”
he asked, his voice coming out rough with emotion.

“Are you all right?”

He cleared his throat. Got his expression back under control. “Why on earth wouldn’t I be?”

“You had a strange look on your face,” Merlin pressed, peering up at him from the bed.

“You always have a strange look on your face and I don’t bother you about it. Like right now.
That thing you’re doing with your eyebrow. Are you having a muscle cramp?”

Merlin scowled at him even harder. “Arthur, are you all right?”

“With the exception of having to constantly deal with a thick headed sorcerer, I’m perfectly fine.”

“You really should tell me if you’re not,” Merlin insisted. “After all that happened to us… There
could be, you know, side effects-”

“Side effects,” Arthur said in a low voice, bending to kiss the warm skin of Merlin’s shoulder. “Oh
yes, I do indeed remember having some of those.”

Merlin squirmed beneath him. “No, I mean… Do you feel… odd? In any way?”

“How do I feel to you?” Arthur asked, and shifted suggestively atop him.

“Very funny-”

“Not trying to be funny,” Arthur said, nosing into Merlin’s hair, licking at an exposed stretch of
bare neck. “You even taste good,” he protested. “How is that possible? I know for a fact that you
use the same soaps as I do-“

“Stop trying to distract me,” Merlin said, sounding uncertain.

Arthur grabbed hold of Merlin’s wrists. Shoved his arms straight up. Stretching him out fully
again. Beneath him, he heard Merlin make a small strangled noise. “Trying?” he asked. “I should
rather think I’m succeeding.”
“Every time you- You can’t just- seduce me into shutting up,” Merlin said, and then inhaled
sharply, as Arthur slid the evidence of his arousal against Merlin’s backside.

“Oh, by all means, do keep talking,” Arthur said, his lips moving against the round shape of his
ear. “That is, if you’re able.”

“Arse,” Merlin muttered.

“Is that an invitation?” Arthur asked, shoving his hips forward again.

Merlin gave an unexpected laugh. “For god’s sakes, you are just…”

“I am just what?”

Merlin grinned, a broad and wonderful thing that had his eyes sparkling. “You are even more a
pain in the backside in bed than you are out of it.”

“An interesting choice of words.”

Merlin gave another laugh, but this one was breathy and low.

Arthur moved upon him again, hips pressing down with each thrust. He was starting to feel dizzy
with arousal at the wonderful friction against where he was already so hard, even with them both
still in their breeches. Gods, he wanted to… To just…

He forced his body to still, his desire hot and demanding and wanting to be inside. But he’d
already… And so many times…

“Is there any?” Arthur asked, breathless.

“Any what?”

“Pain. In your-“ He frowned at himself. “Backside,” he finished, feeling awkward. “From

before.”

“No,” Merlin said, sounding amused. “There isn’t pain anywhere, actually. Or soreness. Or
anything. And there really should be. Especially after the four times we-“

“Six,” Arthur said, low and rumbling in his chest.

“Six?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t remember there being-“

“The floor downstairs when we first got back, and then the dining table-“

“The dining table,” Merlin whispered, going breathless. “I’d forgotten about the dining table...”

“Oh, Merlin,” Arthur whispered into his ear. “How could you have forgotten about the dining
table.”

Merlin whimpered beneath him, squirming.

“And then our favorite spot in the corridor,” Arthur went on. “And then here. Three more times.
Not counting the one coming up.”

Merlin dug his fingers into the mattress, his hips angling back to meet Arthur as he thrust forward
again. “Coming up?”

“Yes.”

Arthur surged forward to capture Merlin’s lips at the exact moment that Merlin twisted back to do
the same.

Their heads cracked together, sending pain flashing through Arthur’s skull.

“Merlin!“ he snapped, pushing up onto his knees, pressing a palm to his temple.

“The hell, Arthur,” Merlin said, rubbing at his forehead.

“You’re the clumsiest man I’ve ever-“

“That was your fault!”

“Nearly knocked me unconscious-“

“Knocked some sense into you, you mean.”

“You’d have to have some first to- Watch it!“

Arthur flailed to avoid a knee jamming between his legs as Merlin twisted wildly under him, arms
sweeping around to knock him sideways, hard enough that he lost his balance and fell to the bed.

Merlin scrambled on top of him, shoving him to his back, straddling his waist, grabbing Arthur’s
wrists and pressing them to the mattress beside his head.

“Ha!” Merlin shouted, leaning over him, his expression victorious.

Arthur grinned up at him, making no move to retaliate, even though there were easily seven things
he could do to get out of this position without injuring Merlin, plus five more which would break
one of his bones, and an additional two which would result in unconsciousness.

“You’ve got me,” Arthur said, in exaggerated seriousness. “I surrender.”

Merlin sat back upon Arthur’s thighs with an aggravated huff. “If you’re not going to even try-”

“You actually believe you can stay on top of me if I try? I could take you apart with one blow.”

A truly wicked smile pulled at the corner of Merlin’s mouth, his eyebrow quirking up. “Funny you
should say it that way. Because that’s on my list.”

Arthur frowned up at him, feeling as if he’d missed something. “What is?”

Merlin leaned forward as if to kiss him, but then pressed his cheek against Arthur’s, whispering
into his ear: “Taking you apart with one blow.”

Arthur felt all traces of humor vanish, wiped away by a violent surge of arousal, because Merlin
had shifted above him, and was sliding his body against where he was already hard and wanting.

“Actually,” Merlin said, his breath hot against his ear, “I have a few things on my list with me in
this position. Do you want to hear them?”

Arthur nodded, his stubbled cheek sliding against Merlin’s. “Tell me.”

“We’ve already done this one,” Merlin said, and pointedly slid the hard length of his erection
against Arthur’s.

Arthur arched up against him, a harsh breath pushing from his lungs.

“Our first time,” Merlin said. “In the corridor.”

“A very nice corridor,” Arthur agreed, feeling the same desperation coming back to him that he’d
felt that night.

Like air, he thought frantically. That’s how I need him. Like I need the damned air-

“Or you could claim me like this,” Merlin said, shifting his hips forward and moving upon him, as
if trying to take him inside through the barrier of their thin clothes.

Arthur grabbed onto Merlin’s hips, fingers flexing into flesh. “Gods,” he breathed out.

“It figures you’d like that idea. Of you, just laying there, while I do all the hard work, as usual.”

A moan choked out with Arthur’s next breath, much to his own surprise, as a vision of what Merlin
described filled his thoughts. Merlin, astride him, naked and hard and with his hand on his own
cock and his head thrown back in ecstasy as Arthur thrust up into him and yes, oh god yes, he
wanted to do that, very much, right now-

“Or,” Merlin said in a whisper, very softly, capturing all of Arthur’s attention, “or… maybe… I
could claim you.”

Arthur stared up at the canopy over his bed, wide eyed at that thought, breathless at a new vision,
of their positions reversed, with him sitting astride Merlin, riding him like one of his stallions,
watching Merlin writhing with pleasure between his legs, wild and untamable.

“Or,” Merlin said, and he leaned back now, enough that Arthur saw how flushed his face was,
either with arousal or embarrassment or both, “I could just answer that question you asked me
fifteen hundred years ago.”

“What?” Arthur asked, lifting his head, entirely unable to put one thought after another. He was
too dazed by the filthy list of things he was hearing, and too busy wondering how many more were
still to come.

Merlin got to his hands and knees, smiling down at him, as if he had the world’s best secret.

“What?” Arthur demanded again, so painfully aroused that he was tenting his sleeping breeches as
much as Merlin was. Gods, the sight of him, Arthur thought, and lifted his hand to touch.

Merlin leaned away. “Don’t you remember the question you asked me?”

“Question?” Arthur repeated.

“You asked me if I could walk on my knees,” Merlin said, sounding wicked and playful and
making absolutely no sense at all.

“You’re- going to- walk on your knees?”

“Yes,” Merlin said. “Like this.”

Arthur watched Merlin move slowly backward on his hands and knees, eyes hard upon him, his
mussed black hair hanging over a raised eyebrow, his shoulders and arms pale in the sunlight.

“What are-?” Arthur began.

With one sudden motion, Merlin yanked down Arthur’s breeches and pants, closed his hand around
the base of his exposed cock, then bent forward and took it into the wet heat of his mouth.

Arthur cried out, his entire body curling forward, his hands grabbing hold of Merlin’s head, fingers
digging into his thick hair.

He could feel Merlin’s lips around him, his tongue sliding over him, firm and tight and oh god he’d
never felt anything so amazing in his life.

He collapsed back against the bed, eyes rolling back, his entire being focused on the hot wet
suction. Merlin gave a low, choked sound full of pleasure, as if he were the one being swallowed
down, and the sound vibrated through his lips and into his own body, making him arch on the bed,
crying out again, totally out of control.

Merlin pulled off of him, and Arthur’s head snapped up, to stare wide eyed down the length of his
body, at where Merlin was looking up at him in wonder, his lips wet and parted and full and not at
all where they were supposed to be.

“Why are you stopping?” Arthur burst out, voice cracking and too high.

“You’d like me to keep going then?” Merlin asked, wry and sarcastic and Arthur was really and
truly going to cuff him round the head when he had the next possible chance.

“Yes, keep going,” Arthur choked out, desperately attempting to put any trace of a lifetime of
leadership in his voice. “Now,” he growled forcefully, and there it was, there was Merlin’s breath
catching at the tone of command, and oh yes, he was going to use that again later, absolutely he
was, because- “Oh hell,” Arthur moaned, dropping his head back to the bed, fingers digging into
Merlin’s hair, as his head moved up and down, his lips sliding tightly over him. “Harlot,” he
breathed. “Wanton… maddening… frustrating…”

Merlin lifted his head. “If you’re going to insult me the entire time-“

“Oh my god stop stopping!” Arthur snapped at him, grabbing at the back of his head and pushing
at it.

“Bossy prat,” Merlin said, breathy and low, bending to take him in his mouth again.

Arthur moaned, hips surging up into tight wet heat, fingers sliding down Merlin’s face, feeling the
muscles working there. He lifted his head again, staring down at those full lips upon him, those
sharp cheekbones made even sharper by what he was doing. “Your mouth, god, filthy, you’re-
please-“ he added, when he saw Merlin’s brows twitch. “It’s- You’re- amazing, just- Don’t
stop…”

He dropped his head to the bed again, Merlin moaning around him. Beneath him he felt the bed
move, then start to shake. A glance downward revealed Merlin’s hand shoved deep into his
breeches, moving on himself, which somehow made everything more intense, more arousing, to
know that it was affecting Merlin so much.
Arthur drew in a sharp breath as Merlin’s moans vibrated into him with such intensity that it
brought his orgasm upon him quite unexpectedly. He heard himself cry out, hips surging upward
as the pleasure flowed forth.

Very distantly he realized that Merlin wasn’t pulling away, but instead was drinking him down. It
pulled another wave of pleasure from him, and Arthur heard curses spilling from his own lips,
ancient words from long ago, all of them filthy and feeling so much better than any word he’d yet
heard in the new world.

As the small spasms of pleasure worked their way out of his body, he collapsed back upon the bed.
Merlin’s mouth was still upon him, by god, but he was just lapping at him now, almost lazily,
open mouthed and heaving hot breaths around him.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, and tapped weakly at Merlin’s shoulder.

He felt cool air where once there had been a warm mouth. Felt a forehead press against his own
hip. When he looked down, he saw Merlin pull his hand from his breeches, wipe his palm on the
sheets, then collapse upon the mess beside Arthur’s leg.

Arthur’s fingers found the top of Merlin’s head. Brushed through the thick mess of hair.

For a long while they lay as still as possible, their breaths loud in the room, the sounds of distant
voices and music carried to them on the warm breezes.

“Did you-” Arthur asked finally.

“Oh yes,” Merlin sighed.

“So you enjoy-“

“Yes,” Merlin said, sliding a hand up Arthur’s leg.

“That,” Arthur said dazedly, “is very good to know.”

“Hmm.”

Arthur nudged him with his leg. Merlin grunted and crawled back up the bed, hauling his breeches
up, and collapsed next to where Arthur had somehow managed to do the same.

With a happy sigh, Merlin pressed his face to Arthur’s shoulder, flopping one arm lazily over
Arthur’s stomach.

Arthur smiled at him, studying Merlin’s full lips. “I always said you had a wicked mouth,” he said,
and lifted his fingers to wipe at the wetness he saw there.

Merlin smiled, his eyes closed, and tipped his head forward, drawing Arthur’s fingers into his
mouth, licking at them.

“Wanton harlot,” Arthur said fondly.

Merlin looked up at him, blue eyes sparkling with mirth and mischief, a flush high on his cheeks
and ears and down his bare chest. He looked purely, genuinely happy, Arthur thought. No hint of
his great age was to be seen in his eyes. No trace of pain in his youthful face.

“You keep calling me a harlot,” Merlin said. “But you have no idea what one really is.”
“Yes I do,” Arthur said. “When I was eighteen, one was brought to the castle. She did to me
exactly what you just did. Though, to be honest, not at all quite as well. I seem to remember quite
a lot of teeth,” he added, screwing his face up in displeasure. “And at the end, she didn’t…” His
eyes fell to Merlin’s mouth. Held there.

“Some people have no manners,” Merlin said, in severe disapproval.

Arthur stretched out his legs, then cringed as his skin met a wet patch on the sheets. “This bed is
disgusting.”

“This whole room is disgusting,” Merlin agreed happily, letting his eyes fall closed with a
contented sigh.

“Someone will need to clean it today.”

“I can’t imagine who.”

“I should think that it would be the same person who’s going to get us some breakfast very soon.”

“No idea who that could be.”

Arthur poked him in the shoulder. “Scones.”

“Hmmm.”

“And juice.” Another poke. And then another.

Merlin scowled up at him. “Right now?”

“Now,” Arthur said, and poked at Merlin’s stomach.

Merlin squirmed back from him. “Quit it.”

“And sandwiches.”

“Stop poking me-“

“And tea.”

Merlin batted at his hands, shoving backwards. “Let me just-“

“And toast that doesn’t look like it’s been dragged on the floor,” Arthur added, poking several
more times, sending Merlin squirming backwards, until with a great flail of arms, he fell off the
bed.

“Really hate you,” came an aggravated voice from the floor.

“You really don’t,” Arthur said, relaxing back upon the mattress, arms folded behind his head.

Merlin pulled on his boots over his bare feet, then grabbed a red tunic from the floor and hauled it
over his bare chest.

“That’s mine,” Arthur said.

Merlin gave him the same gesture Megan gave him long ago, but smiled as he did it, before leaving
the room.
“You still need to build those stocks!” Arthur called after him.

“Build them yourself!” Merlin called back from the corridor.

“Insolent arse,” Arthur muttered.

“I heard that!”

“Oh you did not!”

As Merlin’s laughter echoed back to him down the hall, Arthur got himself up and out of bed. He
stretched out his arms and back, moving lazily to the window, to see the world outside.

It was at midday at the very least. The sun sat high over the lake, its reflection bright upon the
water. People were everywhere upon the lawns surrounding the lakeside and Merlin’s manor.
Many lay on blankets, others under small cloth shelters.

He hadn’t seen this many people here ever before. He wondered what was happening. It was
nothing to be worried about, at least. Not judging by the relaxed festival atmosphere.

Arthur leaned against the wall by the window, a warm breeze catching his hair and moving over
his bare chest. Amid the crowd below, he saw a pale thin figure with black hair leave the North
Tower and stride across the lawns, heading towards the woods.

Arthur watched Merlin go, suspecting where he was going, and why.

There would be a delay before breakfast then, he thought. So he gathered fresh clothes, and went
to the washroom to ready himself for the day.

When he returned to his chambers, washed and cleaned and in a fresh tunic and breeches, he found
Merlin sitting on edge of the bed, staring into the room, frowning. A large bag sat next to him on
the mattress. A piece of paper was held loosely in his hand.

“Tell me that there’s food in that bag,” Arthur said. “I am starving.”

Merlin nodded and stood up, shoving the paper in his pocket. He looked around the room and
sighed, shaking his head. “It’s going to take me an age to clean this place,” he said, bending to pick
up some discarded socks on the floor.

Arthur sat on the bed and dug into the bag, pulling out a bottle of juice and a scone. “Oh, perfect,”
he said, taking an enormous bite, and moaning at the sweet taste of it. Eating, gods, he’d really
missed eating.

“I thought only I made you make that particular sound,” Merlin said, smiling to himself as he
picked up dusty clothing from the dirty floor.

“It’s delicious,” Arthur said, moaning his delight again.

“Now you’re just intentionally being distracting,” Merlin said, reaching down to pick up
Excalibur. “Wanton thing,” he added, with wry lift of his eyebrow.

Arthur paused with the scone halfway to his mouth, staring.

“What?” Merlin asked.

Arthur pointed at Merlin’s hand.

“What?” Merlin said again, and lifted the sword. Then stared at it. “Oh,” he breathed.

Arthur watched Merlin stare at the blade in disbelief. “It’s not a problem for you anymore, is it,”
he said, returning his attention back to the bag of food.

Merlin studied his reflection in the flawless blade. “It’s back to the way it was in Camelot.”

“If I were an expert on magic,” Arthur said, making sure to push a look of disgust onto his face at
the idea, “which I am certainly not,” he added for good measure, “then I’d say that your difficulty
using that sword was put there for a reason.”

“What reason?”

“You said it yourself. It’s the only thing that can kill you. Without you, the magics of Avalon
couldn’t be freed. The same magics, I might add, that had been guarding the sword for fifteen
hundred years.”

Merlin walked the sword over to its scabbard by Arthur’s bed, and slid the weapon back into it.
“But why keep me away from it?”

“To very wisely prevent any idiotic self-sacrificing actions you might take against yourself if you,
for example, thought yourself a danger to your king.”

Merlin glanced over at him, frowning, but made no effort to argue that point. “What about you?”
he asked. “You could have still used it against me.”

Arthur gave him a pitying look. “You honestly believe that I ever would have killed you with it.”

Merlin looked outraged. “But you promised-!“

“I never promised to kill you,” Arthur said firmly. “I promised to do whatever was necessary to
protect you and to protect my kingdom. And I promised we would do it together. That promise
did not, ever, under any circumstances, include putting my sword through your chest.”

Merlin opened and closed his mouth, wanting to argue the point, but clearly unable to do so.

“You see?” Arthur said smugly. “If you ever really listened to me properly, you would have
realized that before.” He picked up a wrapped sandwich and threw it at him. “Eat something, will
you? You look like you’re going to fall over.”

Merlin picked up the sandwich and walked over to the bedside, sitting down heavily next to him.

Arthur took several long gulps of juice, then held out the bottle to Merlin.

Merlin took it, and finished it off, then sat and stared some more, frowning to himself.

“Eat,” Arthur told him, nudging Merlin’s ribs with his elbow.

“Right,” he said, taking a bite of sandwich. “It’s just… On top of everything… Now here you are,
explaining things about magic to me…”

“Don’t get used to it. From now on, I’m leaving all that magic nonsense to you.”

Merlin stared down at the sandwich in his hand. “Only with my king’s permission.”

Arthur placed a hand upon Merlin’s leg, squeezing gently, until Merlin met his gaze. “That oath
was there only for your protection. Now that the crisis has past, I leave the use of magic to your
discretion. Just as it should be.” He hesitated, thinking about that. “Unless it concerns the safety
of our people, in which case-“

“Only with your permission,” Merlin agreed, sounding relieved.

Arthur nodded, and returned his attention to the bag of food. “So how is Freya this morning?” he
asked casually.

Merlin choked on his sandwich for several long moments. Serves him right, Arthur thought, as he
retrieved a croissant. He should have told me about it when he walked in the door. That and
whatever was on that piece of paper in his pocket.

“She’s doing well,” Merlin said finally. “She’s not trapped in the lake anymore. It took her a
while to answer me when I called to her.” Merlin looked out the lakeside window, at the sparkling
water. “With the magics of Avalon spread over the earth, she can be wherever she pleases. In the
rain. In the streams. In the clouds. Anywhere.”

“Just like us,” Arthur said, smiling at the thought of it. Of the world stretching out before them.
And all the time imaginable to explore it.

Merlin smiled too, though a little sadly. “Just like us.”

For a while they ate in silence, the sounds of distant laughing voices and music filling the room.

“Just what is going on out there?” Arthur asked.

“The Summer Solstice festival,” Merlin said. “It happens every year. But I’ve never seen so many
people. And there’s news crews and people with video cameras all over the place.”

“No doubt wondering where island has gone,” Arthur said smugly.

“And the tower,” Merlin said, in dark satisfaction. “Good luck to them in finding either of them.”

“So are you going to tell me about the letter in your pocket that has you so upset, or are you
waiting for me to guess?”

“I was going to-“

“Tell me about it, yes, I figured that out already.”

Merlin pulled out the crumpled paper. “I found it in my flat on the floor,” he said, handing it to
Arthur. “She must have pushed it under the door.”

“Dear Emrys,” Arthur read aloud, and he looked up at Merlin, cocking an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Merlin muttered.

“I will not be returning to work until we speak together. I shall expect you for tea in my gardens
today. Sincerely, Eleanor Godwyn.”

“That,” Arthur concluded, “does not sound like a happy woman.”

“Considering that I healed her broken bones with magic, and she now probably thinks that she’s
either losing her mind or that I’m some sort of monster, I’d have to say no, she’s probably not
happy.”
Arthur stared with widening eyes at Merlin’s worried expression, very abruptly remembering
exactly how they’d staggered from the lake. “You changed the weather!” he burst out. “In front of
dozens of people-“

“And you pulled Excalibur out of a stone, just like in the legends,” Merlin snapped back.

“And then… Eleanor.”

“Yeah. And then Eleanor.” Merlin threw his food into the bag, and flopped onto his back upon the
bed.

“You’re going to have to tell her the truth,” Arthur said.

Merlin pressed his palms over his face. “I know,” he said into his hands. “And then she’ll never
speak to me again.”

Arthur set the bag of food on the floor, then lay down upon the mussed sheets at Merlin’s side. He
pulled Merlin’s hands away from his face, to find a truly distraught expression there.

“I am a horrible friend,” Merlin said.

“You are the best friend anyone could have,” Arthur said. “It’s not your fault that you have to lie
all the time.”

“Well that’s a change,” Merlin muttered at him.

“Yes,” Arthur said. “It is.”

Merlin turned his head towards him, curious. “Then you’re really not mad anymore. That I lied to
you in Camelot.”

“You did what you had to do, to protect the kingdom and to protect me. Just as I did the past
weeks.”

“A year ago.”

“Yes,” Arthur said, giving him a look. “The past weeks, a year ago.” He climbed from the bed,
pulling Merlin up with him. “Now come on. You need to go clean up and get dressed. Then we’ll
both go to Eleanor’s for tea, to set her mind, and yours, at peace.”

Merlin hesitated, looking pained, then abruptly stepped forward, arms wrapping around Arthur’s
back, chest pressing against his own, face buried against his shoulder.

Arthur slid his arms around Merlin’s hard shoulders, holding him, wondering at how welcome and
natural this was now, too. This new form of affection between them.

“Is this all right?” Merlin whispered into his neck.

“Very much so,” Arthur said back.

And then spent the next while just standing there, warmed by the man in his arms, wondering at
his life, as soft music and distant voices floated through the room.
 daisies for remembrance

Eleanor leaned her elbows on her small garden table, tapping worried fingertips upon her teacup,
watching Frederick struggle to his feet by the rose garden.

Kneeling too long pulling up the weeds, she thought. His back must be acting up again.

The breeze caught a few loose strands of her hair, carrying the smell of lilacs to where she sat in
the back gardens, beneath the shade of her dogwoods. Across the yard, Frederick took an unsteady
step, then walked more steadily to the azaleas, pruning shears in hand.

Not his back then, she thought. His blood pressure. A good thing that they both had doctor’s
appointments next week. She’d have to remember to have his medication checked. While also
remembering to pretend that her leg was still injured.

She shifted in her chair, uncrossing her legs. It was a bad habit she’d had when she was a girl.
She’d have to be more careful. She wasn’t supposed to be able to do that.

Frederick was bound to notice something was amiss soon, and then ask her for explanations she
couldn’t begin to give. Not without sounding like she was losing her mind. Which was a distinct
possibility, considering what she’d been thinking since the lake.

Eleanor pressed her fingers against the teapot, and found it still warm, if only just. “Old fool of a
man,” she muttered, pushing an unused teacup and saucer closer to the empty chair across from
her. “Just like you to-“

“Emrys! How wonderful to see you again!”

Eleanor squinted across their sunlit yard. Two men were walking around the side of their house,
through the wooden gate, and into their back gardens.

Arthur walked in the lead, a striking figure of a man, his blond hair shining in the sun, a broad
smile upon his handsome face, his hand extended to Frederick in greeting. Even dressed in a red t-
shirt and jeans, she could clearly see the bearing of royalty that had prompted her to ask about his
family name.

She felt her breathing speed up, remembering his hard blue stare, his assertion that he was of royal
blood, and from an ancient family of kings.

Royal blood! she thought, as she stared wide eyed at the ridiculously young looking blond man
standing in her back gardens, casually chatting with her husband. That was putting it lightly! If
any of this insanity were true, then that meant that Arthur-

She stopped that thought before it could go any farther.

One thing at a time, she told herself. For the love of god, girl. Take one damned thing at a time!

“Oh yes, she’s right over there!” came Frederick’s cheerful voice, and he pointed to her, drawing
the stares of both men.

Even from this distance she could see Emrys frowning. His entire demeanor managed to echo it,
from his crossed arms to his rounded shoulders to the fact that he stood just behind Arthur, as if
hiding behind him.
Or deferring to him, she found herself thinking. You always defer to royalty. You always stay a
step behind. Gran had told her that over and over again. They lead. You follow.

Merlin had done that constantly with Arthur, she remembered. Arthur had lead. And Merlin had
followed.

You tend to him like a servant, she’d told him once. Dear god in heaven…

Over by the house, Emrys took a half step towards her, then hesitated. Without interrupting his
conversation with Frederick, Arthur nudged Emrys in the back, gentle but sure, in her direction.

She studied him as he approached. He moved like an old man, unsteady and hunched. But he
looked odd, she thought. Something about him didn’t quite fit.

The clothes, she thought. That’s what it was. His clothes were nothing like his usual wardrobe.
His blue t-shirt was too tight. His black trousers too slim.

They’re Merlin’s clothes, she realized all at once. That’s what it is. He’s wearing Merlin’s
clothes.

When Emrys reached her table, she could clearly see the downturn of his lips beneath his long
white beard, and the worry deepening the wrinkles around his blue eyes. The wind blew his long
hair into his face, and he swatted at it, clearly irritated. A gesture that was startlingly familiar.

He was Emrys, beyond a shadow of a doubt.

And yet, he was not.

“Sit,” she told him, pointing to the chair opposite her.

Emrys wrapped arthritic fingers around the chair back, and pulled it out from the table, likely
tearing up her grass. He sat down with a relieved grunt, soothing down his beard, another familiar
motion that seemed strangely odd today.

Over by the house, Arthur put a hand on her husband’s shoulder, gesturing towards the front
gardens. Frederick nodded with enthusiasm, clapping Arthur on the back with a dirt covered hand,
before leading the way to the front of the house.

Arthur nodded over his shoulder at Emrys as they left, strong and reassuring. Emrys nodded back,
and sighed.

Well, she thought. That was an answer to one of her questions, at least.

Emrys pressed his fingers on the table top, leaning forward, opening his mouth to speak.

She held up her hand, waiting until she could be sure they were alone. When they were, she
pushed herself up, picked up her cane, and hit Emrys with it.

“Ow!” he snapped, grabbing his arm with an arthritic hand. “Eleanor!”

“What did you do!” she demanded, and hit him with her cane again.

“Stop it!” he said, pushing himself with obvious effort to his feet. “God’s sakes everyone keeps
hitting me! Stop it!” he said, catching her next swing and holding onto the cane. “I can explain!”

“I should hope so!” She pulled her cane away and jammed it into the earth with such strength that
it stuck there. Confound it, she thought angrily, she wasn’t supposed to be able to do that either.

“I’m sorry, I- It was an accident. I mean, not an accident but- I usually don’t- Not without
people’s permission. Or at least. Not anything that extreme…“ He huffed out a frustrated breath.
“Dammit,” he grumbled, and plopped himself back down in his chair.

Eleanor watched him lean forward on the table, his white hair falling over his shoulders, his
wrinkled face echoing his distress and pain, his bony hands wringing together upon the table.

Old fingers, she thought, staring down at his hands. He has old fingers and an old face and an old
body.

But it was Merlin’s eyes that she saw when he looked up after a long moment of silence. Merlin’s
eyes and Merlin’s clothes and Merlin’s bone-deep devotion to Arthur.

It can’t be, she told herself. This thing that she kept thinking. It simply can’t be.

Eleanor sat back down in her chair. Pressed her fingers to her teacup. Picked it up to take a sip.
Put it back down without doing so.

I have to say it, she thought. I have to know.

She turned her teacup on its saucer, staring down at the cooling liquid, drawing strength from the
familiarity of the fragrant gardens, the joyous birdsong, the summer breeze.

“You’re the same person,” she said, without looking up from her tea. “You and Merlin. You’re
the same man.”

She half expected him to deny it. A part of her wanted him to deny it. It would have been easier to
grasp, though the consequences would have been worse. Senility was probably in her future
anyway. Might as well get it started sooner than later.

When Emrys didn’t reply, she looked up at him.

Merlin’s eyes, she thought again. Those are Merlin’s eyes looking at me.

“You’re Merlin,” she said to him, forcing the words out. And she didn’t just mean the man who’d
claimed to be Emrys’ great nephew. She meant Merlin from the legends. Merlin from her
storybooks as a child. “The Merlin,” she added. Because it felt important to say it out loud.

Emrys sighed. “Yes,” he said wearily. “I am.”

She waited for him to say he was joking, as he so often had. But he didn’t say it. He just stared at
her. Looking tired, and sad, and guilty.

“Is this one of your jokes?” she asked sharply. “I know how you are, and if you’re having me on-“

“It’s not a joke, Eleanor. Not this time.”

A surge of doubt had her leaning forward, grabbing hold of a handful of his beard, and yanking on
it, hard.

“Ow! Eleanor!“ He swatted away her hand when she reached for a handful of long hair. “Will
you stop it! It’s not a disguise, it’s me.”

“That’s impossible,” she said. “You can’t be young one day and old the next.”
“Actually, I can.” He glanced into the yard, then back to her. “Let me show you.”

She looked towards the house, seeking out any signs of Frederick or Arthur. But neither of them
had returned. “I don’t know-“ she began.

When she turned back to Emrys, she saw Merlin sitting there.

He was in exactly the same spot, in exactly the same position, with his hands folded on the table
like Emrys’ had been.

Eleanor stared at his young face and his black hair and his strong arms, utterly astonished. Even
his hands upon the table held the blush of youth. She reached out, touching his soft skin. “That’s
impossible,” she said softly.

“It’s not impossible if you have magic.”

“There’s no such thing as magic,” she said, without thinking.

His sudden burst of laughter caught them both off guard, judging by the arch of his eyebrows.
“You have got to be kidding,” he said wryly. “Do you not see me sitting here looking like I’m
thirty? When two seconds ago I looked like I was ninety?” He shook his head at her as he picked
up the teapot. “Honestly, Eleanor. I’d expect that from everyone else in this century. But not
from you.”

She watched him put far too much sugar into his tea, then stir it roughly, his metal spoon clanking
against her china, just as Emrys had always done. “Careful with that cup,” she snapped. “That’s-“

“Your Gran’s china, which she pulled from the rubble in forty-four, after her parents’ house was
bombed by the Nazis two days after Christmas,” he finished. “Yes, I remember you telling me that
story before. Several times.”

She watched him sipping at his tea, dazed by the sudden realization that the young man before her
held all of the memories of the old man she’d known. Because he was, in fact, the same person.
Even though he now looked younger than her son.

As he sipped his tea, he peered nervously at her over the rim of his teacup. It was reassuring,
somehow. Seeing this very human emotion in his eyes.

“Are you human?” she heard herself ask.

She regretted the question at once, because pain flashed in his eyes, and he winced, as if she’d
physically hurt him.

“I’m sorry-“ she began.

“It’s all right,” he said in a low voice, lowering his cup. “And the answer is no. Or. Well. Not
entirely. I suppose.”

“You suppose?” she asked. “Don’t you know?”

He surprised her by smiling, amused and curious both. “These aren’t the questions I expected you
to be asking me.”

“Well if I’d had any idea about any of this, I’m sure I would have been better able to prepare.”

He accepted her burst of anger with a nod, shifting in his chair, then glancing abruptly back at the
house.

Voices drew her gaze, to where Arthur and Frederick were strolling into the back gardens,
Frederick pointing with great enthusiasm at the blooming hydrangeas nearby.

“That’s really him,” Eleanor said, staring at Arthur. “That’s really… King Arthur?”

“It is,” came a gravelly voice.

When she turned back to Merlin, she saw Emrys sitting there.

“I thought… To make things easier…” he said, and nodded towards the house.

“To make things easier!” she burst out, and grabbed for her cane.

“Eleanor, for god’s sakes, stop trying to hit me!” Emrys snapped, grabbing the cane before she
could, and setting it by his chair.

“Well then stop doing-“ She waved her hand vaguely at him. “That nonsense!”

Emrys snorted out a laugh in response, his lips pulling into a crooked grin.

“Don’t you dare laugh at me, Emrys Hunithson – or Merlin Hunithson - or whatever your name
is!”

“Right, sorry, it’s not funny at all, you yelling at me about my magic, just like you yell at me about
everything else.” He picked up the teapot and refilled his cup. “Let’s be serious, then, shall we?
We could discuss the sales numbers from last month. Or maybe the upcoming staff schedule.”

“Or maybe why you lied to me for thirty years, and pretended to be someone you aren’t,” she said
bitterly, a rush of emotion flushing her face hot.

He didn’t flinch away from her anger. Instead, he set down the teapot and leaned forward on the
table, his gaze hard upon her own. No trace of youth remained in his eyes. If anything, something
far more ancient lurked there.

“I lied,” Emrys said, “to protect my king. That has been my duty and my destiny for over fifteen
hundred years. Not only as his servant, but as his subject, as his sorcerer, and as his friend. I am
truly sorry that I hurt you by lying. But it was the only choice.”

Eleanor set her cup down upon the table with a loud clink, her thoughts racing to catch up with his
words. Fifteen hundred years, she kept thinking. That wasn’t possible, was it? That he was fifteen
hundred years old…

“I never pretended, though,” Emrys said into her thoughts. “I was always me. And I wasn’t like
this, incidentally,” he said, gesturing at himself. “I didn’t switch back and forth from young to old
and back. I really did grow old just as you did. I woke up with aches in my knuckles, and couldn’t
get my knees to unbend, and nearly fell putting on my trousers. All day, every day. Right up until
I had to return to my younger self, when Arthur came back last year.”

Eleanor followed Emrys’ gaze, to where Arthur was crouching down by Frederick’s feet, pulling at
some weeds for him. “Oh good heavens,” she breathed, as Frederick pointed at another patch of
crabgrass, and the King of England pulled it out with his strong hands. “Frederick,” she breathed,
distressed.
“I’ll give you a raise if you don’t do anything to interrupt them,” Emrys said, smiling in delight as
he watched the goings on. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Arthur even touch the gardens, much less
weed them.”

Arthur glanced over his shoulder just then, his eyes clearly seeking Emrys, to give him a look that
pleaded for rescue from his predicament.

Frederick poked at Arthur’s shoulder, pointing to a patch of dandelions behind the hydrangea.

“I’m quite enjoying this, to be honest,” Emrys said, sounding delighted. “I don’t actually think
I’ve ever seen Arthur do any sort of manual labor. Except for that one time that he gathered
firewood in the Forest of Ascetir. It wasn’t really that much firewood, though, come to think of it.
He was a bit distracted with Morgana having taken over the kingdom at the time, so-”

“I have no idea who you are,” Eleanor found herself saying, drawing his immediate and complete
attention. “I look at you, and I see the man I knew. But I don’t know you. Not at all.”

“You do know me,” Emrys assured her. “You do. There’s just… a bit more of me than you knew
was there before.”

“Fifteen hundred years more,” she insisted.

He leaned forward to cover her hand with his own. “Do you remember that ridiculous purple hat
you wore the first time you came into the café? The one with that sad little wilted daisy pinned to
it?”

“I remember thinking that you looked like you’d dressed yourself in the dark that morning.”

“Something that was entirely possible without you nagging me about how I dress every single
day,” he said, gently teasing. “Do you know what I remember thinking about you?”

She watched him pick up her empty teacup, and place it between them. “What do you remember?”

“I remember thinking,” he said, covering the cup with one wrinkled hand, “that you were the
bossiest person I’d met in over a thousand years. And the perfect person to run my shops. If only I
could get you to smile.”

Gold sparkled in his eyes, like sunlight dancing. When he lifted his hand from her teacup, she saw
a small white daisy resting within it, just like the one she’d had that day.

Eleanor picked up the small flower. Stared down at its petals. “I thought you were dead, you
know. When you and Arthur disappeared.”

“I honestly had no idea we were going to have to do that. I swear I didn’t. But it couldn’t be
avoided, I’m afraid.”

“Where did you go that you couldn’t even send word?”

“In the lake,” he told her, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world, and not something
even crazier than what he’d already said. “Well,” he amended. “Not exactly in the lake. We were
actually within the magics within and below the lake. And then we were everywhere. Trying to
keep the ancient forces from destroying the northern hemisphere after our battle with the Sidhe.”
He leaned back, taking another sip of tea. “That’s all taken care of now. Nothing for you to worry
about. Or so it seems, anyway,” he added, with a strange glance back to the house.
She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms, frowning at him. “Do you have any idea how
absolutely mental you sound?”

“People ask him that all the time,” came Arthur’s voice.

Eleanor startled, turning in her chair to watch Arthur duck under a dogwood branch and walk
towards the table, Frederick at his side.

“No one asks me that,” Emrys said, raising a scolding eyebrow at Arthur.

“They should,” Arthur assured him, giving Frederick a conspiratorial smile, which he returned with
a chuckle.

“Don’t encourage him,” Emrys said to Frederick, and grabbed at his tea, to take a sip.

Arthur ignored the comment, turning instead to address her. His golden hair shone with a crown of
light even in the shade, his eyes blue as the sky as he granted her a smile.

“It’s good to see you again, Lady Eleanor,” Arthur said, his voice formal and regal and carrying
echoes of ancient kings.

Years of her Gran’s training kicked in all at once, and she pushed herself to her feet, set one foot
behind the other, grabbed hold of her skirt, and curtseyed to him, dropping her gaze.

“My lord King Arthur,” she said breathlessly, her stomach full of butterflies.

She felt a hand rest upon her shoulder, and a knuckle tap at her chin. When she looked up, she
found Arthur smiling at her, young and handsome and very obviously pleased by what she’d done.

“As I said before,” he said, “you can call me Arthur.”

She nodded, feeling giddy like a young girl, wondering if she could ever bring herself to address
him in such a familiar way again.

“King Arthur,” Frederick said with a chuckle, startling her into stepping back from the young king.
“She’s a funny one, my dove, isn’t she?”

“Keeps me in stitches,” Emrys said, sipping at his tea.

“I trust everything is all right?” Arthur asked him.

“Just a few more things to finish up,” Emrys said. “Perhaps Frederick could show you his model
trains in the front gardens while you’re waiting.”

“Oh I did forget to show you those!” Frederick said, and he took Arthur’s arm, pulling at him.
“Come along, young man. Tell me, did you ever play with trains as a boy?”

“Can’t say as I did,” Arthur said, as he shot Emrys a look over his shoulder.

Eleanor put her hands to her mouth, watching in horror as her husband pulled the King of England
across her lawns, slapping his back with his dirty hand, leaving dust marks upon his royal person.
“Oh for heaven’s sake Frederick,” she muttered.

“Don’t worry about Arthur,” Emrys said, sounding quite pleased by Arthur’s manhandling. “I
think he’ll actually like the trains. He likes anything to do with technology. And that was a very
nicely done curtsey by the way. Better than most of those I saw from the nobility who came to see
Arthur at court.”

Eleanor eyed her cane, sorely tempted to smack him with it again. She was far from prepared to
make light of any of this. “I don’t like lying to my husband,” she snapped.

“I can tell him the truth if you like,” Emrys told her.

“Or my family,” she pressed.

“I can tell them too.”

“Oh, so now it’s all right for you to tell the truth?”

“Yes, now that Arthur is back from the dead and the world isn’t going to end. Or at least…”

“At least what?”

He set down his tea and pushed his saucer away. “Nothing. And yes, I can tell them. Just don’t
expect them to believe me. I barely got you to believe me, and that’s even after I fixed your leg
with magic. I am sorry about that, by the way. Not fixing it. But the way it happened. I was
under the influence of some powerful magics at the time. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“You are unbelievable, do you know that?” Eleanor asked, the question bursting forth without
thought at the sheer quantity of insanity spilling from his lips. “You, this entire situation… You’re
just… Exhausting.”

“You should try being me for a day,” he said emphatically. “Although, to be honest, this particular
day isn’t so bad. I always do enjoy the Solstice Festival. It’s the one day a year I ever get to tell
the truth.”

“So all those years… You really were- conjuring- butterflies,” she forced out. “And doing magic
while you told the story of King Arthur by the bonfire.”

“Speaking of that,” Emrys said, and she could see a familiar mischief in his eyes. “I’ve got a
special show planned for the bonfire tonight. And a new story to tell. I think you’ll want to hear
it.”

“You seem fairly certain of that,” she said primly, as she got to her feet, grabbing her entirely
unnecessary cane from by his chair.

“What I’m certain about is that you deserve answers,” Emrys said, as he stood with her. “I want to
give them to you. And to Heath and Danyl and Frederick too. So make sure you’re all there. Oh,
and I have a job offer for all of you, too. You’ll need the entire truth before you can consider it.”

“I already have a job working for you.”

“This is a different job,” he said, winking at her.

Together they walked to the edge of the dogwood grove. He reached out to touch the soft flowers
of her rhododendron, smiling to himself. “Your gardens are always so lovely this time of year.”

“All except for Henry’s daisies,” she said, nodding down to where the rhododendrons had crowded
the flowers out of growing space.

“I’ve never heard of a Henry’s Daisy before,” Emrys said, bending down with cracking knees to
poke at the white flowers peaking out from beneath broad green leaves.
“It’s not a flower name. I just call them that, because my first husband Henry planted them. All of
these flower gardens were his. I took them over after he passed. To help remember him.”

“So your hat that day,” Emrys said softly to the flowers. “And your dresses…”

“Silly, I know,” she said. “But he was my first love. And I still miss him. Even though I love my
Frederick more than I can possibly say.”

Emrys stood up by her side. “It’s never easy to be left behind,” he said, his voice low and rough.

Across the yard, she heard Arthur’s deep laugh. He was wandering back from the front of the
house, a train car in his hands, discussing it with Frederick in obvious delight.

Emrys smiled over at Arthur, moisture sparkling in his blue eyes, his expression absolutely
transformed by Arthur’s presence.

“What does it feel like?” she asked softly. “When someone you love comes back to you?”

“Oh, Eleanor… It feels…” He smiled at her, sad and joyous both, stretching out his hand, gold
sparkling in his eyes. “Like coming back to life.”

Upon the ground at their feet, dozens of daisies stretched up from the soil. Eleanor watched in
utter amazement, a hand pressing to her chest, as daisies filled every inch of ground, as healthy and
as numerous as when Henry had first planted them there.

For a long time she stood by his side, staring down at the daisies, while the birds sang above them
and blue butterflies danced from flower to flower.

“I don’t know what I should call you,” she said, after a while.

“I’d like it if you called me friend,” he said back.

“Old fool. I’ll always call you that.”

“Good,” he said, sounding profoundly relieved. “That’s…. good.”

She watched him stretch out his hand. Four blue butterflies flew over at once, all of them alighting
on his upturned palm, their wings flattening to feel the warmth of the sun.

Eleanor studied the intricate patterns on their wings. “The dark blue shape on their wings looks
like a dragon.”

“That’s probably my fault,” he told her. “In fact, that’s definitely my fault.”

“Are you joking?”

“Nope.”

“You understand why I’m going to have to constantly ask you now.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything different,” he said, wiggling his fingers. Each butterfly obediently
moved to each of his fingertips, then fluttered their wings and flew away.

“You are a strange, strange man,” Eleanor said, half to herself.

Emrys turned to face her, a hopeful expression setting a sparkle to his eyes. “Come to the bonfire
tonight,” he urged. “Let me tell why. Let me tell you everything.”

“And it’ll only be the truth?”

“It’s the one day a year I can tell it.”

“In that case,” she said, “how can I say no.”

But getting to the Solstice Festival proved more difficult than she thought.

The crowd around the Avalon Stone Circle Park was simply out of control. Nearby roads were
blocked off because of it, and police were directing traffic away from the entire area.

She and Frederick only managed to get through when she recognized a local Constable standing at
a crossing. And even then he’d had to escort their car all the way to Emrys’ private garage across
from the manor.

After meeting Danyl and Heath in the closed café, the boys escorted her and Frederick through the
throng of people, down to the lakeside, to folding chairs that had been set up near the bonfire in the
middle of the Stone Circle.

Beyond the safe perimeter around the blazing fire, every inch of grass was covered by blankets and
sleeping bags. Apparently every human being within fifty kilometers was here tonight, to see the
sun rise over the empty lake.

“It’s like being at Stonehenge,” she said, as she sat down in her chair by the bonfire.

Frederick took the seat beside her. “Can you young people behind me see all right?” he asked,
turning in his chair to the family behind him.

“It’s okay,” a woman dressed as a princess said, as she hauled her daughter onto her lap. “Emrys
walks around a lot. Everyone has a chance to see the show.”

“You just tell me if you want to sit right up front,” Frederick said, and patted the little girl’s head.

Eleanor set her hand on his leg, giving it a fond squeeze, as she scanned the darkening evening
skies above. Deep reds and purples from sunset still stained the sky over the lake, reflecting on the
dark empty water.

“It’s still so strange to see it without the island there, isn’t it dove?” Frederick asked, setting an arm
over her chair.

“I’ve gotten used to it,” she said absently, scanning the crowd of families and children and people
in costume, all milling around in anticipation for the show.

“This is insane,” Heath said, sitting down heavily upon the ground by her chair, his chainmail and
armor scraping and jingling as he did so. “Come on, Dan, sit down. Whatever you’re writing can
wait until later.”

“Just making notes for next year,” Danyl said, slowly dropping to a knee by Heath’s side,
scribbling furiously on a clipboard filled with torn pages and post it notes. “At least we made it
through the day,” he said in obvious exhaustion. “Eleanor, I don’t suppose…?”

“We’ll see,” she said, resting her cane beside her chair, feeling more than a little guilty at throwing
the boys to the wolves in light of this mess.
Up the hill she heard squeals of children’s laughter. When she twisted in her chair, she saw Emrys
striding towards the bonfire in his pointy hat and blue robes and red flowing cape. Several
children were pulling him by the hand, through the applauding crowd, all calling to him to tell the
story and do magic.

Arthur followed behind them, looking delighted by the spectacle, still dressed as he had been
earlier, but with a black jacket against the chill of the evening.

“Cor, Eleanor,” Heath said. “You told us Emrys would be back. But I have to say, I didn’t really
think he would be.”

“I see Arthur,” Danyl said, half rising to his knees, before Eleanor tapped him with her cane to sit
him back down. “Is Merlin there too?”

“Yes, he’s there,” Eleanor said firmly, watching Emrys move along the front of the crowd
encircling the bonfire, playfully patting the heads of small children dressed as dragons, bowing to
those dressed as damsels, saluting others dressed as knights.

“Where?” Danyl said, straining to look.

Eleanor pointed with her cane at Emrys. “There.”

“Did someone here say they wanted to hear the story?” Emrys called out, clapping his hands
together.

Applause all around, and the beating of drums, and calls for the story of King Arthur.

Arthur stood with his back to the bonfire, smiling out at the crowd surrounding him. Emrys
stepped to his side, placing a hand on his shoulder, gesturing to a spot at the front of the crowd, not
too far from her.

Arthur nodded, a fond smile upon his lips, then took a seat by a family all dressed as dragons,
nodding in obvious amusement at them.

“Where’s Merlin?” Heath asked craning his neck to see. “Is he behind Emrys?”

Eleanor put her hand on Heath’s shoulder, attracting both Heath and Danyl’s attention. “Merlin
isn’t behind Emrys,” she told them both. “Merlin is Emrys.”

“All right then,” Emrys called, clapping his hands together, as he strode around the empty space
beside the bonfire. “For those of you who don’t know me, let me introduce myself! My name is
Merlin of Ealdor, and I am the servant, friend, and sorcerer to the Once and Future King Arthur
Pendragon of Camelot!”

Emrys waved a hand at the fire, his eyes flashed gold, and the flames exploded upwards, making
the children squeal their delight and the people clap their hands and bang their drums in the
flickering firelight.

“He’s not even bothering with the powder this year,” she said half to herself. “Old fool of a
man…”

“Eleanor-“ Heath said.

“Watch him,” she told both of the boys. She patted Frederick’s leg, to make sure he was paying
attention. “Just watch him.”
“I am quite certain,” Emrys was saying, as he stalked around the bonfire, “that you think you
already know the story of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. But I am here to tell
you that you do not! You only know that rubbish written by those pompous prats Geoffrey and
Marlowe and White.” Here came a short burst of laughter, as it always did. “Only I know the
truth! And soon you will too! Is everyone ready to hear the truth?”

Another round of applause, as Emrys walked around the bonfire, hands clasped behind his back,
nodding his approval, smiling to himself.

When he rounded to where Arthur sat in the front of the crowd, he stopped, and smiled down at
him, to receive a fond smile in return.

“Before I begin that story,” Emrys told the silent crowd, “I want you all to know that you’re also
going to hear a brand new story tonight. You’ll be the first people in the world to hear it, right
here, in the Stone Circle that I built myself, over a thousand years ago.”

Eleanor watched Emrys move around the bonfire in his robes and hat and red cape, the crowd tense
and excited and silent around him, awaiting what he would say next.

“This new story,” Emrys said, “is about Arthur’s return. In it, you will learn of a brave and noble
king’s journey to become part of the world, while preparing for battle, and helping a friend
desperately in need. It is a story of loss, and of courage. Of sacrifice, and nobility. It is, in short,
the story of how King Arthur Pendragon of Camelot saved the entire world, without any of you
even knowing he did it.”

“With your help,” came Arthur’s voice from the crowd, low and strong.

Emrys smiled at him, delighted. “Well, just a little,” he said.

And then he began his tale.

She’d heard Emrys tell the story of Arthur before. But this time, as she listened, she let herself
believe it. Or at least tried to, as best she could. Because it was just so amazing, the things he
said. Death at every turn, while they were still no more than boys, and battles and deception and
betrayals, all leading to Arthur’s death at far too young an age, and Merlin’s lonely vigil upon the
shores of the Lake of Avalon.

But just as Emrys had said, this year the tale went on, beginning on last year’s Solstice Sunrise,
when Arthur had stumbled from the lake, soaking wet and confused and apparently returning from
the dead.

“The problem was,” Emrys told the silent and enraptured crowd, “that I couldn’t serve my king as
an old man. So I had to become my younger self again.” He walked over to where Eleanor sat with
Heath and Danyl and Frederick. “I didn’t want to leave my friends. But I had no choice. I needed
to change. And so I did. Like this.”

Eleanor watched him wave his hands over himself, muttering to himself in a language she didn’t
understand. Behind him the fire flared brighter, making her wince away.

When it died down, the people around her oohed and aahed. Because in Emrys’ place stood
Merlin, his arms still outstretched, the pointy blue hat upon his black hair, the wizard’s robes
hanging from his tall frame, the red cape flowing behind him.

As wild applause broke out through the crowd, Eleanor looked over at Heath, who was frowning,
and Danyl, who had gone wide eyed.
She reached past Heath to tap Danyl on the top of the head, because she could see he was closer to
understanding than Heath. When Danyl looked over at her, she pointed at Emrys with her cane.
“Emrys is Merlin,” she said firmly. “The Merlin. From the stories of King Arthur.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Heath informed her.

“Oh my god,” Danyl whispered.

Beside the bonfire, Merlin was speaking to the crowd of ancient forces, and of nightmares, and of
creatures of magic within the lake. His voice rose in volume as it described the growing threat, and
the events that had followed, leading to the confrontation a year ago by the lakeside, and the
destruction of the island and the tower.

“Would you like to see how I destroyed the tower?” Merlin called to the crowd, his eyes sparkling,
but not with mirth.

Calls ran out to see the magic, and he spun to face the fire, hands weaving through the air. Sparks
rose up from the flames at once, shaping themselves into a round mound, and a ruined tower upon
it. With a shove of his hand through the air, the shape of the tower burst into a fireball, the island
melting into the fire beneath it.

More applause followed the fading of the sparks. Eleanor looked around in astonishment, as
people turned to one another and chatted and kept pointing their mobiles at the show.

“Must have been a hologram,” the woman behind her said.

“That 3D stuff,” said another man.

Unbelievable, Eleanor thought. They’re looking straight at magic, and they don’t even see it.

Only Heath and Danyl looked as if they recognized something extraordinary was happening. And
Frederick had begun scowling as well.

By the bonfire, Merlin’s tale had reached the day before, when they’d returned from the lake,
victorious, having apparently saved the world.

“And we all have this man, right here, to thank for it,” Merlin said, stepping in front of Arthur.
“Without him, not a single person here would be alive.”

“Merlin,” Arthur said, sounding exasperated.

“Please sire,” Merlin said, in a voice she wasn’t sure he meant to carry. “Please. Just… Stand up?”

Arthur gave him a weary look, but got to his feet, shoulders pulling back, chin lifting.

“This man,” Merlin said, his voice strained with emotion, “standing before you now, is King
Arthur Pendragon of Camelot, the Once and Future King. We owe him our lives, though no one
will ever know of it, and fewer still will ever believe it.”

And then Merlin got down on his knees, staring up at Arthur with an adoration and devotion the
likes of which Eleanor had never seen before. As Merlin kneeled before him, he lifted his hand,
waving it front of Arthur.

Golden starlight sparkled over Arthur’s head, falling down upon him, to form a golden crown and
glittering chainmail, a sparkling cape falling from his shoulders.
“Long live the king!” Merlin choked out, barely able to get the words past his lips.

The words drove Eleanor to her feet.

“Long live the king!” she shouted.

Arthur looked over at her, startled.

Behind her in the crowd, two more voices joined in. And then a dozen more by the heelstone, and
then a chorus of voices after that, all shouting it together, until everyone was climbing to their feet,
shouting it out together, one cry after another.

Eleanor watched Arthur’s jaw work and his breath catch, looking at all the people around him, and
then over at her, before returning his gaze to Merlin, who had tears running down his face as he
knelt at Arthur’s feet.

“Eleanor!” Heath shouted over the calls into Eleanor’s ear.

Both he and Danyl were both staring at her, astonished.

She felt Frederick take her hand, and when she looked over, she found that he was holding her
cane, looking at her curiously.

Applause broke out them, interrupting the chant, because Arthur was leading Merlin away, an arm
around his shoulders, the golden light gone from around him.

Eleanor watched them vanish into the crowd, applause following them as they went.

“Long live the king,” she said once more, and found that she truly believed it, with everything that
she was.
 sun rising over the waters

It took very little to convince Arthur to sleep outside that night.

“Watching the Summer Solstice sunrise brings you luck,” Merlin had said.

And that had been enough for Arthur.

So after they’d left the cheering crowds by the bonfire, they’d wandered into the forest, down a dirt
path to the lakeside, to a small patch of grass and moss sheltered by saplings, hidden from view.

Merlin had seen Freya in this hidden cove earlier that day. She’d appeared in the waters, her lovely
face full of joy, to tell him of all the places she’d gone since she’d been freed.

Now that she was untethered from Lake Avalon, she could move through any of the forms that
water knew. As fog lifting into the clouds. As rain falling upon great oceans. As snow melting
down mountainsides. As streams bubbling through forests.

“The world is so indescribably beautiful, Merlin,” she’d told him, her voice happier than ever he’d
heard it. “Thank you so much for giving it to me.”

“Thank you for helping Arthur when I couldn’t,” Merlin had told her, and the old guilt had come
back, piercing and deep.

“If you want to thank me,” she’d said, “then be happy, Merlin. I’ve watched you suffer in
loneliness and sorrow for far, far too long.”

Arthur’s hand upon his shoulder had drawn him from his thoughts.

As the sounds of the festival had echoed through the night, Merlin had spread out his blue robes
upon the grass, shivering in his light shirt and trousers. After lighting a fire to warm them both, he
and Arthur had laid down upon the soft robes, and had covered themselves with the red cloak of
the House of Pendragon.

Merlin had reached for Arthur then, urgent and desperate. But Arthur had gentled him, reminding
him of his earlier promise to demonstrate the joys of taking things slowly.

And then Arthur had made good on his promise, gifting him with soft kisses and caresses far more
tender than Merlin would have ever imagined from his warrior king.

After a while he’d felt his desire transform into a drunken haze of pleasure that made everything
else fade away. It had reminded him of their time in the magics of Avalon. He’d told Arthur so,
once he’d gotten his breath back.

But Arthur had only laughed, and called him ridiculous, and said that what they were feeling had
nothing at all to do with magic.

Merlin had blinked up at the flickering firelight upon the canopy of leaves, the ground hard
beneath his back, Arthur heavy upon his chest, as Arthur pressed kiss after kiss along his neck.

“What is it then, if not magic?” Merlin had whispered to the trees.

“It’s love, you idiot,” Arthur had said.

Merlin had responded to Arthur’s words by pouring fifteen hundred years of wanting and of
waiting and of loving into his every touch and his every kiss, until Arthur leaned back, breathless,
staring down at him with wide blue eyes, as if Merlin were a thing of wonder.

His king breathed out a silent ‘oh’, his expression filled with too much sorrow and too much
understanding and a thousand other things, all of which Merlin wanted to taste.

But before he could tip up his head to do so, Arthur bent low and kissed him instead, whispering
words of devotion every time he paused for breath.

It was a long while before exhaustion pulled them into sleep, fully clothed and unsated, but content
to be in the circle of one another’s arms.

They had all the time in the world, after all.

Merlin woke first the next morning, the sounds of distant cheers and drums pulling him reluctantly
from a deep sleep.

Arthur was a warm and heavy presence all along his side, beneath the heavy red cape draped over
them both. Merlin dragged his nose through Arthur’s hair, feeling the soft strands tickling his skin,
and smiled faintly to himself.

Because this was his life now. He could do this in the morning. Have Arthur like this, all to
himself. And not just this morning, But all mornings. Always.

Another echo of cheering voices had him blink dazedly towards the lake. On the other side of the
waters, above the distant hills, the sun had risen.

“Arthur,” he said, voice still rough with sleep.

Arthur grunted his displeasure at being disturbed, shoving his face against Merlin’s neck.

Merlin grinned up at the leaves, remembering all those years he’d had difficulty rousing Arthur
from beneath his royal blankets. “Hey,” he said softly. “Dollop head. Come on. Wake up.
You’re missing the sunrise.”

“Oh look at how lovely it is,” Arthur mumbled, without opening his eyes.

Merlin pressed his smile into Arthur’s soft hair, his fingertips sliding over the smooth fabric of
Arthur’s shirt stretched across his strong back. Above where they lay, a host of blue butterflies
had emerged from the trees, to dance in the rays of the solstice sun.

Perfect, Merlin thought. It’s all just… perfect.

He let his eyes fall closed. Savoring the moment.

Arthur twitched against him, a sure sign he had started to fall back to sleep.

Merlin drew in a deep breath to rouse himself, opening his eyes to discover that even more
butterflies now filled the air. Dozens more had come to land upon the red cape covering them
both.

A few even sat happily upon Arthur’s hair, their wings open, as if sheltering their king from the
daylight.
“Go on, you lot,” he whispered, and he lifted his hand from Arthur’s back, stirring the cape over
them, sending the curious creatures fluttering back into the air.

“Mmmf,” Arthur said, complaining at the disturbance.

“Come on, your highness,” Merlin said, poking at Arthur’s side. “Up and at ‘em. Early bird
catches the worm. Let’s have you, lazy daisy-”

“What have I told you about ‘let’s have you lazy daisy’,” Arthur muttered, pulling the cape over
his head.

“That it’s better than ‘rise and shine’?”

“No.”

“Oh come on,” Merlin said, pulling the red fabric from Arthur’s face, mussing his hair. “At least
glance at it. It will bring you luck, remember?”

Arthur shoved himself resentfully to an elbow, just enough to squint at the sunrise. “Don’t see
what all the fuss is about. It’s just the sunrise.”

“It is more impressive from the middle of the Stone Circle,” Merlin admitted. “What with the
shadow casting through the stones properly. And something is missing from the whole experience
without the tower there.”

“Nothing is missing from anything without the tower there,” Arthur said, and dropped back to
Merlin’s side, pulling the cape over his shoulder.

Merlin stared across the empty waters of the lake. “Have I thanked you yet for telling me to
destroy that damned thing?”

“Not that I remember.”

“Well thank you.”

Arthur hummed his response, sliding a hand over Merlin’s chest to press a palm over his heartbeat.

Merlin looked fondly down at his king. “Thank you,” he said again, softer.

“My pleasure.”

Merlin watched the sunlight sparkle and dance upon the soft waves. “It’s really not a bad lake,” he
conceded.

“Though a bit cold, apparently.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

Arthur heard the question in the words, because he pushed himself back up to his elbow, blinking
down at Merlin, his hair catching in the breeze, his blue eyes half lidded with sleep.

Beautiful, Merlin thought. Arthur was so impossibly beautiful, with his blue eyes and his strong
jaw and his sharp nose and his full lips.

My king, he thought in awe. And no matter what had happened, no matter what would happen,
Arthur would always, always be that.
The entire world seemed to know it anyway, from people Arthur hardly knew calling him sire, to
the butterflies that had sought to shelter him with their wings. Even the sun set a shining crown
upon his blond head, as his hair moved in the morning breeze.

“What is it?” Arthur asked.

Merlin pulled himself back to the present. What had he been saying? Oh yes. The lake.

“People don’t have to think the lake is cold anymore,” he said. “There’s no reason any longer to
keep people away. I could remove the enchantment upon it.”

‘If you want me to’ was left unsaid. He knew Arthur heard it anyway.

“I do believe you should,” Arthur said. “And as soon as possible.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s only fitting for the people of Avalon to claim use of these waters. They don’t belong to
anyone else, after all.”

Merlin raised an impressed eyebrow at the quiet vengeance of this action. “All that time the Sidhe
were worried about me. They should have been worried about you, instead.”

“’Little king’ indeed,” Arthur said darkly, pushing himself up to sit facing the water.

Merlin sat up by Arthur’s side, a smile twitching at his lips. “Not so little,” he said, glancing down
at Arthur’s lap.

Arthur choked out a surprised laugh, brows raising. “Merlin,” he said, attempting to sound
scandalized.

Merlin ducked his head, smiling, feeling a blush heat his cheeks.

“The mouth on you,” Arthur said.

Merlin’s gaze snapped up in time to catch Arthur’s glance at his lips, and suggestive twitch of his
eyebrow.

“Arthur,” he said, astonished.

“That truly was an excellent example of knee walking you demonstrated to me yesterday,” Arthur
said, clearly enjoying the effect his words were having.

“Yes, yes, all right,” Merlin said, his face hot with his ridiculous blush.

He was rewarded with one of Arthur’s crooked boyish smiles, the one he’d often worn as a prince,
before he’d learned to school his expressions into the royal mask he’d worn at court.

Arthur nudged at his shoulder. “Go on. Give the people of Avalon back their lake.”

Merlin stretched out an arm, palm open, fingers stretched wide. An old gesture that he no longer
needed. But Arthur liked it. So he did it anyway.

He even spoke the words of the spell out loud, which was hardly necessary for so simple a thing.

“Abiraþ þá drýcræftas fra díepena,” he said, pitching his voice low, staring steadily into Arthur’s
widening eyes.

He felt his magic stretch out to the lake, unwinding the enchantments he’d laid upon the waters and
the surrounding hills centuries ago.

His magic hadn’t yet left him when Arthur slid a hand around the back of his neck and pulled him
in for a kiss, head tilted and lips parted and tongue sliding into his mouth, as if to taste the power
lingering there.

Merlin leaned into the unexpected kiss, and spent many long moments tasting Arthur upon his lips.

When finally Arthur leaned away, it was to stare at him in open wonder.

“What?” Merlin whispered, his voice stolen by his desire.

“Like golden starlight,” Arthur said, sliding his palm to the side of Merlin’s face, tracing a gentle
thumb along his cheekbone, Arthur’s ring cool upon his heated skin. “That’s what it looks like
when you do magic. Like the stars themselves are in your eyes. Because they are, aren’t they.
That’s what magic is. It’s everything. Everywhere. Inside you.”

Merlin felt all thoughts leave his head that were not Arthur’s words and Arthur’s gaze and Arthur’s
lips as they found their way back to his mouth. He whimpered, a pathetic little noise, helpless and
wanting.

“Do it again,” Arthur breathed against his mouth, eyes open and looking at him despite their close
distance.

“Cume her waerme célnessa,” he whispered.

As warm breezes slid through the trees, Arthur kissed him even deeper, fingers twined tightly in
Merlin’s hair to tilt his head and take pleasures as he liked.

As the breeze faded away, Arthur pushed Merlin to lay back upon his robes on the ground, then
crawled over him, and lay down atop him, heavy and warm and hard, god, he was hard, he could
feel the length of him pressed against where he was in the same state.

“Again,” Arthur breathed into his ear.

Merlin repeated the spell at once, and Arthur kissed him quickly, eyes open, as the magic rose
within him.

A moan choked from Arthur’s throat, and he wrapped his arms tight around Merlin’s body,
thrusting against him with such focus and enthusiasm that Merlin writhed on the ground, hips
straining up to meet the wonderful friction.

“Once more,” Arthur said against his mouth, sounding desperate.

Merlin turned his head abruptly from the kiss. “Oh!” he said in amazement. “You really do like to
watch me do magic.”

Arthur’s cheeks flushed with color. “Shut up,” he said, and bent to kiss Merlin again.

Merlin turned away, grinning. “You don’t just like it, either. You really like it-“

“Stop talking,” Arthur said, bending his head low, his face hidden as he pressed his nose to
Merlin’s neck.
“Come on, say it,” Merlin prompted, poking Arthur playfully in the side.

Arthur huffed a hot breath against his skin. “Fine. Yes. I like to watch you do magic.”

“You see?” Merlin said victoriously. “That wasn’t so-“

“I like to see it dancing like golden starlight in your eyes,” Arthur went on, his voice low and
rumbling. “I like knowing that it’s mine. I like knowing that you’re mine. Is that what you want
to hear? That when I see all that beauty within you it makes me want you even more? That right
at this moment I want to rip your clothes off and slide myself inside you, right there with your
magic, until your cries of passion echo across the lake? Because I do, Merlin. I do want that.”

Merlin heaved in a breath, Arthur’s words echoing through his head, filling the entire world.

“Want to claim you,” Arthur breathed, sliding his body against his, sending shocks through him.

“Arthur,” Merlin moaned, his treacherous legs falling open and wrapping themselves around
Arthur’s hips, pulling him closer, inviting him in.

“Want you now,” Arthur growled.

The tone of command had his entire body shuddering, his arms shaking as they slid around
Arthur’s shoulders. “Yes, yes, I- No, wait- We- We don’t have any- There’s no- Nothing to-“

“Can’t you just take care of it?” Arthur snapped.

Merlin went absolutely still in his shock. “Are you suggesting that I use magic to help us have
sex?”

Arthur’s head snapped up, and he stared down at Merlin looking rather surprised at himself. “No,”
he said quickly.

“You are.”

“I am not. You were the one. You said it.”

“I said it after you mentioned it.”

Arthur hesitated, clearly struggling with himself, before finally blurting out: “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Well can you?”

Merlin laughed at the awkward blush that had colored Arthur’s cheeks.

Who would have thought it? he wondered. King Arthur Pendragon of Camelot, of all people,
suggesting the use of magic in order to have sex with his servant, who incidentally happened to be
the most powerful sorcerer in the world.

Uther must be rolling over in his crypt, Merlin thought, with an unexpected surge of vindictive
satisfaction. Magic in the heart of Camelot indeed!

“Just imagine what your father would have to say about that!” Merlin said in amazement.

In response, Arthur’s eyes went very wide.

Merlin’s did as well. “Oh my god I’m so sorry-”

“Why in god’s name would you-!”

“Because I’m an idiot!”

“Mentioning my father! Now of all times!”

“An enormous idiot,” Merlin agreed quickly, clinging to Arthur’s shoulders, to keep him from
storming off.

“Good gods, Merlin,” Arthur snapped at him. “Were you intentionally trying to prevent me from
wanting to ever have sex with you again?”

The question itself was so bizarre and new and amazing that Merlin burst out laughing. Arthur
scowled at him at first, but then his lips twitched at the corner, and after a roll of his eyes, he
finally smiled as well.

“Honestly, Merlin,” Arthur said, in that tone that meant he couldn’t believe the nonsense he put up
with from his dimwitted servant.

“I know, really, I know-“

“Do it again and I’ll be forced to talk about Gaius and that pixie woman’s tongue.”

“Now you’re the one trying to keep me from wanting to have sex with anyone ever again.”

“With anyone?” Arthur asked sharply.

“By which I mean only you. Obviously.”

Arthur went a bit too thoughtful about that. “Obviously?”

“Yes. Obviously. God, Arthur, would you actually think that I-“ He shook his head in disbelief.
“There’s only you,” Merlin said softly. “There’s only ever been you. There only ever will be
you.”

Arthur gave him a long considering stare. Too long, Merlin thought. But before he could ask him
about it, Arthur tipped his head down and kissed him.

When they parted, Arthur pushed himself up to sit facing the lake. Merlin sat up by his side,
looking at the early morning sky and the sparkling waters.

The sun had fully risen over the far hills, and the temperatures had already begun to grow warm.
Another beautiful day for the Solstice Festival.

“So,” Arthur said. “What’s on my agenda for today?”

“Have I not yet told you yet, sire?”

“As usual, you’ve been remiss in your duties.”

“Well that’s just horrible of me.”

“It’s quite all right. I’ve come to expect this level of service from you.” Arthur didn’t even bother
hiding his grin. “So what is it then? Another day off?”
“You know how rubbish we are at those.”

“That wasn’t really our fault, in our own defense,” Arthur said. “But if that’s not to your liking, I
have another suggestion.”

“By all means, sire,” Merlin said, waving a hand for him to continue.

The sun caught on Arthur’s blond hair as he laughed, soft and lighthearted, wearing a smile that
reminded Merlin of leisurely hunting trips and summer afternoons warming themselves in the sun
upon the castle garrisons.

“I was thinking,” Arthur said, “of a holiday.”

“A holiday?”

“A long one. Long enough to learn all about the many different people and places in our new
kingdom without borders.”

“So not really a holiday then,” Merlin said, finding himself back on more familiar territory with
this idea. Because that would make sense. Arthur wanting to go out and see his people, and learn
of potential threats, and intervene if he saw any injustice.

“No, it definitely is a holiday,” Arthur assured him.

“Really?” Merlin asked, unable to really believe what he was hearing.

Arthur crossed his legs under himself, elbows upon his knees, staring out at the water. “I’m tired,
Merlin,” he said, sounding like he meant it from the depths of his bones. “I’m tired of war, and of
fighting, and of death, and… Everything. I just want… For once… I just want what everyone else
has. Just for a while. I think we both deserve that.”

Merlin stared at Arthur’s regal profile in silence, wondering at the words of his king. “I am too,”
he found himself saying. “Tired, I mean.”

Arthur looked over at him, his uncertainty melting into hope. “What do you say then, Merlin?
Shall we see what the world has to offer?”

Merlin found himself nodding, a smile pulling at his lips. “I would go into the mouth of hell with
you if that’s what you asked of me.”

Arthur barked out a laugh, clapping a hand upon Merlin’s shoulder. “Actually, I was thinking
more along the lines of Italy.”

“Italy?” Merlin repeated.

“You said you wanted to go there, didn’t you?”

“Yes. I. Of course I. I just… Never actually thought...” Merlin frowned at the empty lake, at the
memory of the island, of the tower.

“You didn’t think you’d survive the prophecy,” Arthur said.

Merlin hugged his arms over his chest and frowned at the sunlight on the water.

“Nor did I,” Arthur admitted.

Merlin shook his head at the both of them. A pair of self-sacrificial idiots too devoted to their duty
and to each other is what they were, he thought. It’s a wonder either of them were still alive.

But they were alive. And they were going to stay alive, too.

“You’re not going to die,” Merlin said, to speak the words aloud.

“Everything dies, Merlin,” Arthur said gently.

“Yes,” Merlin said, “but in our case, it’s not going to be for a very long damn time.”

Arthur laughed again, from deep in his chest, his eyes sparkling with it. “Yes,” he said. “In our
case, not for a very long damn time.”

For a while they just sat together, staring at the sunlight on the water, listening to the distant voices
from the festival, smelling frying foods on the breeze.

“So what now?” Merlin asked.

“You mean what lies ahead for us?”

“Yes.”

“I have absolutely no idea,” Arthur told him.

“Neither do I,” Merlin said.

They looked at one another in amazement.

“Not even a single clue,” Merlin told his king cheerfully.

“Well no change there then,” Arthur said, grinning.

Merlin burst out laughing, and Arthur right with him, until they were breathless with it, Merlin
leaning heavily against Arthur’s shoulder.

“I must be dreaming,” Merlin said, wiping tears of laughter from his face.

Arthur cuffed him on the back of his head.

“Ow! What was that for!”

“Proof that you’re not dreaming. And I’m sure I owed you that one.”

“For what?”

“For something, I’m sure.”

Merlin snorted out another laugh, even though there was probably something very wrong with him
laughing at Arthur hitting him. “So,” he said. “Italy.”

“Or Florida,” Arthur said thoughtfully.

“Florida?”

“They sent people to the moon from Florida,” Arthur informed him. “If we time our travels
carefully enough, we could watch a rocket launch a satellite into space.”
“Florida,” Merlin said again. “Instead of Italy.”

“Florida, after Italy,” Arthur said. “And after that…”

“After that what?”

Arthur smiled, his blue eyes sparkling with the sunlight, his hair stirring around his face in the
breeze, looking for all the world as if he were the young prince he’d met so long ago. “After that?”
Arthur said, “everywhere.”

Merlin felt the centuries fall away as he held his king’s gaze, lost in the promise of a future that
stretched out before them both. “Everywhere,” he said softly, and found for the first time that the
word didn’t feel like an unknown country, but rather a doorway that awaited their first steps
together.

After only a short while sitting together in the warmth of the morning sun, they found their hunger
urging them back to the manor for breakfast.

The lawns they crossed from the forest to the manor were entirely covered by blankets and tents
and sleeping bags. People were awake and moving around, some of them sleep addled, some of
them carrying food from the café.

For once, Merlin was glad he hadn’t put on his sorcerer robes, but was instead carrying them under
one arm. He couldn’t imagine being mobbed by all these people asking him to do magic.

“That certainly didn’t take long,” Arthur said, nodding toward the lake.

A dozen people were swimming in the waters of the lake by the Stone Circle. Some of them very
clearly weren’t wearing anything but the skin they were born in.

“Oi!” Merlin called toward the water. “There are children here! Put your clothes back on!”

A nearby group of people in sleeping bags, all of them clearly recovering from too much to drink
the night before, all snapped at him to be quiet.

“Don’t you tell me to shush!” Merlin said, loudly enough that several of them clutched at their
heads and visibly winced. “This is my estate you’re on!”

“Estate,” Arthur noted, as they approached the café porch.

“Oh shut it,” Merlin muttered, casting a glance at the frolicking group in the water. Several more
people were wading in to join them in various states of undress. “Eleanor is going to have a heart
attack if she’s around.”

“Heath and Danyl are handling it,” Arthur said, stopping by the bottom of the café porch steps, to
let a group of people with coffees and bags of food walk past.

In the middle of the porch, Danyl and Heath stood dressed in tunics and breeches straight out of the
middle ages. They were dismissing several Solstice Festival volunteers, all of whom were carrying
hastily hand written signs.

“Put them all along the lakeside!” Heath yelled to the staffers, as they jogged down the lawns.
“Tell them we’ve called the police!”

“We didn’t call the police,” Danyl said.

“They don’t know that.”

“Well that’s good, because-“ Danyl broke off, staring at Arthur and Merlin as they stepped upon
the porch and approached where they stood amid tables packed with customers.

Merlin saw Heath cross his arms over his broad chest. The scowl he wore clearly said that he
didn’t believe a word of what he must have been told by Eleanor, nor did he believe anything that
he’d seen, and furthermore, that he had more than a few ideas about how to explain it all away.

Just like an Abbernathy to be stubborn as a mule, Merlin thought.

Danyl, however, was watching him with wide brown eyes that looked ready to see miracles. Smart
boy, he thought. I always did like you best.

“Heath, Danyl,” Arthur said to them. “It’s good to see you both again.”

“Oh really, Arthur,” Heath snapped at him.

Merlin caught Arthur’s look of surprise at Heath’s tone. Also noticing, perhaps, that it was the first
time Heath hadn’t called him ‘sire’.

“Right then,” Merlin said loudly, to be heard over the din of conversation around them. “Let’s get
this over with. What magic do you want to see me do?”

“You see?” Heath said to Danyl. “He’s still having us on. Because of them.” He swept an arm out
to the customers, some of whom were in fact paying attention. “This whole time it’s just been a
publicity stunt. Merlin and Arthur.” Heath scoffed at them. “I bet those aren’t even your real
names.”

Danyl set his hand upon Heath’s arm. “Heath-“

“A whole year you were gone,” Heath said to Merlin. “A whole year without a word to any of us.
Danyl and I worked like mad that whole time, trying to run things with Eleanor, while you were off
spending your uncle’s money with your pretty little boy toy boyfriend-“

“That’s enough!” Merlin snapped, his magic surging up from deep inside.

The silence that followed was absolute.

Danyl and Heath looked wildly around, startled, their footsteps banging loudly upon the wooden
café porch as they turned in place. Even their breathing was clearly audible in the utterly silent
world around them.

Merlin clenched his hands at his sides, forcing himself to relax. He’d never been very good at
hearing anyone disrespecting his king. Except him, of course. But that was different, obviously.

“How much?” Arthur asked.

“What?”

Arthur clasped his hands behind his back, studying the frozen birds, the motionless people, the still
water, the silent lawns. “How much of it did you affect this time?”

Merlin reached out to the magic he’d unintentionally stretched out through the earth.

And realized he couldn’t find its edge.

“Everything,” he breathed.

“The entire world?” Arthur asked, looking at him very strangely.

“It was an accident?” Merlin said in a small voice.

It took a moment for Arthur to respond. “In that case,” he said, “then you’d best take care of things
as swiftly as possible.”

“Yes, sire.”

“When you’ve set time back to rights, you can bring up my breakfast. This time don’t forget those
scones with the chocolate in them. You know they’re my favorite.”

Merlin smiled at Arthur’s casual combination of those wildly different activities, and felt the
tension leave his body. “Yes, sire,” he said again, wry and fond.

“Swiftly,” Arthur reminded him in parting, and stepped around the people on the porch, to vanish
into the café.

Merlin returned his attention to the two young men, both of whom were staring at him in varying
levels of shock. “Still think I’m having you on?” he asked, stretching his arms out to the
motionless world.

Heath didn’t even blink in reply, still looking as if he’d been hit in the head with a board. Merlin
had never seen his eyes so wide, nor his mouth hanging open for so long without words coming out
of it.

“You’re the Merlin, then,” Danyl said softly. “Just like Eleanor said. Just like in the stories.
You’re a- a-“

“Sorcerer,” Merlin supplied.

“Yes!” Danyl burst out, abruptly excited at the word. “Yes! That! Oh my god! Then this is all-
It’s all-“

“Magic,” Merlin said, smiling now.

Danyl dragged his hands through his hair, pulled at it a little, then let his arms flop down to his
sides. “So that morning- By the lake- You really weren’t wet! When you came out of the water!
And you changed the weather! And healed Eleanor! And all that stuff you did by the fire last
night! That was- that was- magic- too! Right?“

“Hypnosis,” Heath said abruptly, his voice shaking. “Or a trick. It has to be a trick.”

“For god’s sakes, Danyl, will you explain it to him?” Merlin asked.

“It isn’t a trick, Heath,” Danyl said. “Look around you! It’s all real! Merlin and Arthur… are the
Merlin and the Arthur!”

“I always said you were a smart boy,” Merlin told him. “Even when you were little. You
wandered off from your mother in the café one day, you know. Had everyone in the place looking
for you. I found you in my kitchens, all alone, making yourself an omelet. Only eight years old at
the time.”

“I remember that!” Danyl said, laughing. “When Emrys found me he-“ His eyes went wide, and
he smacked himself on the forehead. “You’re him, though, aren’t you! So that was you, that day!”

“Hypnosis,” Heath was mumbling to himself. “Has to be.”

Merlin stepped forward and cuffed Heath on the back of his head.

“Ow!” Heath said, grabbing at his skull.

“Do you feel hypnotized?” Merlin asked sharply.

“But- but-” Heath looked over at Danyl. “This is crazy. Dan? Tell him it’s crazy…”

Danyl took hold of Heath’s hand. “You all right, love?”

“He’s an Abbernathy,” Merlin said. “He’ll be fine. Trust me. I’ve known eight generations of that
family. It’ll take more than this to drive him around the bend.”

Danyl started to speak, but Merlin held up a hand, and very gently, withdrew his magics from the
world.

Voices and laughter and clanking dishes exploded around them as time flowed forward once again.

“God’s sakes this place is a madhouse,” Merlin said, stepping to the side to let a group of people
pass. “I’d best let you get to it.”

“Wait!” Danyl said, stepping quickly to his side. “Can’t you- I mean- I have so many questions!
Can’t you take a little while to-?”

“I can, yes, but later. Right now I have a king who needs his breakfast. And he gets in a right state
if he doesn’t have his royal scones.”

After escaping from the chaos of the porch, he went to get Arthur’s food. It wound up being no
easy task. Half of the café staff was new and had no idea who he was. The other half looked ready
to throttle him, either for his long absence or for getting in their way or both.

He very nearly resorted to magic to get what he wanted, but eventually managed it the traditional
way. Feeling rather proud about that, he hauled the tray of food upstairs and into Arthur’s
chambers.

He’d just finished setting out everything upon the table when Arthur returned from the washroom,
dressed in modern sleeping trousers and white t-shirt, his hair damp and his feet bare.

“Going back to bed?” Merlin teased.

“I thought I might try napping after breakfast, yes,” Arthur said, seating himself at the table. “Go
wash up so you can eat and join me.”

Merlin snorted in amusement as he picked up a discarded shirt from the floor. He’d just hung it up
in the wardrobe when Arthur grabbed hold of the back of his shirt.

“Can’t even follow the simplest of instructions,” Arthur said in clearly exaggerated dismay, pulling
Merlin to the door.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m sending you to wash and dress and eat so we can nap,” Arthur told him.
“You’re serious?”

“You definitely hit your head when were in that lake,” Arthur said, and shoved Merlin out his
chambers, closing the doors behind him. “Go wash!”

Merlin stared in confusion at the closed wooden doors. “Wash?” he repeated.

“Now!”

Merlin found himself moving down the corridor without consciously deciding to do so. “Stupid
reflexes,” he muttered, feeling angry for no reason he could name. “Napping,” he said, rolling his
eyes. “With all the things that still need cleaning around this place, he wants to nap with me in the
middle of the morning.”

Merlin stopped walking. Realizing what he’d been saying.

“Arthur’s right,” he said in wonder. “I really am an idiot sometimes.”

After glancing back to make sure Arthur hadn’t heard that, he did as his king had bid him to do.
And as quickly as possible, too.

When he returned to Arthur’s chambers, he found Arthur sitting upon his bed, leaning back upon
his headboard, legs stretched out in front of him, a book of science from his library open upon his
lap. More books were stacked upon the bedside table, all about the same subject.

“Eat something,” Arthur said as he turned a page.

Merlin climbed into a seat at the table, feeling very odd wearing soft sleeping trousers and t-shirt at
mid-morning. “Napping isn’t code for something else, is it?” he asked, as he poured himself some
juice.

“I can’t imagine what for,” Arthur said, without looking up from his book.

As Merlin ate his breakfast, he found himself studying the room. “I really should have another go
at these floors-“

“No,” Arthur said, drawling out the word.

“And all those books of magic are just sitting down in the vaults-“

“No.”

“I really should put them away.”

“No, Merlin.”

A long silence, during which Merlin frowned at the room around him, absently eating what Arthur
had left for him.

“The washroom is still a mess-“ Merlin began.

Arthur snapped his book shut and threw it at him.

Merlin ducked, though he didn’t really need to, because Arthur’s throw went quite intentionally
very wide. “All right!” Merlin said, holding up a hand to stay Arthur’s fury.
“God’s sakes, Merlin,” Arthur huffed at him, and picked up another book from his bedside table.

Merlin ate in silence for a while longer, studying Arthur he read on the bed. “I smacked Heath on
the back of his head earlier,” he found himself saying.

“How did that feel then?”

“Awful,” Merlin said, screwing up his face. “Just horrible. I felt really, really, guilty after I’d hit
him. As any decent person would.”

“Your horrible mistreatment of Heath didn’t have anything to do with what he said about me, by
chance, did it?”

“Did he say something about you?” Merlin asked, frowning as if he couldn’t quite remember.

“What were his words?” Arthur asked. “’Pretty little boy toy boyfriend?’”

Merlin cringed, lowering his gaze to his empty plate. It sounded even worse when Arthur said it,
he thought. “I’ll have a word with him. Once he snaps out of his shock.”

“And what will you say, exactly?” Arthur said, his tone sounding strange.

“That he shouldn’t call you… That you’re not… You’re…” he let the sentence trail off, feeling
strangely uncertain.

He heard the springs on Arthur’s bed creak, and saw Arthur stand up, set his book upon the
bedside table, then pull back the sheets and blanket.

“Well come on,” Arthur said, as he crawled beneath the covers.

“You really want to nap in the middle of the morning?” Merlin asked in wonder.

“Isn’t that what people do on holiday?”

“Are we on holiday already?”

“Didn’t I mention?” Arthur said, and he pulled off his t-shirt, and then shimmied out of his trousers
and pants beneath the covers, then threw them both on the floor.

Merlin was on his feet and striding to the bed so quickly that Arthur laughed at him, the sound
echoing in the room.

After quickly shedding his clothes, Merlin crawled under the sheets and blankets.

Arthur moved to him at once, pressing him to his back on the bed, as urgent and desperate as
Merlin had been himself in the meadow the night before.

This time, by mutual wordless agreement, they decided not to take things slow.

A rather short time later, Merlin lay panting on his back upon the mattress, Arthur a heavy weight
on his chest.

“Absurd,” Arthur breathed into his neck.

“That was faster than the corridor,” Merlin said in amazement.

“Well it has been since yesterday afternoon,” Arthur noted.

“Oh, well, in that case, it’s totally understandable.”

“Absolutely.”

“Of course.”

Merlin grinned wildly at the canopy of the bed. “We’ll take it slower next time,” he said, mostly
meaning for it to be true.

“Yes, we will,” Arthur assured him, crawling off of him, to collapse at his side. “After we nap.”

“You were serious about that?” Merlin asked.

By way of response, Arthur threw the blankets over them both, then crawled back over him, to
collapse upon his chest with a contented sigh.

Napping, Merlin thought contentedly, as he wrapped his arms around Arthur.

Yes. He could definitely get used to that.

Several hours later, he discovered even more things he could very easily get used to.

On top of that list was waking up from a nap and having Arthur initiate another much longer and
much more enthusiastic round of sex.

There’d been a bath needed after that, which had lasted a ridiculous amount of time, and had made
a mess in the washroom that Merlin insisted Arthur let him spend some time cleaning up.

At lunchtime they’d dressed in modern clothes, and had briefly left the manor to nick some pork
pies and cakes and tarts from as many of the vendors as possible.

They ate their pilfered lunch in Arthur’s bed, talking about the people at the Solstice Festival, and
how times had changed, and how they had not.

At some point in the afternoon Arthur spotted boats upon the lake, which was both new and
delightful. They stood a long while at the window together, lost in their own thoughts, watching
the small boats glide across the water.

“Little king,” Arthur muttered after a while.

“Not so little,” Merlin reminded him, bumping into his shoulder.

Arthur snorted out a laugh and nudged back, then remained leaning against him, smiling faintly to
himself.

Shortly after dinner, Merlin retrieved his laptop from his residence, and brought it to Arthur’s bed.

It felt odd at first to have technology in Arthur’s chambers. But very quickly, Merlin found himself
forgetting all about that, and very happily researching online with Arthur all the places they wanted
to travel in the world.

When night fell, a chill crept into the room, making Merlin shiver against Arthur’s side. He pulled
the laptop closer to them both, glad of its heat on his legs.
“This place has cabanas right beside the waterfall,” Merlin pointed out, absently waving a hand at
the fireplace and the sconces, lighting the fire and the candles. “Could be a bit wet though. But at
33 C, who cares, right?”

He looked over to find Arthur staring at him. “The windows as well,” he said in a low voice. “And
the shutters and the drapes.”

“Shall I get up to do that, my lord?” he asked, fighting back a smile.

“Not that way,” Arthur said, not even bothering to hide his own grin.

“The other way?”

“Yes, Merlin. The other way.”

Merlin made sure to look into Arthur’s eyes as he spoke. “Fordyttan fenester, wágrift, éagdurue.”

The windows snapped shut by the lakeside and the lawns, the shutters closing over them, the
drapes falling over their alcoves.

Without a word, Arthur reached over to Merlin’s lap, and closed the laptop lid.

It was hours later before Merlin roused from the light sleep he’d fallen into after they’d finished
with one another.

Arthur still lay atop him, naked and slick with sweat, a heavy, comforting weight upon his chest
and between his legs.

“Boyfriend,” Arthur said softly, against the warm skin of Merlin’s neck.

Merlin wasn’t sure if Arthur was speaking to himself or to him. “What’s that?” he asked, to give
Arthur a way out if he hadn’t meant for him to hear.

“A ridiculous word,” Arthur said. “We’re neither of us boys.”

Merlin frowned at the candlelit room, watching the flame dancing upon the canopy of the bed.
“Some people nowadays say ‘partner’.”

“Makes us sound like bandits.”

“Well we did nick some pies earlier today.”

“That was you. I was merely standing nearby.”

“Of course. Stupid of me to forget.”

“Partner,” Arthur repeated, after a while. “That’s not right either.”

“Life partner?” Merlin suggested, then snapped his mouth shut. Because that sounded too much
like the other thing that he had no right to say.

Arthur moved from atop him to lay at his side, facing him. Merlin rolled over as well, facing
Arthur, looking at the flickering candlelight dance upon his curious expression.

“You’re trying not to say it,” Arthur said softly, as if he were confiding a great secret. “Why?
Why don’t you want to say it?”
“It’s not…” Merlin picked at his pillowcase. “We’re not… That. That’s different.”

“We’re bound together for our entire lives,” Arthur said. “Literally until death us do-“

“It’s not the same,” Merlin insisted. “There’s been no- I mean- I don’t remember us standing in
front of- Or of anyone saying the words that…” He frowned at himself, embarrassed, and pushed
his face into the pillow. “Never mind.”

Arthur was silent for so long that Merlin finally gave up his hiding and peeked at him.

“I understand now,” Arthur said, and nodded to himself.

Smugly, Merlin thought. Arthur was definitely nodding smugly. Which never ended well for him,
in his experience.

“What?” Merlin asked. “What is it?”

“I’m feeling quite tired,” Arthur said, yawning extravagantly.

“Arthur, what?”

“Roll over,” Arthur said, and shoved at him.

“First tell me what has you looking so… so… that,” Merlin insisted, waving at his face.

“You won’t roll over?” Arthur said, and then pouted at him, with his bottom lip pushed out and his
blue eyes wide. With a sad little sigh, he rolled away, curling up on his side.

“That is not going to work,” Merlin said uncertainly, peering over Arthur’s shoulder.

Arthur waved him off, then dropped his arm weakly to the bed, heaving a loud breath.

“Oh my god you are a spoiled child,” Merlin said, flopping onto his side, facing the lakeside
window, as Arthur had asked.

Arthur shifted on the bed at once, curling around him, an arm sliding around his waist to pull him
close. He pressed his nose against the nape of Merlin’s neck, inhaling deeply, then exhaling a loud
and contented sigh.

“Such an arse,” Merlin said fondly, relaxing back against his king, taking hold of Arthur’s hand.

“Yes, you are,” Arthur said. “But I think I’ll keep you anyway.”

“Really hate you,” Merlin said.

“Really hate you too,” Arthur told him.

Merlin snorted at him, staring into the candlelit room, wondering at his life, and how it had gotten
to be so strange, and how wonderful it all was.

Let them call us whatever they want, Merlin thought. I know what we are. He is mine, and I am
his, for as long as we draw breath. Just as it was written in prophecy. Just as it shall always be.
 and no king ever will

For the first time in several hundred years, Merlin dreamed of his parents.

They were standing in his café, his father in a tunic and breeches the color of the great dragon, his
mother in a long red silk dress, flowers wound through her hair like a noblewoman of Camelot.
Sunlight shone through the glass wall upon them, illuminating their joyous smiles.

Merlin hurried to meet them. “You didn’t say you were coming. I’m not prepared.”

“Some things are best left unknown,” Balinor told him.

“Even to me?” Merlin asked, because that didn’t sound right at all.

His mother placed a loving hand upon his cheek. “Even to you, sweetheart.”

He covered her small hand with his own. “You’ve been gone so long. Where have you been?” He
paused in horrible realization. “You’re dead. Both of you. You aren’t really here.”

“Of course we are,” Balinor scolded. “Don’t you remember what I told you in the cave?”

“I remember.”

Balinor clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You’d do well to keep it in mind. For now, and for the
times to come.”

“You’re not taking proper care of yourself, are you,” Hunith said, looking him over, a worried
frown on her face.

“I’ll watch over him from now on,” came Arthur’s voice.

He stepped to Merlin’s side, in chainmail and armor and ceremonial robes, his crown gleaming
upon his head. He was breathtakingly beautiful, his golden king, standing in a beam of light, more
brilliant than the sun itself.

“Thank you, Arthur,” Hunith said, gazing upon him with a fondness that spoke of family and trust
and love.

“Be sure to see to the dragons,” Balinor told Merlin. “And mind your king.”

“Dragons?” Merlin asked. “But there are no dragons.”

“There will always be dragons, boy,” Balinor said with a wink, putting an arm around Hunith’s
shoulder and guiding her away.

“We love you, sweetheart,” Hunith said, as she stepped into a dazzling ray of sun.

“Mother-“ Merlin said, reaching out.

When his hand closed on nothing, he jolted awake.

He lay stretched out on his stomach on the bed, Arthur pressed all along his side, warm and heavy
and smelling of musk and the vanilla soaps of Camelot. Arthur’s nose was shoved into Merlin’s
shoulder, his arm a weight upon his back.
From beyond the closed curtains, faint hints of daylight filtered into the room, softly illuminating
Arthur’s features with such beauty that Merlin’s breath caught in his chest at the sight of it.

After five minutes’ staring at his sleeping king, and still not getting up to do what he was supposed
to be doing, he sighed at himself.

I really should get up, he thought. I have so many things I need to do. So many things to prepare
for our trip. I really, really, should get up.

Arthur made a snuffling noise, not quite a snore, and slid his hand up Merlin’s back until his
fingers wound into his hair and settled there. With a small contented sound, he eased back into
sleep, the length of his leg stretched along his own, intimate even with their sleeping trousers
separating them.

Merlin relaxed back into the mattress, pushing all other concerns away except for Arthur at his
side, alive and breathing and never, ever dying again.

He still couldn’t grasp it. That Arthur was alive. That Arthur was his. That he’d never have to
watch him die again.

Never again, he told himself firmly. Because even the thought of it tore at his heart. As horrible as
it had been, he wouldn’t be able to survive it now. Not with them being so much more to each
other than before. It would rip him apart to watch Arthur take his last breath, his eyelids fluttering
closed, his breath rattling from his chest, his skin going cold as it had by the lake, the color
draining from his face, the horrible stillness that had been all around him, as his own screams had
echoed across the water for Arthur to come back, come back, please come back-

Merlin wheezed in a sharp breath, and then another, feeling them speeding up even as he tried to
slow them down. He shoved himself to his elbows, his forehead digging into his pillow, panic
clawing at his chest, desperately trying to draw air into his lungs.

He felt Arthur grab his shoulder and push him onto his back. Merlin fell sprawling onto the
mattress, wheezing in air, grabbing at Arthur’s shoulders as Arthur climbed on top of him and
dropped heavily upon him, pressing him firmly to the bed.

Merlin wrapped himself around Arthur’s body, as much as he could, legs and arms holding tight,
breathing in the scent of Arthur’s hair and skin.

Arthur shoved his arms between Merlin’s back and the bed, and held him in turn, silent and patient
and waiting.

Having Arthur laying upon him shouldn’t have made it easier for him to breathe. But it did. Of
course it did. Because since when were either of them normal?

“Better?” Arthur asked.

“Yeah,” Merlin panted out, pressing shaking fingers to Arthur’s neck, seeking out the reassuring
beat of his heart.

“I’m alive,” Arthur said, without any hint of sarcasm.

Merlin squeezed his eyes closed, furious at himself. Arthur shouldn’t have to say things like that.
He shouldn’t need to hear them. Not anymore. “Why does this keep happening?” he muttered.

“It’s a battle wound. Like any injury, it will take time to heal.”
“How much time?”

“Until you’ve recovered.”

“When will that be?”

“I don’t know,” Arthur said, sounding weary now. “Just as I don’t know how long I’ll feel the loss
of Camelot come upon me like a blade through my chest.”

Merlin frowned up at the canopy of the bed. “I… didn’t know that.”

Very carefully Arthur moved to lay at Merlin’s side, an arm and leg still draped over him, cheek
resting upon Merlin’s pillow. “It doesn’t happen as often as it used to. But it does happen. Usually
without warning. The grief comes upon me like a siege.”

“I’m sorry,” Merlin whispered. There wasn’t anything else he could say.

“As I said, a battle wound,” Arthur told him. “It needs time to heal. Though even when it does,
I’m certain I’ll still awaken some mornings expecting Sir Leon to burst into the room with word of
an attack. Or one of my Counsel to be waiting for an audience. Or for Guinevere to be here in…”

Merlin flinched before he could catch himself.

Arthur noticed. He began to speak, then hesitated, uncertain.

“You expect Gwen to be here instead of me,” Merlin said, so that Arthur knew he still had a friend
to confide in about such things, no matter what the two of them had become to each other.

“Yes,” Arthur said softly.

“Of course you do,” Merlin assured him, ignoring how strange he felt to speak of this while Arthur
was stretched out half naked at his side in the royal bed. “Gwen was your wife, sire. Your queen.
I’d-“ He swallowed, forced a smile. “I’d never think of trying to take her place. I know I never
could.”

Arthur smiled at him, a small thing in the dim daylight that still set a sparkle to his blue eyes. “No,
you couldn’t,” he said. “Just as Guinevere never could take yours.”

“As… your servant?”

“No, Merlin,” he drawled out, putting overtones of ‘idiot’ into his name. “Not as my servant.”

“Well what, then?”

Arthur pushed himself up to an elbow, his blond hair mussed and his cheeks pink with the heat of
their bed. “I did love Guinevere. As much as I knew how at the time. But you…”

“Me… what?”

Arthur touched Merlin’s face, fingertips sliding down his cheek before tracing his lips. First the
top, and then the bottom, and then the top again, all the while watching his own fingers with a
wistful smile. “I remember staring at your mouth. From that first day we met. I remember telling
myself it was because you had the pretty lips of a girl.”

“I do not have the pretty lips of a girl-”

“You have seen your lips, haven’t you.”

“You’re one to talk. Your mouth is-“

Arthur silenced him with a kiss, right where his fingers had been, before resuming his soft
touches. “Do you remember what you said our first night together?”

It was difficult to remember anything at all with Arthur touching him as if he were something
precious and rare, whispering as if sharing a secret. “I… No?”

“You said that in hindsight, it was obvious how you felt about me. You just didn’t recognize it for
what it was at the time.”

“You mean… you…”

“Yes.”

“Even then?”

“Even then,” Arthur said. “So you see, right from the very start, before any of it, before all of it,
your place was here. In my life. In my heart. In my bed. I’ll not hear of you doubting that. Not
even for a moment. Do you understand?”

Merlin held his breath and nodded, fighting back a swell of emotion, his fingers tightening on
Arthur’s bare shoulders, at a loss of what to say.

“Now come on,” Arthur said, playful now. “Show me what you can do with those girly lips of
yours.”

“Not girly,” Merlin breathed, and would have said more about it, had he not become entirely
distracted by Arthur climbing him, kissing him senseless, and then demonstrating with great
passion and enthusiasm that Merlin’s place was, in fact, here, in his bed, as it had apparently
always been.

It took another two hours for Merlin to finally force himself to leave the gorgeous sight of Arthur
sprawled out on his stomach on the bed, naked and wild haired and decorated with fading red and
purple marks from when things had gotten wild at the end.

When he got to his feet, his legs were so unsteady that he sat right back down, then hissed in a
breath at a twinge of discomfort.

“Is your little bottom sore?” Arthur asked, sounding altogether too smug about it.

“Your fault,” Merlin said, his gaze drifting down Arthur’s naked body to the enticing sight of his
royal backside.

“If you remember, you were the one who told me to-“

“Yes, I remember-“

“You did, in fact, specifically demand and in lurid detail precisely how I should-“

“I know,“ he interrupted, because he was blushing, of all the stupid things, especially considering
what they’d just done together. Twice.

“Are you quite certain you never worked in a brothel?” Arthur asked. “Because those things you
were doing there at the end-“

“Oh my god will you shut it?” Merlin said, and threw his pillow at him.

Arthur dragged it over his head and mumbled something that sounded like “breakfast”.

Merlin leaned back upon the bed and lifted up a corner of the pillow. “Yes , my lord,” he said
sweetly, then squashed the pillow down on Arthur’s head to push himself up.

As he dressed in his own chambers, he realized he was smiling like a loon, and that he had been for
some time. Not about anything specific. But about everything.

Happy, he thought in wonder. This is what it’s like to be really, truly, happy.

It felt strange, smiling and laughing to himself, feeling slightly drunk and entirely dazed by nothing
more than existence. Such a strange feeling, he thought, as he dressed in a nice modern button
down shirt and trousers. So very, very odd, to feel happiness pressing its way out of his every
pore. He wasn’t entirely certain it was something he’d ever felt before.

After shoving his hair forward in the old style, because it was what he wanted and not what Arthur
liked, of course, he went to his bedside table. From its narrow wooden drawer he retrieved the
sigil that Arthur had given him.

For several minutes he stood there by his bed, running his thumb over the raised dragon, watching
the sunlight catching on its regal shapes from his high window.

It feels like a dream, he thought. But it’s not a dream. It’s real.

“It’s real,” he said out loud, just to hear the words.

After sliding the sigil into his trouser pocket, he went downstairs to the café.

Late morning sunlight filled the stone hall, shining upon the few customers scattered around the
white tables. Without the chaos of the Solstice crowd, he could see that the café had changed in
his absence. Soft contemporary music played from speakers that hung from the walls. Pennants
and artwork covered nearly the entire interior, all of it themed around Arthurian legend. Posters
were posted among them, advertising festivals and concerts and local events. There was even an
area on one wall for children’s drawings, above a long table holding a dozen self-serve coffee
stations.

Merlin strolled through the café, nodding to customers at their small tables, smiling at people
seated along the breakfast counter.

“Do you like what we’ve done to the place?” Eleanor asked from behind him.

Today she wore a bright purple dress covered in white daisies. Tucked behind her ear was a real
daisy as well, bright white against her grey hair. In one hand she delicately held a cup of tea. In the
other she held the heavy binder she used to manage the business. No sign of her cane was to be
seen.

“You look lovely this morning,” Merlin said, barely able to restrain himself from hugging her
straightaway for being there. “The daisy is a nice touch.”

“I had to fight through a mob of those blue butterflies of yours to get to it. The daisies are a
favorite of theirs.”
“It’s possible that they’re especially attracted to magical things.”

“It’s a wonder you don’t walk around covered in them, then. Strange magical thing that you are.”

He smiled at her playful tone, relieved that she felt comfortable enough to tease him, and about his
magic of all things. “So does this mean you’re not going to quit?”

“Quit? Good heavens no. If I stayed home all day, Frederick and I would wind up fighting like
cats and dogs. He wants a word with you, by the way. I don’t believe he’s fully come to terms yet
with the reality of both you and our most honored royal sovereign King Arthur Pendragon.”

“Our most honored royal-? That’s laying it on a bit thick, don’t you think?”

Eleanor’s scowl told him no, she most certainly did not.

“Sorry,” Merlin said automatically, and then frowned at himself.

“Honestly, Emrys,” she said in a frustrated huff. “Don’t you know anything about royal protocol?”

“As little as possible,” he said proudly.

“And you were his majesty’s personal servant?”

“I am his majesty’s personal manservant, yes. And I’ll have you know that I am very diligent in
the washing of his royal socks and the bringing of his kingly scones.”

Her laugh sounded as if belonged to someone far younger. And he wondered, as she stood with
straight posture and eyes bright and holding the heavy binder without any effort, just how much of
her his magic had changed. “Are you all right?” he asked her. “With… everything?”

She shrugged, another easy motion that she never would have done before, with her bursitis acting
up as it often had. “It’s been a lot to take in. But I’m adjusting. As I think we all are,” she added,
tilting her head to the window.

“Right,” Merlin said, watching the fishing boats and canoes upon the lake.

“Mm hmm,” she said suspiciously, without taking her eyes from the lake. “So the island vanishing
last year. That really was the two of you?”

Merlin nodded with a vicious surge of satisfaction. “Yes.”

“A shame. It was a pretty little island.”

“It was also the power source for an ancient race of magical creatures who wanted to murder
Arthur and manipulate me into killing millions of people,” he bit out, his fury dropping his voice
so low that he was reminded of the grey mountains of Camlaan, and the crackle of lightning, and
the stench of ozone, and the clashing of swords, and the sight of Arthur laying bleeding to death
among the countless wounded and dying-

Merlin squeezed his eyes closed, forcing his thoughts back to the present, to Arthur alive and
breathing and laying in their bed.

“With everyone so mysteriously interested in the lake all of a sudden,” she said, casting a knowing
glance his way, “we’ll need to bring back in the seasonal staff. There’s bound to be more tourists
than usual this year.”
“Seasonal staff? Since when do we have seasonal staff?”

“Since an entire island went missing one morning,” she said severely, “and everyone in the British
Isles showed up on our doorstep, nattering away about mystic powers and legends of Avalon.”

“Caused a bit of a stir, did it?” he asked as innocently as he could, nearly unable to suppress a grin
at her put-out expression. She did so hate unexpected surprises.

“I don’t suppose you’d want to hear about any of that, or about how it wound up doubling our
revenue, now would you,” she said, nodding to a table where she’d already spread out the manor
bookkeeping and paperwork.

“I’ll try not to fall asleep while you tell me all about it in excruciating detail,” he assured her,
earning him a swat on the arm, as he fell into step at her side.

Eleanor had one of the staff bring them breakfast as they sat together in the corner of his café, just
has they had done for decades. As he browsed the records, Merlin picked at his food, listening in
amazement at how Danyl had improved the Apothecary and greenhouse, and how Heath had taken
over marketing and local events.

“Heath did all that,” Merlin said, remembering the times he’d had to physically shove Heath off of
his chair to get him to do anything besides stare at Danyl. “How in the world did-?”

“Enjoying your breakfast, Merlin?” came Arthur’s voice.

Eleanor got to her feet so swiftly that she knocked into the table and rattled the plates. “Your
majesty,” she said, curtseying, her gaze dropping to the floor.

Arthur approached her, somehow looking regal even in a red T-shirt and jeans. “Must I grant you
some sort of title, Eleanor, for you to start calling me Arthur again?” he asked, light and teasing.

“Lady Eleanor of the House of Godwyn,” Merlin said, picking up his scone. “That has a nice ring
to it.”

“I myself think that breakfast has a nice ring to it,” Arthur said, grabbing Merlin’s scone and
taking the seat beside him. “Not that I would know, due to the absence of any food in my
chambers.”

Merlin glanced through the glass wall, cringing when he realized how much time had passed since
he’d come downstairs. “I was about to go and do that, just now, actually-”

“But whatever do you mean, Merlin?” Arthur asked innocently. “Because look, right here, on the
table, here’s my breakfast, ready and waiting for me to eat it.”

Merlin fought back a grin as Arthur confiscated his plate of half eaten eggs and sausages. “Right,
of course, how silly of me,” he said, reaching for his tea.

Arthur grabbed it first and took a long, loud sip, smacking his lips when he was done.

“You forgot to bring him his breakfast!” Eleanor said to Merlin, so aghast that she sat down hard in
her chair, rattling the plates on the table.

“It’s all right, my lady,” Arthur assured her, affecting his most wounded expression, complete with
rounded blue eyes and pouting bottom lip. “I’ve become quite accustomed to this sort of shabby
treatment over the years.”
“Emrys,” Eleanor huffed.

“He’s exaggerating,” Merlin insisted. “I don’t-“

“He fed me rat stew once, Eleanor,” Arthur said, wrinkling his royal nose.

Eleanor smacked Merlin sharply on the arm. “What is wrong with you!”

“The entire kingdom was starving!” Merlin snapped, rubbing at his arm, very certain now that she
had gotten her youthful strength back, because that had actually hurt. “What was I supposed to
do? He wanted food, and the rat was right there, so I- Ow! Stop it!”

“She really is rather like Gaius, isn’t she,” Arthur said, taking a thoughtful bite of Merlin’s toast.

“Gaius never hit me this much!” Merlin said, shoving his chair away from her, knocking into
Arthur’s side. “And I’m not that bad! Tell her, Arthur!”

“Rat stew!” Eleanor said, crossing her arms, an eyebrow raised high. “He’s your king, Emrys.”

“I bloody well know he’s my king!” Merlin informed her, leaning forward in his chair, intending
to tell her in detail just how well he knew that fact.

But then he felt Arthur’s hand upon his leg beneath the table, which was so unexpected and so
unprecedented that his jaw snapped shut.

“In all honesty, Eleanor,” Arthur said, his voice low and earnest now, “I have never met anyone
more loyal, more brave, or more trustworthy than Merlin. He has sacrificed more in his service to
me, and to our kingdom, than the world will ever know. Through lifetimes of man he has stayed
by my side, at great cost, at great pain, and with no thought of recognition or reward. No king has
ever known the depths of devotion that he has given me. No king ever will.”

Merlin watched Arthur lean back in his chair and glance around the café, as if he hadn’t just
opened up his heart and poured it all over the table.

“I assume Heath and Danyl are in the Apothecary?” Arthur asked, scooping up the rest of Merlin’s
eggs with a piece of toast.

Eleanor cleared her throat and wiped at her cheeks. “Yes, sire.”

“I shall be borrowing them both this morning for training, if you have no objections.”

“Training?” Merlin asked.

“Yes, Merlin, training,” Arthur informed him, pushing the empty plate away and rising from the
table. “Some of us actually value vigorous exercise and keeping battle fit.”

Merlin watched Arthur’s shirt pull very tight across his muscled chest as he stretched. Training, he
thought. Yes. Absolutely Arthur should keep training. “Shall I get your things ready?” he asked,
pushing himself to his feet.

“I’ll have Heath and Danyl take care of that.”

“But-“

“You have that long list of things to do today that we discussed.”

“But what about you?”

“I think I can manage a few hours on my own,” Arthur said, closing the distance between them,
resting a hand upon the back of Merlin’s neck, fingers sliding through his hair.

Merlin leaned into the touch, his thoughts drifting back to the warmth of their bed, and the feeling
of Arthur’s body pressed all along his own.

“The sooner you begin, the sooner you can finish,” Arthur said, his voice rough, his gaze lingering
on Merlin’s lips a long moment, before he turned and strode off towards the Apothecary.

Merlin watched him go, drunk on the sight of him in his tight modern clothing, wondering how
quickly he could buy Arthur more of those jeans, because great good gods the sight of that royal
backside walking away in those jeans-

Eleanor cleared her throat, pointedly.

“Arthur wants you to meet with us in my flat after work,” Merlin said quickly, to avoid her asking
him about what she might have seen pass between him and Arthur. “We’d like to discuss that job
offer I mentioned the other day.”

“The vague job you never properly explained, you mean.”

“If you meet with us later then it won’t be vague anymore, will it.”

She gave him a stern look, but nodded. “All right.”

“Good,” he told her, and began clearing the empty breakfast dishes from the table.

“Where do you think you’re going? We haven’t talked about staffing yet.”

“Since when have you needed my help to tell everybody what to do?” he asked, and received
another playful swat, as he retreated from the table.

He spent the rest of the morning removing his books of magic from the Round Table. It was
sweaty work, hauling stacks of dusty tomes up two flights of steps to the library. He wasn’t even
halfway done when he had to pause to change his shirt and wash up, just so he could take a deep
breath without inhaling bits of parchment.

When he emerged from the washroom, he heard voices echoing up the stairwell.

“I’m amazed you didn’t break your leg doing it that way,” Arthur said as he stepped into the
corridor, dressed in chainmail and armor, his hair soaked with sweat, his face flushed red from
exertion.

Danyl trotted up behind him, bright eyed and excited, holding an armful of swords and shields that
jostled and scraped against his own armor. Heath tripped up the last step to join them both in the
hall, grunting with the effort of carrying the enormous wooden training target and several heavy
maces.

Danyl was speaking nonstop as the group approached. “I knew that guy on YouTube was full of it,
I told Heath he was, I mean it was so obvious, because he had no idea about any of the stances that
you showed us, and that was on the very first day you had me pick up a sword to- Oh hello
Merlin!”
Arthur paused at Merlin’s side, his blue eyes shining with that wild energy he got after a truly
satisfying training session. “Why are you sweating?” he asked, looking Merlin up and down.
“Don’t tell me you’ve been training in here, alone, without me.”

The corner of Arthur’s lips twitched upward, secretive and flirtatious, which was nearly as
shocking as Heath and Danyl standing there in the secret tower that they weren’t even supposed to
know about until later.

“No, I- What?” Merlin asked, dazed.

“Are you carrying your books upstairs?” Arthur asked, incredulous.

“Yes? What’s wrong with that?”

“God’s sakes, Merlin. Why don’t you just use magic?”

“Magic. You want me to use magic. For chores.”

“Oh please. Don’t even try to give me that look. I know full well you’ve used magic to do your
chores before.”

“I only- That was because you- How did you know?”

Arthur gave him a crooked grin in response, and mussed his hair, then strode away down the
corridor towards the armory.

“This place is so amazing!” Danyl said to Merlin as he jogged past. “I can’t wait to see the rest of
it later!”

Heath staggered sideways as he shifted everything in his arms to keep from dropping it. Bits of
grass were stuck in his chainmail, and dirt covered every inch of visible skin.

“What happened to you, then?” Merlin asked, unable to suppress a grin, because he had a pretty
damned good idea.

“I got nearly beaten to death by a mace is what happened!” Heath informed him, blue eyes wide
and glassy with exhaustion. “Cor, Merlin, I take back everything I ever said to you about you not
holding your own against him. He is terrifying with that thing.”

“You should consider yourself lucky,” Merlin said. “Most of Arthur’s knights wound up far worse
off than you after they’d called him names.”

“Is that why he- Bloody hell! I thought he was going to kill me!”

“Oh he wouldn’t have killed you,” Merlin said happily. “A man can’t learn his lesson about how to
properly address his king if he’s dead. But he can if his arm is in a sling. Or has to limp for a
week or two. Or loses some teeth. Not too many of the front ones, mind. Makes it hard to say
‘my lord’.”

Heath actually laughed, a dry exhausted sound. “I don’t know which one of you is more
frightening. Him or you.”

“Heath!” Arthur bellowed from down the corridor.

Heath startled so badly that he nearly dropped his armful of equipment. “Coming, sire!” he
shouted, and hurried after Arthur to the armory.
While they were gone, Merlin followed Arthur’s advice, and set his magic upon his long list of
chores. Before long his books of magic were soaring through the corridors and back to his library,
and the bucket and mop were tending to the washroom floor, and even the laundry was doing
itself.

By the time evening came, everything was done. Only one thing remained.

He stood in his bedroom to do it, his palms pressed to the cold stone archway of his library. With
great care he reached out to the ancient magics of the earth. Speaking to them without words.
Asking them for protection. Telling them who they could trust.

When he returned to the waking world, he felt strange in his own skin, and too small for his own
body. His thoughts were full of the shifting continents. The surging sea. The endless sky.

He felt a hand upon his back, warm and strong.

Arthur stood beside him, clearly concerned, but trying to hide it. “Come on,” he said. “It’s time.”

After joining Eleanor, Heath and Danyl in Merlin’s residence, Arthur led them all back upstairs,
through room after room of the North Tower, and finally into Merlin’s library, all the while
describing the vast value of the treasures around them.

It took an hour before they descended to the vaults, Arthur guiding them in the flickering torchlight
through stacks of crates and shelves, across the still blooming meadow, to the Round Table of
Camelot.

Reflections danced upon its polished surface as Arthur guided each of them to a chair. He sat
Merlin to his right, with Eleanor at his side. Heath was placed to his left, where he sat wide eyed
and grinning, Danyl leaning close beside him to whisper in obvious excitement in his ear.

When Arthur took his seat, everyone fell silent. Only the faint echo of crackling flame disturbed
the silence.

“We have asked you here tonight,” Arthur began, “because you have all shown yourself to be
trusted and loyal friends. We are both deeply grateful for all you have done for us. Such loyalty as
yours is not easily found in the world. Nor should it go unrecognized.”

“It was our pleasure,” Danyl said, and then went wide and glanced around nervously.

“By all means, Danyl, do please speak your mind,” Arthur said. “We need you all to do so, in
order to prepare for the time ahead.”

“The time ahead?” Heath asked.

“After Merlin and I leave this place.”

“Leave?” Danyl asked, exchanging a troubled glance with Heath. “But- So soon?”

“Fifteen hundred years is hardly what I would call soon,” Arthur said, his words echoing upon the
ancient stone walls. “Especially not for a man who has stood a lonely vigil upon the shores of this
lake, living every single one of those days, while I lay sleeping in darkness.”

In the silence that followed, Merlin slid his fingers over the tabletop, unable to look up at his
friends. He’d never been able to stand people pitying him. Not when he was a servant in
Camelot. And not now, either.
Only when Eleanor lightly touched his arm did he look over at her, to find her staring at him with a
ferocious pride. Her eyes shone with tears as she nodded over at Danyl, whose brown eyes were
filled with wonder, and then at Heath, who was looking at him with an expression he normally
reserved only for Arthur.

“How can we help?” she asked Arthur.

“Although Merlin has placed magical protections upon this manor,” Arthur told her, “we need
living guardians to watch over this place. People who understand its value. People who we can
trust. People such as yourselves.”

“Yes,” Heath said firmly, leaning forward in his chair.

Merlin smiled at him. “You don’t even know what we’re asking you.”

“I don’t care.” Heath focused on Arthur, back straight and as determined as Merlin had ever seen
him. “The answer is still yes.”

“The same goes for me,” Danyl said. “For as long as you need us, we’ll be here.”

“I wish I could say the same,” Eleanor said, more to Merlin than to the rest. “But my Frederick…
He hasn’t been well. So I may not be able to help for very long. And I’m not a young woman
myself anymore.”

Merlin turned in his chair to face her. “Actually,” he said, “you are.”

She appeared unsurprised by the quiet words. Instead, she looked relieved. “Then it wasn’t only
my leg you changed. It was more than that.”

“I can undo it,” he said. “If that’s what you want. Or… instead… I could do it again. For
Frederick.”

Her indrawn breath was very loud in the quiet room. “You could make him feel like I do?” she
whispered, he eyes widening with a wild and desperate hope.

Merlin picked up her hands, his heart racing at her curiosity. He wanted this for her. He wanted it
for them both. It was her choice, but gods how he wanted it for her. “It’s your choice, Eleanor,”
he assured her. “Yours and Frederick’s. It’s not immortality I’m offering. Just the fullest human
life possible. Strong, and healthy, right to the end of your days. Together.”

“Together,” she choked out, squeezing his hands, blinking away tears. “Emrys…”

“Don’t answer now,” he said, through a tight throat. “I’ll come by tomorrow. You can both tell me
your answers then.”

“I would ask the same,” Arthur said. “Take the night to consider. All of you. Then give us your
answers in the morning.”

Arthur stood, Merlin with him, bringing the others to their feet.

Eleanor left first, deep in thought, nodding to Arthur as she passed. Danyl and Heath followed her,
speaking in low voices to one another.

Merlin caught them before they left the room. “Danyl,” he said, “could you do me a favor before
you leave, and leave a message for that man from the museum in London who calls us
sometimes?”

“You mean the Director of the British Museum, who calls every month wanting to see your
collection?” Danyl asked, in a wry tone of voice he had clearly learned from Heath. “The one you
told to bugger off and-“

“Yes, him. Tell him I have some manuscripts for him to look at. And some paintings from the
Renaissance as well.”

“What kind of paintings?”

“Portraits, of...” Merlin hesitated, then gave it up for lost. Arthur would find out sooner or later.
“They’re of King Arthur of Camelot.”

“You had portraits made of me?” Arthur asked, stepping to his side, his brows pulled together.

Merlin shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged, staring down at the flowers upon the floor.

“Come on,” Danyl said to Heath. Their voices fell into whispers as they retreated from the room,
their footsteps echoing away as they climbed the stone stairs.

“Why?” Arthur asked.

Merlin closed his fingers around the round metal disc of the sigil in his pocket. “I’d started to
forget what you looked like. So I paid people to paint you. To help me remember.”

For a long moment the only sound was the torches crackling along the walls.

“It was stupid, really,” Merlin said to the flowers. “I mean, I eventually figured out how to use
magic to see how you really looked, but that wasn’t until-“

Arthur embraced him so unexpectedly and with such strength that the breath was shoved from
Merlin’s chest.

“How many?” Arthur asked, pressing his nose into Merlin’s neck, drawing in a ragged breath.

Merlin held onto Arthur’s shoulders, staring in confusion across the dimly lit chambers. “How
many what?”

“Portraits. How many portraits did you have made?”

Merlin closed his eyes and held on. “Hundreds.”

“I want to see them,” Arthur said, his voice low and rough. “All of them.”

“They’re not all good. Especially the ones that I did.”

“You made some?”

“Yes.”

“Gods, Merlin,” Arthur breathed, and held him even tighter.

“I want a picture of you,” Merlin said, the words surging up from somewhere deep inside,
desperate and urgent. “A real one. With a camera. Of the both of us.”
“We’ll take a photograph in every city we visit. Every day.”

Gods yes, he thought. Photos of them together all over world. He’d never imagined such a thing
happening. Not even once in all of his long life.

Arthur pressed a soft kiss to Merlin’s neck. “When can we leave?”

“A week? I guess?”

“Make it sooner,” Arthur said, and nipped at his ear.

“So eager to have me all to yourself, are you?” he asked, teasing.

“Yes,” Arthur growled, his fingers winding into Merlin’s hair, tilting his head so he could claim his
mouth with his own, tongue licking against his for several dizzying moments.

Merlin whimpered when Arthur leaned away, breathing hot and fast into his mouth. “Three days
at most,” he said, his voice cracking.

Arthur hummed what was quite possibly agreement, brushing his lips open mouthed against
Merlin’s, an intimate caress.

“Or one day,” Merlin choked out. “Who needs sleep?”

“Three days,” Arthur whispered into his mouth. “I’ll not be without you in my bed.”

“Three, yes, of course,” Merlin heard himself babbling, before Arthur kissed him silent, arms
going even tighter around him.

Quite abruptly Arthur went still. He placed his hands on Merlin’s shoulders. Guided him away.
“What is…?” he asked, and reached into the front pocket of Merlin’s trousers, to withdraw the
round metal sigil.

“I just thought… It’s safer,” Merlin said, feeling caught out and awkward. “With me. Than in a
drawer. Isn’t it.”

Arthur ran his thumb over the raised dragon. Not saying anything at all about the magical
protections all over the manor. Not mentioning that no one else could possibly know the value of
the thing.

Without a word, he placed the sigil back, and then gathered Merlin into his arms.

“You are…” he whispered, and then pressed his face against Merlin’s neck, and didn’t continue.

“Arthur?” Merlin asked. “Are you-”

“Go upstairs,” Arthur said into his ear. “I’ll join you later.”

“Later?”

“You need time to bathe. You smell like old parchment and dust. I don’t want that taste on my
tongue when I claim you.”

The breath punched from Merlin’s chest, his fingers digging into Arthur’s shoulders.

“Go,” Arthur said, guiding him away, a strange and secretive smile pulling at his lips.
Merlin forced his thoughts away from sweat covered skin and the slide of Arthur’s body against
his own. He knew that smile. It was the same one from the night before. No good things ever
came from that smile. “What are are you-?”

“I’ll be up in a half hour,” Arthur said, backing away slowly, still with that strange smile. “I
expect to find you in our bed. And don’t keep me waiting. I have special plans for you.”

Merlin stared at him, too distracted by the ‘our bed’ part of the sentence to really register what
‘special plans’ could mean.

“If you’re not in my bed when I get there I shall be forced to start without you,” Arthur called back
to him.

And then his laughter echoed from the walls, as Merlin knocked over two chairs and a stack of
boxes, in his hurry to get to the stairs.
 and more than that as well

The next morning Merlin found three sealed envelopes in his downstairs kitchen, resting upon an
ornate metal serving tray laden with plates pilled high with eggs and sausages and sweetbreads.
After looking fondly at the café- where Eleanor was no doubt insufferably pleased at making
Arthur breakfast- Merlin took the entire thing upstairs.

He carried it right to Arthur’s bed, resting it on the mattress next to where Arthur sat lazily reading
a book, looking relaxed and gorgeous in the morning sun. After climbing under the blankets
himself, Merlin opened up the envelopes and began to read.

Arthur peered over his shoulder and gave a self-satisfied grunt. “You see? It’s just as I told you.”

“I just... I can’t believe they all want to do it...”

“Again, not surprising. Now hurry up and finish eating. There’s much to do today.”

They began in the library, Arthur supervising Merlin’s selection of paintings to be sold. Heath and
Danyl worked along with them, retrieving cloth-covered canvasses from the dusty shelves. Even
with the filthy work, both young men were enjoying themselves, clearly delighted to have been
called into service so soon. Arthur was enjoying himself as well, always in his element ordering
people around.

Some things never change, Merlin thought fondly, as he watched his king scoff at yet another
artistic rendering of himself, and reject it with a testy wave of his hand.

“I cannot believe you were going to let that portrait of me see the light of day,” Arthur complained.
“My nose doesn’t look like that.”

Merlin pressed his lips together to hold back a laugh, because Arthur’s distinctive nose really
had been captured rather accurately in the painting. “Since you have things well in hand, sire, I’ll
be off to find Eleanor, so she can drag me to the three hundred meetings she’s apparently set up
today.”

Arthur grunted and turned his back, clearly aggravated that Merlin hadn’t risen to the defense of
his king’s noble profile.

So Merlin stepped close behind him, leaning in until his lips almost touched Arthur’s ear, mindful
of Heath and Danyl working a short distance away. “I’ll have you know that I’m very fond of your
regal nose, sire,” he said, sliding his hands up Arthur’s back, over the tight t-shirt he wore. “I
especially like it pressed to the back of my neck, when you pin me down to the bed and have your
wicked way with me.”

Arthur made a strangled sound and turned in place, a flush to his cheeks, his blue eyes wide.

Merlin quirked a smile, and cocked an eyebrow.

“Harlot,” Arthur murmured through a smile.

“My lord,” Merlin drawled out, and was quite proud at how filthy he made it sound.
Arthur laughed and shoved at him. “Go on. The sooner you get started-“

“The sooner it’s done, I know, I know. But if I die of boredom today, it’ll be your fault.”

In the end, though, it wasn’t as bad as he’d feared.

Half of the day was driving around with Eleanor to his Solicitor and his bank and the local
government, and the other half was filling out paperwork so consistently that time passed swiftly
and painlessly. Merlin even had fun at the government offices, using magic to wipe out the CCTV
cameras and convince all the government employees to do whatever he wanted.

“This isn’t legal!” Eleanor whispered to him, as they sat in the back offices with the senior staff
presenting them forged documents and falsified records for Mister Merlin Hunithson and Lord
Arthur Pendragon of Avalon.

“The only laws I follow are the ones decreed by my king,” Merlin said, and sipped the tea the
office manager had brought him. “Well. When they make sense.”

“Old fool,” she muttered, but Merlin smiled, hearing the obvious affection.

Within the hour they were back at his manor, to discover a hand-written “closed today” sign upon
the front door. Inside they discovered the entire café had been turned into an impromptu gallery,
with the various portraits of Arthur propped up upon every white table. People in British Museum
uniforms milled around them, examining them with small tools or taking photos with enormous
cameras.

By the Apothecary, a bald man and a blonde woman stood leaned over one of the tables, talking
excitedly about whatever was laid out upon it. Danyl oversaw them in his dark business suit,
attentive and taking notes and, Merlin thought, looking surprisingly professional. When Eleanor
wandered off to file the paperwork, Merlin joined the little group at the table. He discovered that
two of his handwritten manuscripts were the focus of all the fuss.

The manuscript on the left bore a title in Old English. The one on the right, in Common Brittonic.
Both of them were exactly the same:

‘A True History of the Once and Future King Arthur Pendragon of Camelot, by Merlin of Ealdor.’

The bald man bent low over the books, his mobile pressed white knuckled to his cheek. “Yes, I
told you, I ran that test too!” he snapped. “Yes! I’m sure it’s not Proto Celtic! And before you ask,
it’s not Ancient Insular Gaelic or Old Norse or any of the Low Germanic languages! I’m telling
you it’s over a hundred pages of bloody sodding Brittonic!”

“With a translation into Old English,” Merlin added.

The man’s head snapped up so fast that his glasses fell off his nose and onto the pages. The thin
blonde woman at his side gasped and snatched them up as if they were going to set fire to the
parchment.

“This is Merlin Hunithson,” Danyl told the stunned museum staff. “He’s the one who owns the
entire collection. So when you-”

“What did you just say?” the bald man interrupted, breathless.

“The manuscripts are translations of one another,” Merlin said. “Did I not mention that?”
“Oh my god!” the young women said breathily, then dashed over to fling her arms around Merlin’s
shoulders. “Oh thank you thank you oh my god!”

”Yes, that’s- You’re quite strong, aren’t you,” Merlin said, trying not to choke.

It was chaos after that, all the museum staff crowding around, asking Merlin endless questions,
even prying from him that he could speak Brittonic. By the time he escaped the resulting fervor,
he’d been hugged seven times, and wanted nothing more than to go hide under his bed covers.

“Where are you going?” Eleanor asked, when she caught him opening his residence door. “It’s
time for us to go see my Frederick. He has lunch waiting for us in the back gardens.”

“But Arthur-“

“Is out with Heath, shopping.”

“Shopping? Arthur doesn’t go shopping. Arthur has other people get his things for him, and then
he complains about them and never says thank you.”

“Well he went shopping today.”

“Shopping,” Merlin said, mystified, and let Eleanor pull him to the door.

When finally he made it home hours later, he discovered three armored trucks parked on the road in
front of his manor. Uniformed guards stood around them, while Museum staff loaded his paintings
and manuscripts into their back doors. In the chaos, Merlin ducked around the North Tower,
sneaking into his residence through the door to the lawns.

Two steps into his living room, Merlin stopped in shock, because there was Arthur, lounging on
the couch wearing a t-shirt of a band he couldn’t possibly know, and a pair of trendily torn blue
jeans. He held a beer in one hand, and a mobile in the other, but was ignoring them both in favor
of watching Monty Python on the telly.

Heath sat at Arthur’s feet, amid an impressive array of sweets wrappers and empty Chinese
takeaway cartons. “This parrot is no more!” Health laughed, holding up his chopsticks. “This
parrot has ceased to be!”

Arthur choked on a laugh and nearly spat out his beer, giving an undignified snort in the process.

Across the room, Danyl burst through the door to the cafe, slamming it shut behind him, nearly
dropping the thick stack of papers clutched to his rumpled suit. “Oh my god I thought they’d never
leave!’

”Who’s that?” Heath called.

”The British Museum people! They wouldn’t stop asking questions!”

Merlin joined Danyl at the dining table as the young man dropped into a chair. “I take it things
went well,” he said, peering into one of the Tesco bags stacked upon the table. There were more of
them scattered on the floor, piled up beside two full sets of brand new luggage.

“Are you kidding?” Danyl asked. “Did you not know how big of a deal those books of yours are?
That woman who kept hugging you said that kids in school will be reading your books instead of
the Canterbury Tales! And those paintings you sold them! Why didn’t you warn me that there
was two undiscovered DaVinci portraits in there? Most of the staff started crying when they saw
them, including two old blokes who survived the Blitz!”

“What woman kept hugging you?” Arthur demanded.

Merlin glared at him. “That’s what you got out of all of that?”

”No one should be hugging you,” Arthur grumbled, and sipped at his beer.

Danyl leaned back heavily in his chair. “Cor, I need a drink.”

“To the pub!” Heath shouted.

“No,” Merlin said. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh come on-“

“You heard him,” Arthur said, and pointed to the door.

Heath sighed but stood up. "Come on, love. You heard our king.”

Danyl got to his feet, swaying and looking glazed about the eyes. “I had no idea art could be so
exhausting. Or need so much paperwork. Oh. Here, Merlin. You need to sign these tonight.”

“What, all of them?” Merlin asked, Danyl shoved bags aside and stacked the papers on the table.

”And initial them,” Danyl added, then followed Heath out the door.

Merlin glared at the thick stack of misery that awaited him. It was going to take hours to get
through it. “Bloody buggering son of a-“

“Oh just leave it,” Arthur said. “If you do it now you’ll be unbearable the rest of the evening.”

“I would not.”

”Yes, you would, now come over here and sit down.”

Merlin tried not to look too happy about doing what Arthur told him, but couldn’t quite hide his
happy sigh as he collapsed on the wonderfully soft sofa cushions by Arthur’s side.

On the telly, John Cleese went on and on about Ipswitch and Bolton. All through it, Merlin heard
soft beeping, of the mobile Arthur held in his hand.

“What’s that, hmm?” Merlin asked, playful.

“This,” Arthur informed him, proudly holding up the device, “is my mobile.”

“It suits you,” Merlin said, because the damned thing had an obnoxious gold case and an
extravagantly large screen.

Arthur picked up another mobile from the couch, similar to his own but in a smaller black case.
“This one’s yours. It’s much better than your current one. Though as you can see, it’s far less
impressive than mine.”

“That’s just the case making it look that way.”

”No, mine is definitely bigger.”

“Bigger isn’t always better.”

“Sometimes it is,” Arthur said, cocking an eyebrow.

“Sometimes it is,” Merlin agreed, through a surprised laugh. “’Little king’ my arse...”

“An interesting combination of words.”

Merlin ducked his head and fussed with his mobile to hide his flush. “This isn’t like my last one. I
don’t know what half these things mean.”

“I would be delighted to teach you,” Arthur said, even more smug than when he’d offered to teach
Merlin about magic. “It’s not difficult at all. A child could use it.”

“Right up your street, then.”

“Did you know, Merlin,” Arthur drawled out, ignoring that last, “that I can contact you any time I
want with this? And if you don’t answer, as you tend not to, I can use the GPS to locate you down
to the millimeter.”

Merlin didn’t answer, too distracted by Arthur saying- and apparently understanding- ‘GPS’ and
‘millimeter’. It was almost more impressive than Arthur using his mobile, and he was using it, too,
though he poked more roughly at the screen and moved his arm more than was necessary. It had
Arthur squirming, trying to free his elbow to swipe at the screen.

Merlin shifted away, but was caught by Arthur’s hand.

“Lay down here,” Arthur told him, pulling at him until Merlin lay on his side facing the telly, his
cheek upon Arthur’s thigh, Arthur’s elbow now resting comfortably upon Merlin’s shoulder.
“Now keep still.”

“I wasn’t the one moving,” Merlin protested, a little dazed by the position he was in. People
reclined like this on the couch all the time, though, didn’t they? He was certain he’d seen it in
films. He’d never done it himself, though. Never even once.

“Have you ever heard of Tesco?” Arthur asked, pronouncing the name as if it held all the
mysteries of the universe.

“I’m not sure,” Merlin lied, because he was dying to hear what Arthur had to say about it. “Why
don’t you describe it to me.”

For the next half hour Arthur went on and on about his grand adventure with Heath in the Tesco, a
place which according to him contained every item in existence, including entire categories of
goods that Arthur described as sheer nonsense, meaning that he had no earthly idea what they did.

Merlin listened in a growing haze of contentment, indescribably happy with his head in Arthur’s
lap, the telly droning on in the background, the smells of fried foods lingering in the room. When
Arthur stopped talking, Merlin shifted on the couch to lay on his back, staring up at Arthur
messing about with his mobile, occasionally glancing up at the telly as he did.

I never imagined this, Merlin thought, through joy so intense and enormous that it twisted in his
chest and his stomach. It was such a normal moment. Such a small and boring thing. But he’d
never thought he’d have it. Never with anyone else, and gods above and below, never with
Arthur.
Arthur glanced down, saw whatever was written on Merlin’s face, and set his mobile on the couch.
“What is it?” Arthur asked, pressing a palm to Merlin’s chest.

“Tomorrow,” Merlin heard himself say.

“Tomorrow?”

Merlin grabbed Arthur’s hand. Nodded.

“You’re not making sense.”

Merlin nodded again.

Arthur sighed, fond, and picked up long flat device from a nearby table. He lifted it to his face,
just in front of his mouth. “Off,” he barked at it.

Merlin laughed, then choked off the sound when telly actually did turn off.

Arthur smiled down at him, triumphant.

“I didn’t even know it could do that,” Merlin said, amazed.

“It can, and I’ll make fun of you later for not knowing that, but first, tell me what you were going
to say. Come on, out with it. I even stopped watching the parrot man to listen to you.”

“I was just thinking… That we maybe… Could leave tomorrow? Instead of waiting a few more
days?”

“Will everything be ready by then?”

“I just need to sign some papers. And pack our things. Although… Our friends want to have a
goodbye picnic for us.” He sighed up at the ceiling. “So maybe we shouldn’t. I mean. They’ve
all been so helpful. Danyl and Heath and Eleanor and now Frederick too. Wait until you see
Frederick, by the way. Five minutes after I gave him some of his youth back, he was giving
Eleanor these looks, and she was doing the same thing. It was- Ugh. Disgusting. I couldn’t leave
their house fast enough.”

“Your friends will understand if you want to leave,” Arthur said.

“But don’t you want to-?”

“We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you. What do you want to do?”

Merlin felt the answer bubbling up inside him, pressing its way out like the magics that had been
trapped for so long beneath the Sidhe’s net of spells.

“I want to leave,” he said in a rush. “I want go to London and see the exhibit of my books and your
paintings, and then travel all over Europe and see all the history I missed seeing for myself, and
then get in an airplane and fly over the great seas to show you a rocket taking off in Florida, and
then ride in a train all over the new world. I want it all, I want it with you, and I want it starting
right now.”

Arthur laughed as Merlin panted up at the ceiling, breathless from his outburst, reminded of a day
very long ago, when he’d had a similar fit in front of Gaius about his destiny and his magic and
never feeling exceptional. What a spectacular idiot he’d been back then. He was probably being
one now. But he didn’t give even half a damn.
“If you want to leave, then we'll leave,” Arthur said, as if they’d come to some sort of mutual
agreement, instead of Merlin just laying there making demands like a spoiled child.

“Aren’t you going to remind me about my duty and my responsibility to my friends?”

“Of all the people in the world, Merlin, you are the very last person who needs reminding about
that.” Arthur slid his fingers through Merlin’s hair, smiling down at him. “You want to go,” he
said. “So we’ll go.”

Merlin closed his eyes, squeezing Arthur’s hand where it rested on his chest, fighting to keep from
drowning beneath the weight of the emotion he felt for this man.

“God I love you,” Merlin choked out, because he couldn’t hold the words back any longer.

Arthur was silent in response, for so long in fact that Merlin wanted to cringe. Because although
he’d said those words before, one time at the very least, it felt different saying them like this, on his
couch, in the light, without the afterglow of intimacy. He was left feeling exposed. Vulnerable.
Defenseless in a way he hadn’t felt since Morgana had stripped his magic from him.

“There aren’t words for it, you know,” Arthur said.

“For what?”

“For what we are to each other. For what we mean to each other. There are no words for it, in our
language or any other. Because there hasn’t ever been anyone like us before. Saying ‘I love you’
doesn’t feel like enough. Because what I feel for you is so much more.”

It took a moment before Merlin could breathe, much less find his voice. He opened his eyes, and
saw Arthur staring down at him, his expression filled with love.

“It doesn’t feel like enough,” Arthur said, sounding lost in the face of it.

“It’s enough,” Merlin whispered. “It is.”

“Then I love you,” Arthur told him. “And I more than that, as well.”

Merlin choked on his next breath, clinging tightly to Arthur’s hand, his vision blurring with tears.

“Come here,” Arthur said, and the words weren’t even fully from his lips before Merlin was
pushing himself up and crawling into his lap, arms thrown around his shoulders, face pressed into
Arthur’s neck.

His breathing was so shaky and loud that there was no way Arthur couldn’t mistake it for what it
was. “Don’t laugh,” he said, pressing his cheek to Arthur’s, though it meant he could most
certainly could feel his tears.

“I won’t if you won’t,” Arthur said, his voice hoarse.

“I won’t.”

“Good.”

Merlin rested his chin on Arthur’s shoulder and drew in a deep breath. “Tomorrow,” he sighed,
into Arthur’s ear.

“Tomorrow,” Arthur agreed, and then kissed him.

And it was absurd, really it was, that this kiss felt so different to Merlin.

Because they’d kissed so many times already.

And yet it was entirely new. The kiss, and everything that came after, as well.

Arthur helping him from the couch. Slowly leading him up the stairs. Guiding him in silence not
to his own chambers, but to Merlin’s instead.

It was ridiculous how like a first time it felt, both of them trembling as they undressed one another,
full of nervous shy smiles and tentative touches, as if they’d never been permitted the honor
before.

The touching felt new too, as they stood by Merlin’s bedside, fingers caressing every inch of
exposed skin, until every strip of clothing was gone. When Arthur guided them down to the
mattress, pressing Merlin flat to his back, even the bed felt strange and new itself, with Arthur
finally laying in it, all hard muscles and bare skin.

Arthur moved his hands all over Merlin’s body, fingers staking a careful claim, palms planning an
intricate conquest. He yielded to it in growing desire, letting his king do what he would, even
when Arthur laid him out flat on his back, and knelt up between his splayed open legs, to stare long
moments at him, at his pale flesh and his too thin body, at his hard erection and trembling muscles,
at all that he was and was not.

“Yours,” he thought, or said, or both, as Arthur slid his fingers upon him, and over him, and then
inside him.

He should have felt exposed, or eager, or anything else besides drunk with desire and love as
Arthur held his legs back, and apart, laying him open, laying him bare, so that he could move his
fingers slowly inside him, sliding deep and careful, the pleasure of it so sharp that it pulled tears
from Merlin eyes, even as Arthur bent low over him, to kiss his chest, and his neck, and his lips.

The seduction was so sweet and so slow that it was a torment, making Merlin writhe on the bed,
heels digging into Arthur’s back, urging him closer, urging him inside.

“Patience, my love,” Arthur whispered into his ear, and Merlin went boneless upon the bed,
whimpering helplessly, utterly destroyed by those words, and by the touches that followed.

And kept following.

As the light grew fainter he heard a voice begging, and realized it was his own. His hands were
pulling at Arthur’s arms, his legs winding around his waist, his breaths turning into growls of
desire, mindless and desperate.

Arthur made a choked sound in response, pressing down upon him, arms tight around his back, his
control finally breaking, as he heaved Merlin’s hips up from the bed, and thrust hard and deep
inside.

Merlin arched on the bed, crying out in merciless bliss, as Arthur pressed in and in, filling him up
perfectly. Arthur’s moan spoke of unspeakable relief, as he began to move inside, his back arching
and his muscles straining and his breath choking from him with each claiming motion.

Merlin held on tight, babbling words of love and devotion, Arthur responding in kind, as they
moved together, and clung together, and writhed together, and then came together, hoarse and loud
and perfect, just perfect.
They collapsed, breaths heaving from them, to the soft mattress. Arthur was gloriously heavy upon
his chest, soaked with sweat and smelling of spice and sex and vanilla. The only sound in the room
was of their own breathing, loud but gradually easing, as they slowly recovered together.

Neither of them spoke afterward. Not a joke, not a word, not a sound.

Instead, Arthur shifted on the bed, rolling onto his back, pulling Merlin into his arms. Holding
him. Nuzzling into his hair. Tracing patterns on his back with the fingers that had caused him
such exquisite pleasure.

Merlin lay pliant in his arms, exhausted and filthy and deliriously content, half draped over
Arthur’s body, smiling himself absolutely stupid, simply drunk on joy, so full of it in fact that he
knew not one single awful memory could ever disturb it.

Fifteen hundred years, he thought.

I’ve been alive fifteen hundred years and I’ve never known what it meant to make love to
someone. To have them make love to me.

Not until now.

He sighed, and relaxed, and drifted off, Arthur already dozing at his side.

To his surprise, he discovered that the following morning held all of the soft overtones of the night
before.

When Arthur blinked himself awake to find Merlin staring at him, his first reaction wasn’t a gibe,
or a taunt. It was, instead, a slow sleepy smile, and then an embrace, pulling Merlin to him,
wordless and content.

When they finally did bring themselves to get up, after the rumbling of their stomachs got too loud
to ignore, Arthur finally did break down and tease Merlin, about the softness of his bed being
really and truly fit for a princess.

He did it, though, while he was standing in Merlin’s arms by his bedside, entirely naked, running
his hands over Merlin’s body in a way that made it impossible to be angry at him.

“Not a girl’s bed,” Merlin mumbled into Arthur’s neck, enjoying the press of warm skin all along
the front of his body, and strong hands moving over his back.

“Entirely a girl’s bed,” Arthur said, sounding as though he were arguing on principle, and not
because his heart was in it.

“Fine, it is,” Merlin said, earning a surprised and soundless laugh from Arthur. He smiled in
response, and slid his cheek against Arthur’s jaw, feeling the rough stubble there. “I’m never going
to get my paperwork done,” he sighed, utterly relaxed in Arthur’s arms, his rooms filled with soft
morning daylight, the birds singing beyond his high window.

“Why’s that?” Arthur asked, pressing his nose behind Merlin’s ear, one of his favorite spots.

“Because I don’t want to ever leave this room,” Merlin said, and then surprised himself with a
laugh, because that was honestly the last thing he’d ever thought he’d hear himself say.

Arthur must have been thinking the same thing, because he set his hands upon Merlin’s shoulders,
and guided him away. “Come on,” he said. “We’d better get started.”
“And by we you mean me.”

“By we I mean us. I’ll get my things. You get yours. And we’ll meet downstairs.”

“You’re going to pack your things?” Merlin asked, incredulous.

“I’m going to select my things,” Arthur clarified. “You’ll put them in the actual bags. And load
them into the automobile. And deal with the final paperwork. And ready some food for our
journey. And-“

“All right,” Merlin said, shoving him away, which was probably Arthur’s intention all along.
“You’d better get moving. I know how you are about your clothes.”

“That’s because most of my clothes aren’t rags,” Arthur said, and strode gloriously bare-arsed out
of his room and through Gaius’ chambers, which was a sight he’d never thought to see in all his
long life.

The process of gathering all their things, it turned out, took the better part of the morning.

Merlin had a surprisingly easy time of getting everything actually packed into their brand new
suitcases. They had an amazing number of hidden pockets built in, and strange expanding areas,
and even wheels on the bottom that let you turn the blasted thing every which way from a handle
that had been hidden in the thing itself.

“I knew you’d like those bags,” Arthur said, from where he sat at the kitchen table, freshly washed
and dressed, eating the breakfast Eleanor had left for them hours before.

Merlin spun the enormous bag in a circle, thinking of the hundreds of journeys he’d made with all
of their belongings slung around his shoulders like a pack mule. “I think I’m in love with this
thing,” he said.

“Trying to make me jealous?” Arthur teased, making Merlin knock over the bag in his surprise.
Arthur barked out a laugh in response, then returned upstairs, to make one last check for anything
he’d forgotten.

Merlin spent the time alone sitting at his dining table, going through the stacks of papers from the
museum and the solicitor and the government offices, signing what he needed to, leaving things in
small piles for either Eleanor or Danyl to find.

I don’t need to leave them letters this time, he thought. I can just text them. From the road. After
we get to London, maybe. Or possibly before.

Merlin had just finished cleaning up the kitchen when Arthur walked into the room, holding up
Excalibur, studying it as if he’d never seen it before.

He looked strange wielding it while dressed in his jeans and blue t-shirt and trainers, though the
weapon looked no less like it belonged in his hand.

“Are you responsible for the engraving?” Arthur asked as he approached. “Take me up,” he read
from the one side of the blade. “Cast me away,” he read from the other.

“The words were forged like that in the magic of the dragon’s breath,” Merlin said. “As a
reminder, I suppose. About using it when it’s needed.”

“It’s not needed now,” he said, almost to himself. “Is it.”

“We don’t know that, sire.”

“I don’t mean that it should never be needed again. I just mean for now. For our journey.”

Merlin watched Arthur regard the sword a long moment, feeling uncertain as to what he should say.

“Come with me,” Arthur said.

Merlin followed him into the café, which was filled with people and music and conversation.
When they reached the Apothecary door, Arthur shoved it open, and called inside.

“Heath. Danyl. Outside, now.” Without waiting for a response, he headed for the doors to the
porch. “You as well, Eleanor,” he called across the room to her.

Merlin followed Arthur outside, and down the steps to the lawn, the warm breezes of summer
catching his hair. Sunlight danced upon the waves as Arthur marched them towards the water,
heading straight for the Stone Circle of Avalon.

When he stopped beside the heelstone, he placed a hand upon it, staring out at the lake, his hair
catching on the breeze, the sun placing a glowing crown upon it.

“Yes,” he said to the water. “It’s the thing to do, isn’t it.”

Before Merlin could ask him what was going on, Heath and Danyl beat him to it, calling the
question to him as they jogged down the hill, Eleanor keeping up easily.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Arthur said, turning to face them now, his sword raised. “But there is
something I require of you all.”

“Anything, sire,” Danyl said, Heath nodding by his side, and Eleanor as well.

Arthur pointed to the ground with his sword. “Drop to one knee.”

Eleanor obeyed without question, gathering her long pink dress to kneel in the grass. It startled
Heath and Danyl into motion, and they followed suit at her side, all of them staring up at Arthur in
patient curiosity.

“In the time of Camelot,” Arthur said, “those who entered my service were expected to swear an
oath. Not only to me, but to our kingdom. To serve it with honesty, and loyalty, and honor. And
so I ask all of you. Are you willing to swear that same oath?”

“Yes, sire,” they all said, and Merlin had to struggle to hold back a swell of emotion, just as his
friends were all trying to do.

Arthur gave them a regal nod, his shoulders back and stance proud, as if he wore his crown and his
robes. “In recognition of your service to the kingdom, I hereby grant you each an honor which is
the equal of, though quite different from, the honor I granted to my knights so long ago.”

Merlin watched Arthur step before Danyl, and rest his sword upon the young man’s shoulder.

“Arise, Danyl Bowen,” Arthur said. “Guardian of Camelot.”

Danyl’s eyes went wide, and his mouth dropped open.

“You may rise, now, Danyl,” Arthur prompted him.

The young man got to his feet, his legs shaking under him, choking out ‘sire’ in a hoarse voice.

Arthur moved to Heath, whose face was lit up with a grin, and who nearly got himself injured by
Arthur’s blade in his attempt to watch Excalibur come to rest on his shoulder.

“Arise, Heath Abbernathy,” Arthur said. “Guardian of Camelot.”

“Sire!” Heath said, and shoved himself to his feet, his chest pushed out proudly.

Arthur stepped in front of Eleanor, and gently set the blade upon her shoulder. “Arise, Lady
Eleanor of the House of Godwyn, Guardian of Camelot.”

She took his outstretched hand and climbed easily to her feet. “Thank you, your majesty,” she said,
and curtseyed deeply, smiling at him the entire time.

Merlin crossed his arms tight and swallowed hard against the knot of joy in this throat. And then he
realized Arthur was facing him now, one eyebrow raised, expectant. “What?” he asked.

“Why am I not surprised that you would be the one who wouldn’t follow my orders?” Arthur
asked.

“You wanted- You meant I should-?”

Arthur heaved a sigh, put a hand on Merlin’s shoulder, and shoved downward.

Merlin winced as his knee hit the ground. “What are you-?”

“If you’d shut up for a single minute then you’ll find out.”

Behind Arthur, Merlin heard a bit of snickering. He tried to glare at his friends, but then felt
Excalibur rest gently upon his shoulder. He lifted a startled gaze to Arthur, and found his king
looking down at him, earnest and intense.

“There is no title I could grant you,” Arthur said, “that could possibly convey all you have already
done in service to me or to our kingdom. But there is one, I think, that you have been owed. And
for a very long time.” Arthur’s brows pinched together, pained. “I hope you will accept it now,
for what it’s worth.”

Merlin watched Arthur lift the blade of his sword and set it upon his other shoulder.

“Arise, Merlin of Ealdor,” Arthur said, his voice rough. “Sorcerer to the Court of Camelot.”

Merlin felt the breath punch from his chest, and he squeezed his hands into fists, pressing them
hard into his legs.

It shouldn’t matter, he thought wildly. To be formally named such a thing. Not with Arthur’s
court all dead and gone. Not with the castle sleeping beneath the mountain. Not with the modern
world all around them.

But oh, god, to actually hear the words. To actually be recognized for what he was. For what he’d
always been.

He’d had no idea how much he’d wanted it. Not until he had it.

Arthur swallowed hard, his jaw working, his lips pressing together, his eyes sparkling with
moisture, clearly about to break down in front of everyone.
“And personal manservant to the king,” Merlin forced out quickly. “Don’t forget that. Unless
you’re going to try and sack me again. Not that I’d let you. As I’ve told you over and over. Not
that you listen to me, ever.”

Arthur threw back his head and laughed, a joyous sound that echoed across the water. “All right,”
he said, smiling down at him. “And Personal Manservant to the King,” he added, touching the
blade again to Merlin’s other shoulder. “God’s sakes, Merlin, you’re not supposed to tell the king
what title to give you-“

“Well I wouldn’t have to if you’d done it properly yourself,” Merlin said, climbing to his feet,
grinning like a loon.

Sorcerer to the Court of Camelot, he thought in a daze.

Gods above and below but that felt good.

Arthur stepped away from them all, slicing his sword through the air, then holding it in front of
him to study it. “Such a beautiful weapon,” he said. “I’m going to miss it.”

The intention behind the words had barely registered before Merlin saw Arthur step in front of the
heelstone, lifting his sword high over his head, its sharp point directed downward to the rock.

Arthur looked over at him, blue eyes determined and questioning.

Merlin answered without hesitation, stretching out his hand.

As he stretched out to his magic, Arthur drove the blade deep into the rock. Golden sparks flew
from it as it passed into the stone, rivers of magic surging up from the stone to wind lovingly
around Arthur’s hands and arms, snaking their way down his body, sinking back into the earth
below.

Arthur held onto the hilt a long moment, his eyes closed, swaying slightly. Merlin felt off balance
too, the magics of the earth churning around them, resettling themselves to take hold of the blade,
and anchor it to the earth.

“Bloody hell,” Heath said, approaching Arthur with wide blue eyes.

“Just like in the legends,” Danyl said, staring at the sword in the stone.

Arthur staggered back from the heelstone, his eyes fixed upon his sword, blinking as if coming
awake. After a sidelong glance at Merlin, he turned and walked to the water’s edge.

Merlin followed him, vaguely aware of his friends moving away, Eleanor saying something about
giving their king his space.

When Merlin joined him by the water’s edge he studied Arthur’s profile, looking for signs of
distress, or pain. Instead, what he saw was relief. “Sire?” he asked.

“I think we’ve seen enough of this damn lake for a while,” Arthur said, as if the idea had just come
upon him. “I believe it’s time to see what else is out there for us.”

Merlin felt something wild and eager rush through him, exciting and terrifying and wonderful.
“I’m ready if you are.”

Arthur turned to face him. “Oh I’m ready,” he said eagerly.

Merlin laughed and stepped forward, hands reaching out to touch, before he abruptly stopped
himself, barely in time, shocked that he’d been about to do something so obvious in public.

Arthur rolled his eyes and wound an arm around Merlin’s back, pulling him in to give him a deep
and passionate kiss, right there at the water’s edge, in front of the boats and the people strolling in
the park and whoever happened to be looking down at the lake from the café, which was often
everyone.

After the initial shock of it, Merlin yielded to the slick slide of Arthur’s lips upon his, and relaxed
into the strong body pressed against his own, arms wound around Arthur’s shoulders, fingers
sliding into his hair.

When they parted, he saw no trace of embarrassment in Arthur’s expression.

“You don’t… mind?” Merlin asked, tilting his head toward the manor, where he’d been certain he
had heard some cheering, sounding like it had come from either Heath or Danyl or both.

“Do you?” Arthur asked, with a touch of uncertainty in his voice, which was utterly absurd.

“Why in the hell would I mind?” Merlin asked.

“That’s true,” Arthur said, smug as always. “I am rather amazing.”

“When you’re not an insufferable arrogant arse with poor manners and-“

Arthur kissed him again, this time doing that thing with his hands and his tongue that could
possibly have had them arrested for public indecency if he hadn’t stopped exactly when he did.
“Were you saying something?” he asked Merlin, his mouth twisted in a crooked grin.

“Um,” Merlin got out, but then forgot entirely what else he had intended to say.

“Definitely my favorite way of shutting you up,” Arthur said, grabbing hold of Merlin’s hand and
pulling him away from the water.

Merlin followed him up the hill, fingers slid through Arthur’s, so amazed by the sensation that he
didn’t even spare a glance behind him.

He’d seen enough of that lake, anyway. It hardly deserved a goodbye.

After returning to the North Tower, Merlin stacked all their suitcases by an open window upstairs,
where he could easily move them through the air and across the road by magic.

Before he went back downstairs, he stood a long moment in the corridor, looking down its narrow
stone walls.

So many years, he thought, as he looked at Arthur’s chamber doors at the end of the hall.

So very many years I spent here. In this corridor. In these rooms. In this tower.

Countless lifetimes of man. Waiting for this moment to come.

“Merlin!” Arthur called up from downstairs.

Merlin felt himself grin, wild and free. “Coming, sire!” he yelled, and scampered down the stairs.

They snuck out through the North Tower door, walking over the soft grasses of his lawns and
across the street to his garage. Their suitcases followed along in the air above them, arcing over
the trees, to stack themselves by the garage door he opened, near the boot of the car.

Arthur stood by the open passenger’s side door, an elbow on the roof, watching as Merlin shoved
their bags one after the other into the car.

“I trust you remembered your mobile this time,” came Eleanor’s voice.

Merlin banged his head on the open boot and turned around rubbing his head. Eleanor was
walking up the stone driveway in her flowery dress, her expression sad but fond. “Eleanor,” he
said, startled. “I was- We were-“

“I know,” she said. “Arthur told me.”

He glanced over at Arthur, and got a smug smile, before his king ducked into the car and closed
the door after him.

“You do have your mobile, don’t you?” she asked, picking up the last of the luggage, and shoving
it into the boot.

“I- Yes. I do.”

“And you’ll promise me that you’ll use it?” she asked, slamming the boot shut with impressive
force for a woman her age. So to speak.

“I will,” Merlin promised. “Believe me. Arthur would have a fit if I didn’t have it with me at all
times, so that I could be at his royal beck and call every second of the day.”

From very close by he heard Arthur clearing his throat, loudly.

“The car windows are open, aren’t they,” Merlin said in a low voice to her, wincing a bit.

“Old fool,” she said, brushing dirt from his shirt, just like she’d used to fuss over his clothing when
he’d been old and covered in who knew what from the Abbernathy stables. “I do understand it,
you know,” she said. “You leaving like this. I’ve come to recently understand what it means to
have another chance at life. I don’t blame you for wanting to start it right away.”

“I am sorry that I didn’t-”

“Oh hush,” she said in a choked voice, and stepped forward, to hug him.

He wrapped his arms around her narrow shoulders, telling himself that he wasn’t going away
forever, and besides, now he didn’t need to worry about losing her in his absence. She was going to
be here for a while yet. Her and Frederick both.

She stepped back abruptly, shoulders back and jaw pushed out. “The king is waiting for you.”

“And you have a manor to run,” he added.

“Only until you get back,” she told him.

“Probably even then,” he pointed out.

She laughed, and for a moment Merlin could actually see that woman who had walked into his
café so long ago. Without another word she spun on her heel, striding off to the manor, to tend to
the life he was leaving behind.
Merlin climbed into the car feeling a little dazed.

“Everything all right?” Arthur asked, digging through a backpack at his feet.

“Thanks,” he said softly. “For telling her.”

“It was the right thing to do.”

“What about the others?”

Arthur held up his mobile, to show him a number of texts upon the screen. “Heath is already
texting me advice on where to find lunch on the way to London,” he said, proudly emphasizing the
word ‘texting’ as if it were a great accomplishment.

“You and that mobile,” Merlin said wryly, and started up the car.

After he drove them to the end of his driveway, he sat behind the steering wheel, staring at the low
stone wall that ran along his manor estate, and at the tall trees sheltering it, and at the stone walls
he’d built by hand, and then had rebuilt, over and over again, through the centuries.

“I’m being stupid,” he said, at his strange reluctance to leave. “It’s not like I’m going away
forever.”

“We don’t have to go at all if you don’t want.”

Merlin gave him an incredulous look. And realized that Arthur was entirely joking. “Right,” he
said, laughing again, in wonder this time, because the past few days kept presenting him with new
and unexpected surprises.

Was this what life was like for everyone else? he wondered. Being surprised all the time? Always
being caught wrong footed? Having no idea about the path ahead?

“We’ll be needing this,” Arthur said into his thoughts, pulling from his backpack something black
and square and of course with a screen on it.

“What’s that now?”

“This is how we’re getting to London,” Arthur informed him haughtily. “I know how you are with
maps. I’d sooner follow a drunken horse than trust you to find a river when it’s right in front of
you.”

Merlin watched as Arthur poked at the screen with great relish, then lifted the thing to his mouth.

“Take us to London,” he commanded.

Merlin laughed at him. “Just what do you think is going to-?”

“Turn left onto Lakeside Road,” a woman’s voice said from the thing’s speaker, clear and posh and
respectful, “and then proceed west for three point two kilometers.”

Arthur held the device up and said, loudly and clearly, “thank you.”

“Oh, sure, her you thank,” Merlin said.

“Yes well she never pointed me in the direction of a bridge that wasn’t there. I nearly rode off the
cliff, Merlin-“
“That was not my fault!”

Arthur gave him a look that said it absolutely was, as he set the device on the seat between them,
as if it had a place of honor there. “Just do what she says and we might actually be able to stay out
of any ravines on our journey.”

Merlin glared at the thing, strangely jealous of bits of circuitry and plastic. “You are going to be
insufferable with that thing this entire trip, aren’t you.”

“Come, now, Merlin, when am I ever insufferable?” Arthur said, stretching an arm across the back
of the seat, to poke him in the neck. “Come on then.” Another poke. “Get moving.” Yet another
poke.

“Oh my god!” Merlin snapped, and swatted Arthur’s hand away, laughing, feeling as if he were
twenty years old again and setting out with his king on a grand adventure.

“Well then what are you waiting for?” Arthur asked, sounding delighted this time, and more than a
little excited himself.

“Not a thing, sire,” Merlin assured him happily, and eased the car out of the driveway, taking them
down the road, without a single glance back.
 once and future
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Arthur had to struggle to stay awake as Merlin drove them along winding forest roads. They
hadn’t been travelling long, but his soft leather seat was comfortable, and the car’s motion was
familiar enough by now to be soothing, tricking his body towards sleep.

Or perhaps not sleep, he thought. Perhaps it was just deep relaxation. It was difficult to tell. He
had so little experience living like this; without being on his guard at all times.

It was unnerving, but exciting. Like leaving his sword behind. Like driving away from Avalon.
Like venturing into the unknown world.

Fortunately, he’d never been one to shy away from a challenge. He would face this one as he had
the others: With his gaze set to the horizon, his heart full of love for his kingdom... and
this ridiculous, wonderous man at his side.

“-and it looks odd I know but we’ve definitely got to ride on it,” Merlin was saying, still prattling
on about the circular metal monstrosity in the heart of London. He was quite excited about it, and
had been going on about it for some time now.

Arthur studied Merlin's profile as he nattered away, recognizing the signs of Merlin being
either nervous or excited or both. Words were spilling from his lips, but he was grinning nonstop,
even laughing when he said something he thought funny.

When had it last been, Arthur wondered, since he’d seen Merlin this happy for this long? He
couldn’t remember. Not like this.

“It’s been ages since I’ve been up in the air that high,” Merlin continued, absently tapping his
fingers on the steering wheel. “Though I doubt it will be at all the same as riding on a dragon. The
smell will be better, for sure!”

He looks young, Arthur realized. There was no trace of Merlin's very long life in his face, or his
body language, or his voice. He really could be a man of thirty again...

“-although I’m not sure when the exhibit will open,” Merlin said, as he maneuvered the car around
a bend. “I could text them, I suppose. They gave me their number. That’s not too pushy, is it? No,
it’s not. Is it? Well. Maybe when we get to the hotel...”

Arthur smiled and leaned his head on the seatback, outright staring at the man by his side. He
could do that now, without pretending he wasn’t, to himself or to others. He could stare all he
wanted, to study the tempting stretch of bare neck above Merlin’s brown jacket, and the wonderful
purple mark Arthur had left himself, just above Merlin’s collar.

“Is that your jacket from Camelot?” Arthur asked, right in the middle of whatever Merlin was
saying.

Merlin glanced over, clearly delighted. “Are you suggesting that I used magic to preserve my ratty
old jacket for fifteen hundred years just so you could find it familiar when you came back?”

“Of course not. Only an idiot would do something like that.”

“Or a lovestruck fool,” Merlin said, with another one of those shy smiles that stood in such contrast
to the wonderfully wicked things he did in their bed.

Arthur stretched his arm across the seat back, his palm resting upon the warm skin of Merlin’s
neck. Merlin leaned into his touch, tilting his head, until Arthur laughed and slid his fingers
through Merlin's unfairly soft hair.

“Where in the world are we anyway?” Merlin asked, after the navigational device directed them
down yet another forest road. “That’s the trouble with those damn things. We could be anywhere
by now.”

“It couldn’t be worse than traveling by your sense of direction,” Arthur said, which was blatantly
untrue.

“You and your technology,” Merlin grumbled, both jealous and aggravated, making Arthur even
more happy that he’d had Heath demonstrate how to use the device in such detail.

When Arthur picked the device up, he stared wistfully at its animating map, remembering all the
times he’d only had a scroll of parchment to guide his way. Now he could zoom in to see the
tiniest streams. Or zoom out to see the entire country-

“I bet that damn thing has us halfway to the northern border,” Merlin muttered.

Arthur manipulated the map a few seconds, then drew in a sharp surprised breath.

“We’re not lost are we?”

“No, it’s- I just can’t believe I- How did I not recognize it?”

“What is it?” Merlin asked.

Arthur held up the device.

Merlin glanced over, then stared.

Arthur pointed viciously ahead, then rocked sideways as Merlin swerved off of the gravel shoulder
and back onto the road.

“Sorry,” he breathed. “Sorry, I just-”

“Could you find it?” Arthur pressed, reading Merlin’s excitement. He felt it himself.

“Do you want me to?”

“Yes.”

”Good,” Merlin said, grinning now. “Yeah, that’s- It’s good.”

"You can find it then?”

“Oh yes, sire. I can. And I won’t need that thing to do it.”

Arthur tossed the device to the seat, skin prickling with excitement as he looked out the window at
the forest. I know these woods, he thought. I know these woods...

After only a few minutes, Merlin turned them onto a narrow gravel road that lead beneath a thick
canopy of trees. The underbrush was dense, but gave way at their passing, granting them access
until the road simply ended, quite abruptly, at the base of a steep wooded hillside.

“Is this it?” Arthur asked, peering through the windscreen at the forest.

“It is, sire,” Merlin assured him, bright eyed and smiling as he climbed from the car.

Arthur got out as well, savoring the sweet forest air, cool and damp and achingly familiar. When
he shrugged on his black jacket, a hundred memories assailed him, because yes, this was just how
it had felt back then, and if he ignored his modern clothes and the car, he could almost think it was
back then.

“This way,” Merlin called, already heading toward some hidden path up the rocky hillside.

“How do you know?”

“Magic leaves a mark upon the land. Especially magic this old.”

Arthur lifted his gaze to the canopy of leaves, to the blue sky beyond. Sometimes, if he really
tried, he could still feel the magics of Avalon, winding through the earth; through Merlin; through
him. With a deep breath, Arthur closed his eyes, and listened.

There, he thought, straining towards the aching beauty that called him by name, ancient and
ethereal, elusive as the memory of a childhood song, or a breeze that smelled of home-

“Are you coming?” Merlin shouted, startling him.

“Yes, Merlin,” Arthur shouted back, and headed toward the trail.

The ascent was rocky, the path overgrown, and Arthur was glad for his thick soled shoes and jeans
to protect him. Merlin seemed not to mind the climb for once, scampering ahead of him through
the brush, before pausing at the path’s summit.

“It’s this way” he called back. “Come on!”

Arthur hurried after him, emerging from the trail onto a narrow sunlit meadow. Merlin was
walking through its tall grasses, heading to the grand vista overlooking the valley. There was a
drop at the edge, but a long line of tall thick rocks lined it, and it was here that Merlin stopped, his
hands resting upon one of the taller moss covered stones.

“Where is it?” Arthur asked, when he stepped to Merlin’s side.

“Look to the mountains, sire,” Merlin urged, breathless.

Arthur lifted his gaze to the range of mountains, and realized, with a start, that he knew them. The
shock of recognition had him turning in place, looking with new eyes at the narrow stretch of
meadow- the ridge where they stood- the sharp rise of a rounded hillside-

“The North Battlements!” Arthur burst out. “That’s where we are! And that hill over there-
That’s the Citadel- And the sharp rise behind us- That’s the tower with my chambers!”

“And mine as well,” Merlin said happily, rocking back on his heels, his hands clasped behind his
back, his brows nearly crescents in his delight.

“My rooms are right up there,” Arthur said again, staring up at the vine covered cliff face which
was not a cliff at all, but was instead his tower, hidden beneath layers of nature. “By the gods,
Merlin, you said you hit it in a mountain, but... I had no idea...”

“Would you like to go inside? I still remember where the armory’s hidden entrance can be found.
We could get in without much effort.”

Arthur thought of his castle sleeping beneath the cold earth, dark and empty as a tomb. “No,” he
said, through a tight throat. “Not today.”

“It will wait until you need it, sire,” Merlin said, with that same conviction Arthur had heard so
often so long ago. “For as long as you need. Camelot will wait for its king.”

“Just as you did, hmm?”

Merlin’s expression pinched, signs of his great age returning to his lovely face, which wasn’t
what Arthur had intended at all.

To fix his mistake, Arthur did what he never could have done in Camelot. He cupped one
of Merlin’s sharp cheeks in his palm, and leaned in to kiss him.

Saying thank you, and I’m glad I have you, and I love you, all at once.

When they parted, Merlin slid his hands up Arthur's arms. "Before we go," he said softly, "I'd like
to show you something. Would that be all right?"

Merlin's tone reminding Arthur of a hundred tiny magic dragons in his chambers, and of sparkling
planets swirling above the South Tower. “Yes,” he said. “Go ahead.”

Merlin stepped backward, his arms raising at his sides, his fingers twisting through the air as if
weaving invisible strands of thread. Golden light sparkled in Merlin’s eyes as the breeze picked up
and the leaves shuddered and danced with the trees. Arthur could feel the world shifting sideways
somehow, magic surging over him like a mighty river, yet leaving him in place, as it gathered to
the sorcerer who commanded it.

Powerful, Arthur thought, breathless, as the magic shone like the sun in Merlin’s eyes. By the gods
above he’s powerful. Arthur could actually feel the fabric of the world rippling around Merlin’s
hands; could see the air shimmering and shining with it.

A surge of vertigo had Arthur squeezing his eyes closed and violently shaking his head- But then
it was gone, leaving him breathless but unharmed.

“Sire,” Merlin said, in a strange echoing voice. “Sire, look...”

Arthur opened his eyes to look upon the forest.

Except the forest wasn’t there.

In its place was the Lower Town of Camelot, just as it had been fifteen hundred years ago, with its
shops and houses and tradesmen at their carts, smoke rising from the forges, patrons stumbling
from the Rising Sun.

When Arthur turned in place, he saw the Citadel and the towers of Camelot rising into the sky, red
flags fluttering upon the rooftops, guards in armor standing vigil beside them. Several servants
were shaking laundry from open windows, calling to one another. In the distance, Arthur heard
the village bells ring the hour.
“All right?” Merlin asked, his voice still echoing, magic still sparkling in his eyes.

“What is this?” Arthur asked, breathless.

“An echo,” Merlin said simply. “It’s more detailed than I expected. But the land here is
overflowing with magic. I think it always has been. It probably always will be.”

Arthur stepped closer to the battlement rocks to stare down at the crowded road leading to the
castle.

Gwaine was striding down the street, his chainmail and armor catching in the sun, his red cloak
flowing nobly behind him. He was gesturing wildly as he spoke to Elyan, sending both men into
fits of laughter. Percival and Leon were walking alongside, smiling at whatever nonsense
their friends were saying. Guinevere rode a white horse behind them all, a vision of beauty in her
blue dress. Her hair was long and loose around her shoulders, and her smile was full of affection
for her brother and her friends.

Arthur watched it all unfolding with his breath caught in his chest, grief welling up from where it
always slept.

He understood now what Merlin had meant. About starting to forget the life they’d had. Even after
his short time in the modern world, his memories had already begun to fade. And now here was
Merlin, giving it all back to him, even though he was clearly as pained as Arthur by the sight of it.

“There’s us in the back,” Merlin said, voice rough.

Arthur watched their younger selves riding down the road together, laughing so hard that they were
both in danger of falling off of their horses.

“I remember that day so well," Merlin whispered. “It’s one of my favorite memories. You thought
Gwen had been gone too long for her ride, so you sent the knights to find her. They wound up
disappearing too, to have a picnic with her in a meadow, where she’d fallen asleep in the sun.”
Merlin paused, smiling sadly, a broken thing that had tears sliding down his sharp cheekbones.
“You were so mad at them, sire. You made them walk all the way home. But that was all right by
me. Because I got to ride at your side again. Just the two of us. One last time. Before the Fortress
of Ismere. Before it all went wrong.”

Merlin’s voice cracked on the final word, and he swallowed hard, pushing out his chin and shoving
his shoulders back.

Arthur took one last look at his wife, at his friends, at his town, and at his castle.

Then he turned his back on it all. Turning toward Merlin instead.

“That’s enough, Merlin,” Arthur said.

Merlin startled, still half lost in memory. “What?”

Arthur closed the distance between them, placing a hand upon Merlin’s cheek to wipe at a tear with
his thumb. “This time is over. It was glorious, and wonderful, and horrible, and absurd, and all of
the other things you would want from a life well lived. It will always be a part of us. Just as it
should. But it’s in the past, and you and I live in the present. And I wouldn’t have it any other
way.”

“Yeah?” Merlin choked out.

“Yes,” Arthur said, and kissed him.

As Merlin stepped into Arthur’s embrace, the world slid sideways once more. This time Arthur
wasn’t dizzy, not with Merlin’s arms wrapped tight around him, clinging to him as if he were the
one in danger of falling. When finally the wind fell silent, and the world felt still, Arthur ended the
kiss, turning to look out upon the forest covered valley; the familiar shapes of the mountains.

“That was nice,” Merlin sighed into Arthur’s neck.

”The view of the past? Or the kiss?”

”All of it.”

Arthur closed his eyes and held him tighter, their bodies pressed so close that he could feel the
round shape of his mother’s sigil, tucked away in Merlin’s front jeans pocket. “Still keeping it
safe, are you?”

Merlin went very still in his arms.

“It’s a shame it isn’t smaller. Then you could keep it with you more comfortably. Perhaps even
wear it. As a reminder to yourself. And a clear indication to others.”

“A clear indication of what?”

That you’re mine, Arthur thought. Just as I would wear something that’s a clear indication that I’m
yours.

Again Arthur thought of the rings he’d retrieved from the vaults. The one from his mother’s
family. And the one from his father’s. For all he knew, neither ring would fit either of them
properly. He’d have to sneakily try them on Merlin’s fingers before they got to Italy. Fortunately,
Merlin slept like a fallen tree trunk. It would be easy to check the sizing in his sleep. That way
they’d fit properly for when he needed them.

“Arthur? As a clear indication of what?”

“As a clear indication of your unique fashion sense.”

Merlin huffed out a breath and leaned away.

Arthur avoided his curious gaze by turning toward the forest. “It’s hard to believe that no one lives
here after all this time.”

“Oh it’s much too cold to live anywhere around here.”

“It is, is it?”

“Yes. It’s much, much too cold.”

“Rather convenient.”

“I always thought so.”

Arthur laughed as he watched two hawks idly soaring above the vegetation-covered Northern Gate.
“Glad that someone is keeping watch here,” he said, nodding at them. “From a distance, they do
look a little like dragons.”
“I had a dream about dragons the other night,” Merlin said.

Arthur looked over, alarmed.

“Not that kind of dream. Just… You know. A dream. My mother was there. And my father. He
said something about there always being dragons.”

Arthur thought about the changing of the seasons, and the passing of the years. About how
people were there and gone. About living and dying and living again. It had him sliding an arm
around Merlin’s waist. “Yes,” Arthur said. “I think he’s right.”

“You do?”

“Everything moves in cycles. And magic is a part of the fabric of the world. So why shouldn’t it
do the same?”

“You think the time of magic will come again?”

“I think I do.”

Merlin was thoughtful a long moment, but then nodded. “I think i do too.”

“We’ll do it differently next time,” Arthur said firmly.

“Yes, we will.”

The words vibrated with magic, an oath burning into the heart of the world. Arthur could feel it,
magic echoing through the soil beneath Camelot, reaching out to the distant horizon, to the
unknown world beyond. It had him turning in wonder to study Merlin’s profile, though he saw no
sign of any of this in his expression.

Merlin caught him staring, and frowned. “What? Is there something on my face?”

Arthur choked out a laugh. “Just the usual.”

”You’re looking at me funny.”

“I always look at you funny. Now come on, let’s go.”

"You sure?”

“Yes, Merlin,” Arthur sighed out, and grabbed the back of Merlin’s jacket, hauling him from the
battlements for old time’s sake.

“You don’t have to- Let go,” Merlin said, and shoved at him.

Arthur shoved back, and saw a flash of something in Merlin’s eyes that set them both into a full on
run.

By the time they climbed down the hillside, they were sweaty and breathless and covered in
leaves. They walked to the car laughing, half hanging onto one another, half holding each other
up.

When they fell into their seats, smiling and breathless, Arthur felt another wonderful surge of that
same feeling. Of things being both strange and familiar.
 Merlin nodded at him, his eyes sparkling, telling him without words that yes, he felt it too.

“To London,” Arthur commanded, and pulled the car door shut.

“To London,” Merlin agreed, and then turned the car around, guiding them away from the sleeping
castle, and out of the silent forest, and onto the many unknown roads that stretched out full of
promise beyond.

***

MORE STORIES FROM THE "WE BEGIN AGAIN" UNIVERSE:

<i>(If you liked this story, please hit “kudos” before continuing on)</i>

- Sweet Dreams of Mistletoe: 4 Years Before Camlann

- The Return of Magic (Upon Dragon's Wings): 1 Year Post Camlann
- Would you if you could (Remember): 30 Years Post Camlann
- And Like The Cycle Of The Year We Begin Again: 1,500 Years Post Camlann... When Arthur
Returns
- Our Destinies Our Own: Story picks up the same day We Begin Again ends
- Ever Onward, Through Magic, Through Love: Arthur and Merlin's travels through the modern
world

Chapter End Notes

Kudos link for downloaders.)

Your comments are always welcome — as are offers of translation and derivative fan
works, so long as proper credit to me is given, the spirit of the work is not changed,
and there is no commercial gain (which could endanger this source work being
available to all you wonderful Merlin fans).

A huge thank you to everyone who encouraged me during the 11 MONTH writing
process, and thank you as well to BlueSimplicity, who beta read all 39 enormous
chapters!

REFERENCE LINKS:
- The Merlin Wiki
- Old English Translator
- About Common Brittonic
- Merlin's Car - the Bentley Mark VI
- Overused Word Finder
- My Tumblr

And some lovely fan art created by MaryLuis for this chapter
MERLIN'S SPELLS USED IN THE STORY:
In the TV show, Merlin speaks his spells in Old English (though the dragon gets
greek). Old English didn't actually exist when Arthur supposedly lived, but never
mind, it's a time of myth right? Anyway, here's the spells I included/created for the
story:
"Disperse you clouds, come mild winds, shine warm sun, so that summer lives today" /
"Onstyrest þu heofonwolcen, Cume milde byreas, áscínest þu sunne, þæt sumorhát
dæghwæðerlic"
"Close window" / "fordyttan éagdurue"
"Extinguish the flame" / "Acwence þa ligen"
"Extinguish the candle" / "Acwence þa ure"
"Come and live" (to conjure a butterfly – used in the show) / "Gewyrc an lif"
"Show door" / "ætywan duru"
"Reveal to me the door" / "onwréon mé þá durue"
"Burn" / "forbærnan" or "bæl on bryne"
"Close windows, shutters, drapes" / "fordyttan fenester, wágrift, éagdurue"
"'Open bottle" / "ætýne byte"
"Come, fire. Form planets, and sun, and dance together" / "cume fýrcynn, átýdre
tungol aen dægcandel, aen frícen gesamnunga"
"Come to me ancient magics, connect word and meaning, from yesterday and
tomorrow" / "cume mec drýcræftes, limplæce cyneword ond andgietan, dæghwæðerlic
morgenlicne ferhþes"
"Bring, come to me" / "Inbringe, cume mec"

LIST OF (INVENTED) PHRASES SPOKEN BY ARTHUR:

The language likely spoken by a historical King Arthur would have been Common
Brittonic. It doesn't exist anymore, so I constructed Arthur's language in the story from
Modern Welsh, a descendant language from Brittonic.
Chapter 5:
“Who are you people? What is happening here?” “Pwy ydysw swhi bobl? Bedh syon
diwydd yma?!”
“Merlin, is that you?” / “Merlin, a ywn schi?”
“Is this a dream?” / “Nizh zhwi yn breuzhwetio?”
“No this is not a dream” / “Na, nizh ythych yn breuzhwetio”
Chapter 13:
“What on earth is it now” / “H’ud oyr awyr ar daear”
“Merlin! Where are you? Damn it where are you!” / “Merlin! Ble edech c’hi!”
Damniasech ble wyt ti!”
“I’m here! Be quiet!” / “Rydw i yma! Fod yn dawel!”
“Where are you? Damn it all, where are you!” / “Ble edech c’hi? Damniasech ble wyt
ti”
Chapter 14:
“can you understand the words I’m saying” / “Galwch barhau idal mi en avr, ni galweh
shi
Chapter 18:
“Stop staring at them” / “Ror gora idos silus arnint!”
“I’m not staring at them” / “Nid spi oed inos silus arnint!”
Chapter 29:
“Familiar yet strange”, also “Known yet unknown.” / “Rhifegh ahn gifarweh.”
Works inspired by this one
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