Chapter Text
“Will you stop looking at me like that?” Arthur snaps but keeps his voice down, glancing at the men before them.
Merlin’s glare only intensifies. “You’re making a mistake, Arthur.”
“I heard you the first six times.”
“And yet…”
“Merlin,” Arthur says sternly, gripping the reins. Anyone complaining that he is the stubborn one clearly has never met Merlin. Bloody obnoxious, is what he is. “It's what Morgana wants.”
Merlin shakes his head, like it’s not a good enough reason. “You should’ve said no.”
And he would have. Despite what Merlin might think, Arthur isn’t a pushover. Not even the persistent guilt over what happened to Morgana would’ve been enough to sway his resolve. But it’s not just about Morgana.
“It’s what I want, too,” he admits, not surprised when Merlin gives him a befuddled look. “I don’t want any loose ends. I want all of this to be over.” A part of him is ashamed of it. What kind of man feels sympathy and fragments of affection for someone who’d tried - and nearly succeeded - to not only kill him, but destroy everything he cares about?
A man like Arthur, apparently.
The admission is enough to soften Merlin’s piercing scrutiny. There’s a ghost of understanding in his eyes, as though he can hear what Arthur’s not saying. Knowing Merlin, he probably can.
Arthur gives their surroundings a quick glance, determining this is as good a spot as any. He brings his horse to a stop, Merlin and Leon following suit.
Agravaine stumbles, spinning around and watching them warily. He doesn’t try to make a run for it, having learnt his lesson from his first attempt. Merlin hadn’t even tried to hide his glee at being able to use magic to cause Agravaine some…discomfort.
“I suppose you won’t tell me whatever it is you’re trying to achieve by this,” Agravaine says evenly, but Arthur knows him well enough to recognise his unease.
“I’ve told you,” he says testily. “You don’t believe me, that’s on you.” He feigns indifference, even though Agravaine’s mistrust insults him. How sad that he still cares what his uncle thinks about him.
Agravaine huffs, raising his chin. “I find it difficult to simply accept that you decided to let me go.”
“Well, I’m sorry for your hardship.” Feeling his composure unravelling, he gives Leon a nod.
Dismounting, Leon unsheaths his sword and Agravaine’s eyes snap up to him. He remains still, though, letting Leon lift his tied hands so he can cut through the restraints.
“You’re free to go,” Arthur says without inflection. “On the condition that you’ll never set foot in Camelot ever again.”
“And if I do?” Agravaine retorts, a poor attempt at establishing some semblance of control.
Before Arthur can reply, Merlin says, voice dark and low, “You don’t want to find out.”
Agravaine’s face loses some of its colour, his eyes widening. He reins in his reaction fast, glaring at Merlin defiantly.
Arthur snorts discreetly, pressing his lips together. This is so not the time to get all hot and bothered because a certain sorcerer is acting ruthless and bossy.
“Uncle,” Arthur begins, focusing on the matter at hand. “I have no interest in keeping you imprisoned for the rest of your life. And if you haven’t realised it yet, I’m not my father.” Which really is just a euphemism for I don’t fancy having you executed. Seeing as Agravaine’s shoulders tense, the message has been received. “But I also don’t want you anywhere near me and my people.”
Taking that as a cue, Leon retrieves a satchel from his bag and hands it to Agravaine, who reaches for it reluctantly, handling it like an unknown weapon. He peeks inside, not quite able to conceal his shock.
Merlin makes an unhappy noise, which Arthur pointedly ignores. It’s just some bloody food. It’s not like Agravaine is going to try to kill them with a loaf of bread.
“Go. There’s a new life out there waiting for you.”
The Forest of Ascetir is far from welcoming, but definitely preferable to Camelot’s dungeon. Agravaine must agree, because while he looks the furthest thing from pleased, he doesn’t argue. He clutches the satchel to his chest, sweeping his gaze over the three of them. Never letting his guard down, he takes a tentative step backwards, then another, and another, before he turns around and starts to walk away.
Suddenly he stops, turning around and looking at Arthur. Something unidentifiable passes over his face. For a moment Arthur almost thinks he’s going to say something. Agravaine’s lips part, then press into a thin line. He whirls around, walking faster than before.
Arthur had thought that setting Agravaine free would invoke all kinds of conflicting emotions. Apprehension? For sure. Relief? Most likely. As it is, he feels nothing but a hollow ache that’s been his companion since he’d found out about his uncle's betrayal. Sure, they’ve repaired the damage Agravaine has left behind, but none of it changes the fact that Arthur never meant anything to him. Agravaine loathes him, and this time there is no curse that can be blamed for it.
It doesn’t matter. Arthur has granted Morgana’s last wish, a parting gift of sorts, and that has to be enough.
“Arthur…” Merlin says, and Arthur holds up a hand, fighting the lump in his throat.
“Don’t say it.”
“I wasn’t– I just wanted you to know that I’m proud of you.” He huffs a small laugh at Arthur’s incredulous expression. “I don’t have to like your decisions to be proud of you.”
How Merlin always knows what to say and when to say it will always remain a mystery. Arthur gives him a strained smile, blinking fast against the sting in his eyes.
“Time to go back,” he says once Agravaine has disappeared in the darkening woods.
Maybe one day the memory of him will disappear, too.
Gwaine’s never been one for displays of respect, but when he barges into the royal chambers at an ungodly hour in the morning with Lancelot in tow, Merlin knows it’s not good.
“What’s wrong?”
Are they under a siege? Has there been yet another assassination attempt at Arthur? Has something happened to Morgana?
He scrambles out of bed, earning a disgruntled complaint from Arthur.
Gwaine’s manic laugh confuses him. “You won’t believe this.”
Merlin shakes Arthur awake, and they let themselves be ushered to the physician’s quarters, finding Gwen, Gaius and the rest of the knights already present and gathered in a circle.
And Gwen is crying.
When Percy and Leon step apart to reveal a person sitting in a chair, Merlin’s first thought is that he’s looking at a ghost.
*
“Two years, huh?” Elyan says, then cracks a smile. “Wow. However did you manage without me?”
Gwaine throws his head back and laughs, clapping Elyan on the shoulder.
Gwen lets out a chuckle that sounds more like a sob and Lancelot wraps an arm around her, pulling her to his side.
She wipes away the tears and smiles. “The timing couldn’t be better.”
In lieu of an explanation, she smooths down her dress over the soft bump of her belly. At three months it’s still too small to be noticeable on its own.
“Oh my God! Gwen!” Elyan jumps to his feet, pulling her into a hug. “So, who’s the father?”
Silence falls over them, and Merlin feels Arthur stiffen next to him.
Gwen's mouth drops open, her eyes widening. Lancelot makes a choked sound.
Elyan bursts out laughing. “I’m joking. I’m joking! Oh God, you should’ve seen your faces!”
Merlin’s never heard Gwen curse and almost feels bad for Elyan at that moment. But Elyan is all smiles, talking and laughing as though he hasn’t been gone - dead, for all intents and purposes - for two years.
Until he woke up at the Isle of the Blessed yesterday.
“We should let Elyan get some rest,” Gaius suggests.
On cue, Elyan lets out a big yawn. “That sounds amazing.”
Arthur has been eerily quiet the whole time, but he catches Elyan’s arm before he leaves.
“Elyan. I wanted to say…” He swallows, exhaling shakily. “I’m so glad you’re here. Elyan, I-”
“No,” Elyan says gently, placing a hand over Arthur’s. “I know what you’re thinking, sire. And with all due respect, you’re wrong. I wouldn't hesitate to do it all over again.”
Arthur wants to argue, Merlin can tell, but in the end he just asks, “How long has it felt like to you?”
Elyan has already told them, but Arthur obviously needs to hear it again, hear the reassurance that Elyan hasn’t spent the last two years scared and lost in darkness.
“Like a blink. I remember being cold, when I walked through. And then…” He shrugs. “It was like falling asleep.”
Well, that’s definitely a better alternative than what everyone has thought this whole time. Arthur must agree, because he doesn’t try to apologise again and lets Elyan go.
Merlin and Arthur stay behind when everyone has left, sitting down with Gaius.
“Do you think the Cailleach did this?” Merlin asks.
“She’s the only one who can,” Gaius concedes.
“But why? She was the one who demanded a sacrifice.”
Gaius hesitates, his eyes briefly flicking to Arthur. “I believe…it was a punishment.”
“For what?”
“More like for whom .”
Merlin looks at Arthur, seeing him tense up, then turns back to Gaius. “Arthur?”
Gaius’ chin dips slightly. “Or Uther.”
“Why would she care about Uther?” It’s not like Uther could have ever hurt her. For all Merlin knows, she’s not even on this plane, but living somewhere on the precipice, guarding the Veil.
“She’s a magical being, Merlin,” Gaius explains, speaking slowly as one would to a child. “Whether she was directly affected by Uther’s reign or not, it’s unlikely she had any warm feelings towards him.”
And once again Arthur was the one to pay the price. Bloody brilliant.
“So, if that was a punishment…” Arthur starts, voice strained. “Then having Elyan back is a reward? For…for bringing magic back?”
“It’s the only explanation I can think of.”
Merlin ponders it for a bit. From the brief interaction he had with the Cailleach, he got the impression that she cares very little for what goes on beyond the Isle. He certainly never considered the sacrifice a punishment. More like a game, a display of power. Gaius had told him then that the spell didn’t actually require a sacrifice, that it was all the Cailleach’s doing. It had seemed rather…petty.
But Elyan is back, just like that, and magic has been legalised for almost two years. So why now? Maybe she wanted to make sure Arthur would stick with it? That he wouldn’t change his mind when things started to get a little - or a lot - rocky?
“Well, I don’t know about you,” Arthur says, sinking deeper into the chair. “But I’ll take it.”
Merlin can’t help but agree. They’ve already struggled enough. It’s time something good happened to them.
“What is it?” Merlin asks, after nearly having collided when Arthur opened the door on his way out. He pushes Arthur back into their chambers, a line of worry between his brows.
Arthur suppresses the urge to punch something. “There have been a series of attacks on the villages in the west. Three so far.” He doesn’t need to say the attacks have been aimed at people with magic. Ever since the ban has been lifted, there’s been very little upheaval about anything else. Not that Arthur had expected it to be a walk in the park, but seeing this much pushback after four years? Yeah, to say he’s had enough is an understatement. “I’ll tell Leon to get ready.”
Some kind of realisation flickers in Merlin’s eyes. “There’s no need. Mordred said they’re already handling it.”
Arthur stares at him. How does he…? “When did he talk to you?”
Merlin bites his lip. “Yesterday.”
Arthur throws his hands up. “And you couldn’t be bothered to let me know?”
“I didn’t want to worry you. You have enough on your plate as it is.”
Un-bloody-believable.
“ That is your excuse?!” This man! One day, Arthur will strangle him! “What if they needed back-up?”
Merlin gives him a patient smile. “A sorceress, a Druid, and a dragon?”
Arthur scowls. “Shut up.”
Merlin chuckles and runs his hands over Arthur’s arms. Arthur pretends to be annoyed by it.
“They’ll be fine, Arthur.” He gives him a lopsided grin. “You know, after four years one would think you’d get used to it.”
“I’ll never get used to it.” Being a king isn’t exactly conducive to one’s mental well-being. He really wishes Morgana had taken the throne. She’s much better at stress management.
“Can you ask Mordred if they’re planning to visit any time soon?”
Merlin’s grin widens. “He might’ve mentioned something about a certain king’s birthday.”
“Oh.” That would be next month. “Okay. Good.” He clears his throat. “Is your mother coming, too?”
Merlin snorts. “As if she would miss it. You're her favourite.”
Familiar warmth spreads through Arthur’s chest. He’d said it jokingly the first time, just to rile Merlin up. But Hunith had played along, and the tears that sprang to Arthur’s eyes were utterly unexpected.
He loves spending time with Hunith. Things had been stilted for a while, which was understandable. They didn’t tell her what Freya said, there’s no point. But, eventually, the tension had fizzled out, and now spending time with Hunith is one of Arthur’s favourite things in the world. When she’s around, he gets a taste of what it’s like to have a mother. He suspects Hunith knows what must be going through his head at such times, and sometimes she outright coddles Arthur. He can never summon the strength to protest, basking in those blissful moments when everything is right in the world.
“Of course.” He finally finds his voice. “Between me and you, it’s not even a contest.”
Merlin gapes at him, mock offended, and makes a grab for him. Arthur anticipates it and skips backwards, out of reach, laughing as he does so. Merlin advances on him, and Arthur makes a run for it, knocking his hip against the table in the process and cursing under his breath. Merlin seizes the chance and manages to fist the back of Arthur’s shirt, crashing into him. They tumble to the floor in a flurry of limbs, screaming and laughing.
They’re breathless and giggling when Arthur spots someone from the corner of his eye. He freezes, then relaxes.
“Uh, hello, George,” Arthur says, hoping his voice is steady and assertive. How long has he been standing there? And how did they miss the sound of the door opening?
Hands clasped in front of him, George raises an unimpressed eyebrow.
“Sire,” he says flatly. “Merlin.”
“Hey, George,” Merlin replies. A small giggle escapes him and he stumbles to his feet, helping Arthur up.
George’s face remains inscrutable. “Is it safe to assume you’ve forgotten about King Odin?”
“What about him?” Arthur asks. “Oh, shit. That’s today?”
“Indeed.”
“Right. Thank you, George.” He exchanges a sheepish look with Merlin. “We’ll be ready shortly.”
George nods and turns around, but not before Arthur catches him rolling his eyes. George really does spend too much time with Merlin.
As soon as the door is shut, Arthur rounds on Merlin, pointing an accusing finger. “This is your fault.”
Merlin sputters. “How’s it my fault?!”
“You're supposed to keep track of my schedule!”
“I’m not your manservant anymore!”
“Well, thank God, you were terrible.”
Not that he’s handling the role of the Court Sorcerer any better. Still hopeless. And still dragging Arthur out of bed every morning, as savage as ever.
Something flashes in Merlin's eyes, and then Arthur finds himself tackled to the ground once more. Well, Odin will have to wait.
The door creaks open, followed by the sound of approaching steps.
“I brought more bandages. And fresh water,” George informs him and deposits the tray on the bedside table.
“Thank you,” Merlin says. His voice sounds like it’s coming from miles away. He doesn’t look at George, unwilling to take his eyes from Arthur’s pale face, afraid that if he looks away, something terrible will happen. His hand squeezes Arthur’s just a bit tighter, fingers brushing over his wrist, seeking the flutter of his pulse under the skin. It's as faint as it was in the morning. Faint, but there.
A hand rests on Merlin’s shoulder. “He’ll be alright, Merlin. He always is.”
Maybe he is, but each time takes a little more. More time, more strength, more magic.
It’s never been this bad before.
George helps him redress Arthur’s wounds, and, bless him, he doesn’t try to fill the silence. He collects the blood-soaked bandages and the bowl of red-stained water and leaves. Merlin resumes his previous place on the bed, takes Arthur’s hand.
And waits.
The door opens again some time later. Merlin recognises Gaius by the heavy, shuffling steps and finally lets the tears flow freely.
“What do I do, Gaius?”
“Just be patient,” Gaius says, and Gods, Merlin wants to scream. “You’ve done all you could.”
Not enough. Still not enough. How can he be the most powerful sorcerer ever if he can’t even save the one man that means everything to him?
“Have you spoken with Mordred?”
The gaping hole in Merlin's stomach grows. “They won’t make it here until noon tomorrow.”
Morgana is his last hope. She’s always been better at healing magic. With Aithusa’s help, they could make it work. That is, if Arthur holds on that long.
After Gaius leaves, Merlin starts to doze off. He shakes himself awake every now and then, willing his eyes to stay open. His eyelids have started to droop again when the sound of the door opening gets his attention.
A small figure is peeking out from behind the door. Merlin rubs his bleary eyes.
“Thomas.” He reluctantly lets go of Arthur’s hand and makes his way over. “You shouldn’t be here. And it’s late. Your mum and dad will be worried.”
Big brown eyes blink up at him. “I thought I could help. And I brought flowers.” He brings up a handful of daisies.
Smiling despite himself, Merlin squats down to Thomas’ level. “I’m sure Arthur will love them.” He ruffles his hair, feeling his heart swell. “This isn’t a good place for a child.”
Thomas puffs his chest out, making a disapproving sound. “I’m not a child. I’m eight!”
Merlin’s lips press together. “Of course. Well, regardless, you shouldn’t be here. Arthur wouldn’t want you to see him like this.”
“Will he be okay?” he asks in a small voice, his chin trembling.
“He will,” Merlin says with more conviction that he feels. “I’ll tell him you came to visit, how about that? And I’ll make sure he knows who the flowers are from.”
Thomas seems to think it over, dark eyebrows pulled together in concentration. He looks so much like Gwen when he does that, otherwise he's the spitting image of his dad.
“Alright.”
Merlin leans in for a goodnight hug and instructs Thomas to go straight home, no detours. His chest feels a little lighter when he puts the flowers in a vase and sets it next to the bed.
One look at Arthur’s bandaged midsection is all it takes for the sinking feeling to come back tenfold. He gives in and settles on his side next to Arthur, pressing a kiss to his hair.
“Come back to me, Arthur,” he whispers, taking Arthur’s clammy hand between both of his. “Come back to me.”
*
Merlin’s not even ashamed of how desperately he clings to Arthur.
“I thought I lost you for good.”
He feels Arthur’s lips curl into a smile against his forehead. “Can’t get rid of me so easily.”
Those lips trail a path across Merlin face, his jaw, his neck. They reach his mouth, kissing away the pain and the fear, making him forget for a moment that he nearly lost everything again.
They got so close this time. If the sword had cut just a little deeper, if Morgana had taken just a little longer…
There absolutely can’t be a next time. Merlin won’t let it.
*
“Merlin, you can’t be my shadow for every hour of every day,” Arthur says with that kind of fond exasperation Merlin’s come to love. Although, right now he sounds more exasperated than fond. Not that Merlin cares.
“Watch me.”
“Merlin.” Arthur heaves a sigh. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but one day there won’t be anything you can do. One day you’ll have to let me go.” He clasps a hand over Merlin’s mouth to stop the stream of protests. “You can’t keep bringing me back. My time will come.”
Merlin knocks his hand away, eyes blazing. “That time isn’t now.”
Another sigh. “I know you don’t want to leave. I don’t want you to leave either. But Freya said-”
“I know what she said!” Merlin barks, digging his fingers into his palms to calm down. He can’t do this now. He doesn’t want to do this. Not now, nor ever.
Likely sensing that Merling can’t be reasoned with right now, Arthur raises his hands placatingly. “Shall we go to bed?”
Now that Merlin can do.
He doesn’t get a second of a shuteye that night, listening to Arthur’s every inhale and exhale, focusing on the rise and fall of his chest against Merlin’s back. His mind doesn’t stop flashing with ideas, and come morning, he knows what he needs to do. He just needs Arthur to come around.
*
“What are we doing here, Merlin?” Arthur turns to Freya. “And why are you here?”
Her gaze flicks to Merlin in answer.
Merlin wipes his clammy hands on his trousers and takes a step towards Arthur, who’s regarding him with suspicion.
He’s been looking at him like that since Merlin dragged him from Camelot, promising he’d explain once they’ve reached their destination. Arthur hasn’t been here in ten years, so it took him a while before he realised where they were headed.
“Can you…” Merlin’s voice catches. He doesn't know what he’ll do if Arthur says no. “Can you just listen to what I have to say? Before you say no?”
Whatever Arthur hears in his voice - desperation, pleading, fear - it must work its charm, because instead of his usual defensiveness he replies with a simple and resigned, “Alright.”
Unaware he’s been holding his breath, Merlin releases a shaky exhale. “Okay.” He nods, more for his benefit than Arthur’s. “Okay. So…I get this isn’t really my world.” That earns him a frown. “I get that my world is out there, waiting for me to return. But they don’t need me there. Not really. Not now. You’re gone, and there can be no Albion without you. I will have to wait for you for Gods know how long. I can’t–” An unexpected sob is wrenched out of him. “I can’t do that. I can’t live decades, centuries without you after knowing what it’s like to have a life with you.”
“Merlin…” Arthur says, like a warning, but his eyes are wet and red-rimmed.
“Let me. Just…let me.”
And Arthur does, shoulders sagging like he knows what’s coming, although that’s impossible. More like he knows that whatever Merlin has to say, he’s not going to like it, but will struggle denying Merlin’s wish, because…well, because he always does. Sooner or later he always gives in.
Merlin can only hope this time won’t be the exception to the rule.
“I know I have to go back. But I don’t want to wait for you to come back to me.” He holds Arthur’s gaze. “Please, don’t make me wait.”
Arthur shakes his head. “What are you saying?”
“Let’s go together,” Merlin blurts out before he loses his nerve. “When you…when it’s your time. Let’s go together.”
Arthur recoils like he’s been punched. His eyes snap to Freya, his gaze heavy with accusation.
She’s been watching them mutely, as per Merlin’s wish when he asked her not to interfere.
“You’re asking my permission to let you kill yourself?” Arthur spits the words out like they’re poison.
“No,” Merlin says, faltering. “Arthur, that’s not– There’s a spell,” he says instead. “I’ve been looking for a solution and…I think this is it.”
“What spell?”
“A soul-binding spell. When one of us dies, the other will follow.”
It makes sense. They’re already bound together, by both destiny and the spell that had brought Merlin here in the first place. Why should this be such a big deal? They’re meant to rise together, to fight together - why shouldn’t they have the privilege to leave together as well?
“Please. Before you say no, just think about it.” It’s a low blow, Merlin knows, but the words are on the tip of his tongue, demanding to be released. He’s been wanting to say them ever since Arthur had taken his last breath in Merlin’s arms. “Don’t make me live without you.”
He feels only a little guilty when Arthur makes a sound like a wounded animal, the proverbial impenetrable armour around him shattering like glass.
“You’re not playing fair.”
Merlin gives him a rueful smile. “Never said I was.”
“What about your world?” Arthur shoots back. “If you bind yourself to me, how will you get back?”
Seeing as that was one of his first concerns as well, he already has an answer. “The spell won’t affect the one that brought me here. As Freya said, it’s old magic.” He looks at her for confirmation, and so does Arthur, though he doesn’t seem pleased when she nods.
Merlin can only bear the silence for so long before he finds himself begging shamelessly. “Please, Arthur. Please, say yes.”
Everything inside Arthur rebels against the idea, Merlin can tell. It’s in the air around him, in the clench of his jaw and the tense line of his shoulders.
But there’s something else, too, hiding deep behind the defiance in his gaze. Merlin only prays it’s not just his wishful thinking, because whatever it is Arthur is hiding from him, it looks a lot like longing.
“Yes.”
Merlin’s never seen George cry. Today is no exception, but given how George hugs him one last time before he lets out a suspicious sniffle and all but flees down the hallway, it’s a close call.
Wiping a stray tear away, Merlin turns to Morgana. In the last thirty-something years, she’s barely aged, only a few silver strands adorning her otherwise raven-black locks. It makes Merlin wonder if her bond with Aithusa is somehow responsible.
“Are you sure?” she asks. She’s long since given up on trying to change his mind; now it’s a mere formality, something she probably feels she should ask. “I can help. Just one more time.”
He smiles, but shakes his head. “It’s what Arthur wants. And I promised him.”
Morgana scoffs, her lips twitching. “And Arthur always gets what he wants, doesn’t he?”
“What can I say? I’m weak when it comes to that prat.”
They laugh, but it feels half-hearted at best.
“I don’t know what we’ll do without you two. You’ll probably be rolling in your graves when the kingdom falls apart in a week.”
Merlin grins. “A week? I’ll be impressed if it lasts that long.” That earns him a scowl and a chuckle. “In all seriousness,” he says solemnly. “It’s going to be okay. Albion still has the best knights in the world. And you, Mordred, and Aithusa to keep everyone in line.”
Morgana regards him sceptically. “No pressure, right?”
He laughs and reaches for her. Morgana’s arms wind around his shoulders instantly, strong and familiar.
“You saved my life, Merlin,” she whispers. “I’ll never forget that.”
That’s not how Merlin remembers it, but he’s not going to argue on his…well, deathbed. “We saved each other.”
Her cheeks are damp when she pulls away. “I’m so glad to have known you.”
“And I, you. Well, for the most part.” That earns him a punch to his shoulder, another brief, fierce hug, and then Morgana is walking away, not looking back. Merlin watches her until she disappears down the staircase.
Wiping a hand over his face, he enters the chambers quietly. Arthur hasn’t moved since Merlin had stepped out to say his goodbyes to everyone, but he rolls onto his side when Merlin slides under the covers next to him.
“Hey,” Arthur croaks, grimacing as a cough wrenches from his body.
Shuffling closer, Merlin's arm finds Arthur’s waist and pulls him closer. “Hey.”
A corner of Arthur’s mouth lifts in a tired smile. “At last, huh?” He reaches up to push a short, white strand of hair off Merlin’s forehead. “It’s been getting a little boring, hasn’t it?”
Merlin doesn’t have it in him to keep up with the light-hearted tone. “With you? Never.”
Arthur’s bottom lip wobbles and his glistening eyes fix on Merlin’s. “We did good, didn’t we?”
Feeling his throat close up with the surge of emotions, Merlin leans in to press his lips to Arthur’s forehead and manages a quiet, “We did.”
“I feel guilty.” Arthur’s body seizes with another cough. “I don’t want to leave anyone behind, but I…I’m just…so tired.”
And damn if Merlin can’t relate. “Of course you are. You’ve been pushing yourself your whole life. You deserve to rest.”
“Do you think they’ll be alright? I’m worried that Thomas-”
“Thomas has been following you like a puppy since he learnt how to walk. If someone knows how to rule a kingdom, it’s going to be him.”
“He’s been following you, not me. I just happened to be there every time,” Arthur points out, just to be contrary. The little menace.
“Is there a difference? Where you go, I go. Everybody knows that.”
“Clearly,” he says drily, fighting a smile. The humour drains from his face. “Merlin, I just wanted you to know-”
“I know,” Merlin stops him. Maybe it makes him a coward, but he can’t handle Arthur saying all those sweet things Merlin can feel threatening to escape his own chest. After all this time, there’s nothing they haven’t said, nothing the other one doesn’t know.
Despite saying yes at the lake, Arthur has never quite made peace with the bond. On one particularly bad day, he’d confessed to Merlin how much he feels like he made a mistake. And that, if he could, he’d go back and give a different answer.
It was hardly the first time Merlin wanted to punch him, but it was the first time he actually did.
Arthur’s never brought it up again, perhaps because he'd realised how much that admission hurt Merlin, but Merlin knows the truth. He knows everything Arthur isn’t saying.
Or maybe he doesn’t, because when Arthur brushes his fingers over Merlin’s cheek and says, just like that, “I wouldn’t change a thing,” it nearly breaks Merlin all over again.
Instead of falling apart, he wraps Arthur in his arms, careful not to hurt him, and holds on. For one last time.
“Merlin?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m really glad you didn’t grow a beard.”
A rumbling laugh ripples through Merlin, catching him off guard. He grazes his hand over the smooth skin of Arthur’s jaw. “Likewise.”
Arthur’s fingers wrap around his wrist and he turns his head to press a kiss in the middle of Merlin’s palm. When their eyes meet, Merlin can’t detect a single flicker of regret in Arthur’s gaze. Only happiness. And peace.
“I’ll see you on the other side,” Arthur says, intertwining their fingers.
Merlin closes his eyes and leans in until their foreheads touch. “See you.”
“Let’s have you, lazy daisy!”
Arthur’s eyes shoot open, then immediately slide shut. He blinks against the brightness of the room, and, as his vision sharpens, he stares at the familiar canopy of his bed. He turns onto his side with a groan. A few more minutes.
“Oh no, you don’t.” The sheets are ripped off him, a blast of cold air washing over him. “Don’t make me drag you out.”
Preparing a snarky retort, Arthur flips onto his other side, only for his memories to come rushing back when his gaze falls on Merlin. Much, much younger Merlin. “Merlin!” He heaves himself up, staring at a grinning Merlin, all sharp cheekbones and bony shoulders.
“Hey, prat.”
A movement from the corner of his eye draws his attention. “Freya?”
“Hello, Arthur.” She comes around the bed to stand next to Merlin. “It’s good to see you again.”
Beyond confused, Arthur takes in his surroundings. But it can’t be. Isn’t he… “Am I…?”
“In Avalon,” Freya says, as though saying the word ‘dead’ makes her uncomfortable.
“Why does it look like my chambers?”
“It’s familiar. Safe. It’s your home, yes?”
She’s not wrong. Although it’s not so much the chambers themselves, as it is the man who’s lived in them with Arthur for the past three decades. Four if he counts how much time Merlin spent there doing chores for Arthur.
Speaking of…
Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, Arthur stands up, unable to shake off the shock of seeing Merlin…like this. This Merlin.
He’d known what was awaiting him on the other side. Well, kind of. Freya had told him as much. And yet…
Taking a couple tentative steps forward, Arthur finds himself reaching for Merlin, hesitating just short of touching him. Would that be okay? Would Merlin even want him to-
In the next second he’s pulled into a crushing hug, familiar and foreign at the same time.
“Gods, I missed you, you cabbage head!” Merlin’s words are muffled by Arthur’s shoulder. He pulls back, gripping Arthur’s arms hard. His smile is so wide it must hurt, tears flowing freely down his cheeks. “I’ve been watching this whole time, and you have no idea how many times I wanted to tell you. Tell you how proud I am. Arthur, you were amazing.” His thumbs sweep over Arthur’s cheeks, making him realise he’s started crying, too. “I always believed in you.”
“I couldn’t-” Arthur chokes out, the words getting stuck in his throat. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”
“Of course not. You’re hopeless without me,” Merlin says with a straight face, drawing a huff from Arthur. He smiles but it fades quickly. “I’m so sorry I left you.”
Arthur nearly laughs. As if he hadn’t beat himself up about leaving Merlin for years. Would things have been different if it had been him who took Merlin to Camelot? Would they have taken the road Merlin and Lancelot had taken in the other world? Could he have saved him?
It would seem that some questions and regrets will stay with him even in the afterlife.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”
Merlin looks at him as if Arthur is talking nonsense, letting out a small, disbelieving huff. “But you did. You saved all of us.”
But what does it matter? Arthur might have fulfilled the prophecy, but Merlin never got to live it.
Arthur doesn’t want to argue. What’s the point, anyway? Merlin is here, and he’s looking at Arthur like… He’s looking at him the same way he always has, as long as Arthur can remember. How had Arthur never thought to put a name to that look when Merlin was still alive is beyond him. It’s…laughably obvious. There for everyone to see.
He must be as thick as Merlin has always told him he is.
“I love you,” he hears himself say. He’s said those three words countless times, but the novelty will never wear off. It will never be enough. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.”
Merlin’s smile is blinding, incongruous with the way his eyes well up. “But you did.”
Arthur watches him slide a hand into the pocket of his trousers. Part of him knows what he’s going to see before it happens.
His mother’s sigil fits perfectly into Merlin’s hand, where it always belonged. It’s both liberating and painful to now realise that Merlin has known all along, the sigil being an indisputable proof of everything Arthur couldn’t say, everything he pretended didn’t exist.
“I love you, too. In case you didn’t know.”
Torn between laughing and crying, and desperately clinging onto the last shreds of his dignity, Arthur does the first thing that comes to mind. Something he should’ve done all those years ago when he still could.
Feeling Merlin’s lips against his is as natural as breathing, and irrevocably right. The hitch in Merlin’s breath is so familiar it makes Arthur’s heart ache in all the good ways. And the feeling of his arms wrapping around Arthur and pulling him close is like coming home.
Merlin had once told him he would love Arthur in every world, in every version of reality. Arthur hadn’t quite understood back then. But now, with Merlin in his arms, kissing him for the millionth and for the first time, he can share the sentiment.
There’s a blissed-out smile on Merlin’s face when they pull apart, eyes closed and eyelashes fluttering. It’s all Arthur can do not to lean in and steal another kiss.
But they have the rest of their…afterlife for that.
“What happens now?” Arthur asks, nearly jumping out of his skin when Freya answers. He may or may not have forgotten they have an audience.
“Now you rest. The world will need you again.”
Right. The world.
They should make the most out of the time they have left before duty calls again. And from what Freya’s told them, no one can tell when that’s going to be.
Merlin doesn’t seem bothered by the notion, humming thoughtfully and looking ready to take on whatever awaits them. If only Arthur had a fraction of his confidence.
“We’ll be ready,” Merlin says, looking at Arthur like he’s waiting for confirmation.
Arthur just kisses him again.
Merlin’s first thought when he opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling of his old room is: Why don’t I remember what Arthur and I were arguing about?
It’s been a while since Arthur had riled him up so badly that Merlin couldn’t handle sleeping in the same bed with him and cowardly retreated to the safety of Gaius’ chambers. So what is it this time? And why can’t he remember?
Voices seep in from the main room, none of them belonging to Gaius. But one of them definitely belongs to-
“-happened to him?” Arthur sounds angry- no, furious. And as scared as Merlin’s ever heard him.
And then it all clicks.
Throwing the blanket off, Merlin walks to the door. Now that he remembers, it’s easy to recognise Freya’s voice.
“The spell was risky. I told him there wasn’t-”
“You shouldn’t have done it! How could you do it?”
“Arthur, he was begging me.”
So Arthur knows. Does that mean he was watching when Merlin sent his body to Avalon? When he asked Freya to take him, too? When Freya-
“I don’t care! We have no idea where-” Arthur trails off when Merlin pushes the door open. He stands still in the middle of the physician's chambers.
“Merlin,” he chokes out, raising a hand as if to close the distance between them and touch him. Then his eyes grow wide and resentful as he turns to Freya. “Why is he here? Is he-” He looks between Freya and Merlin. “You killed him.”
Staring at Merlin uncomprehendingly, Freya shakes her head. “No. That’s not- The spell- ”
“Oh my God,” Arthur cries, running both hands through his hair, breathing hard. “Fuck.”
“Merlin I- I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Freya brings up a hand to cover her mouth, sobbing. “I had no idea this would happen.”
Merlin would like to say something, he really would. Except he’s barely heard a word since he stepped out and saw Arthur- his Arthur. And for some reason, his Arthur is angry, on the verge of tears, and Freya is already crying, and Merlin doesn’t care.
Arthur startles when Merlin’s suddenly in front of him, taking Arthur’s beautiful, enraged face between his palms. “Merlin, what-”
A small gasp escapes him even as his lips mould against Merlin’s, perfect and so right.
“I love you.” An endless string of confessions comes tumbling out of Merlin’s mouth. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it back. I love you. I love you.”
He punctuates each declaration with a kiss. Arthur seems more and more dumbstruck with each one, as though Merlin’s managed to literally kiss him silly. The thought makes him giggle.
He regretfully lets go of Arthur’s - yep, still dumbstruck - face, letting the previous conversation finally sink in. Staying close to Arthur, he looks at Freya.
“You didn’t kill me, Freya.”
“But-”
“It’s a long story.” He waves a hand. “A really long one. I can’t wait to tell you all about it.” Arthur is going to lose it, no doubt. Merlin’s really looking forward to witnessing that.
“A long-” Freya stares at him. “What are you talking about? I just watched you disappear.”
It’s Merlin’s turn to stare. “What?”
“The spell. I cast the spell and you vanished.”
“No, that was… Freya, I’ve been gone for decades .”
It’s been a while since Merlin had removed the word ‘impossible’ from his vocabulary. And while he’s very much tempted to bring it back, if only for this instance, he doesn’t. Instead, he thinks back on what happened the day Freya sent him away.
Freya had explained how the spell works and why it brought him to another world. But they’ve never talked about the possibility of the spell to travel in time. Instead of arriving at the other world at the same point in time, he’d arrived not long after the other Merlin was gone. Which had happened years ago.
Why has it never occurred to him that the spell could work in reverse as well?
And does that mean that no one’s had to wonder about where Merlin disappeared to?
“Freya, what’s going on?” Arthur asks, sounding small and fragile.
“I don’t know.”
Feeling a tug on his arm, Merlin turns to Arthur.
“So you aren’t dead?” Arthur asks hopefully.
Merlin laughs. “No, I am. Pretty sure I am. It’s okay,” he adds at Arthur’s crestfallen expression.
“How is that-”
“It’s okay, Arthur. I promise.” He squeezes his hand, hoping it’s reassuring. Arthur’s not happy, but he doesn’t argue. “Freya? Could you do me a favour?”
Freya regards him apprehensively, still clearly bothered by the fact she has no idea what’s happening. “Yes?”
“Could you let my mother and Gaius… Well, could you let everyone know I’m not coming back? Tell them I’m with Arthur? And that I’m sorry I left without a goodbye?”
As Freya takes a long time to reply, Merlin’s almost scared the answer will be no. He’ll need to find a way to persuade her. All those things that used to keep him awake at night, all his regrets about leaving without saying goodbye, there’s no need for them now. If Freya is right, if truly no time has passed in this world, he can still make things right. Or less painful for everyone involved.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Freya finally says.
Merlin lets out a huge breath of relief and scoops Freya up into a tight embrace. “Thank you.” He’ll make sure to let Freya know how much she’s done. How she changed not just his life, not just Arthur’s life, but how she changed a whole world.
“What’s happening Merlin?” Arthur asks.
Merlin grins. “You won’t believe what I’m about to tell you.”
“Meeeerlin,” Arthur whines dramatically. His bottom lip juts out in that ridiculous trademark pout.
Merlin laughs, glad they decided to Facetime instead of calling.
“Pleasepleaseplease, don’t leave me alone with them.”
Merlin shakes his head, amused. “It’s just for the weekend, Arthur-”
“A long fucking weekend.”
“-and I already promised Gaius I would help in the shop.” Which he’s already beating himself up about. Not that he had any other choice. Gaius has covered for his shenanigans enough times to earn a lifetime supply of Merlin’s assistance with…whatever it is he needs. Still, Merlin would rather spend the long weekend at the Pendragon cabin - yeah, a cabin, more like a sodding villa - and make the most out of the last month of freedom he and Arthur have left.
Jesus, why does that sound like one of them is dying? Well, they may not be dying literally, but starting uni is synonymous with the death of social life, so…
“I’m sure he’d understand,” Arthur tries, gesturing wildly with his hands so Merlin gets a blurry view of his living room. “Merlin, come on!” he begs. “Come September we’ll barely see each other.”
Right. He still hasn’t told Arthur. “About that…”
Arthur shifts on the couch, bringing his phone closer to his face. “What?” Yeah, the scrutiny is no easier to ignore through the phone. “Merlin, you better not tell me you’re trying to back out! You promised you’d come visit as soon as I settle in!”
Dropping his gaze, Merlin picks on a loose thread of his well-worn joggers. This is good news, so why is he so nervous?
“It’s not that.”
Arthur squints, but seems to relax. “What then?”
Just get it over with!
Taking a deep breath, Merlin forces himself to look at Arthur. “Any chance you’ll be looking for a roommate?”
His jaw slack and eyes wide, Arthur asks, “Come again?”
Merlin licks his lips, letting out a breathy laugh. “I’m kind of moving to Cambridge, too?”
Arthur’s face disappears from the view when he springs to his feet and, by the sound of it, starts pacing. “Merlin!” Merlin hears before he gets an eyeful of Arthur’s indignant face. Yeah, just about the same reaction as he’d expected. “What are you- Are you nuts?! Why didn’t I know you were applying to Cambridge, too?” The camera shakes as Arthur gestures theatrically. “What about Imperial?”
Yeah, what about the uni you’ve been raving about since you were fourteen?
Without revealing more than he’d like, Merlin says, “I realised it’s not what I want.” It’s only a half-lie.
“The hell it’s not!” Arthur yells. The adamancy brings a small smile to Merlin’s face. He quickly hides it. “You’ve wanted to be a doctor since forever!”
No, I’ve wanted to be with you since forever.
“I do want to be a doctor,” he says, his heart beating a mile per minute. He takes the phone into his right hand when his left becomes too sweaty. “But I don’t want to do it far away from you.”
Just like every other time when Merlin says something sappy out of the blue, Arthur’s temper loses some of its ferocity. He stares directly at Merlin, like he’s trying to crack an enigma, and sinks back down on the couch.
“It’s not far away, Merlin,” he argues feebly, then grimaces, probably realising how unconvincing that sounded.
Maybe they wouldn’t be half a world apart, and maybe they could be on the phone whenever they’re not in class… But after growing up with each other, being able to see each other almost every day, a pitiful visit once in a while isn’t going to cut it.
One day, when they were twelve, wolfing down lunch at Arthur’s after they’d burned a hundred thousand calories running around in the backyard, Ygraine had asked Merlin what he wanted to do when he grew up.
She didn’t need to ask Arthur; being Uther’s son, there was only one way this could go, and Arthur wasn’t shy about informing everyone that he would be a badass lawyer like his dad (though he might’ve worded it a bit differently).
Merlin didn’t know what he wanted to be back then, but he knew that whatever it was, he wanted Arthur by his side, no matter what. And since then, nothing has changed.
“It is if I only get to see you once every few months.”
Arthur frowns, his expression pinched. As if he knows he should try and discourage Merlin’s decision, but can’t bring himself to. “Merlin…”
“I’ve already responded, so it’s a done deal.” The decision was way easier than he’d expected. Then again, when it comes to Arthur, Merlin has a one-track mind. “And anyway, you need me. How are you going to feed yourself?”
Scowling, Arthur deadpans, “There’s this thing called Deliveroo.”
Relieved that Arthur took the bait, Merlin plays along, “And you’re going to have the money for that every day? What happened to wanting to be independent and not relying on your parents?”
Trust Arthur’s pride to make everything unnecessarily harder on him. On the other hand, Merlin’s always found that bull-headedness as endearing as he found it aggravating. Which, to be honest, is the perfect way to sum up how he feels about Arthur in general.
What’s wrong with him?
“I’ll figure it out,” Arthur grumbles, stubborn to a fault. “Find a job or two.”
“Doing what? Stripping?”
Aaand the image is planted. Nonono, don’t go there. Rewind, rewind!
Arthur raises an eyebrow, looking all kinds of smug. “You know I’d be good at it.”
Merlin rolls his eyes, hoping his flaming cheeks aren't too noticeable on camera. “I’m sure you would.”
The humour slowly dissipates and tension sets in.
“Merlin, are you sure about this?” In a small voice, he adds, “I don’t want you to regret it.”
Pushing back an incredulous laugh - because how ridiculous is that? - Merlin says, “I’d never regret it. Believe it or not, I’d miss you if you went away and I got stuck in London.”
“So, uh,” Arthur says after several seconds of heavy silence. “Shall we check out units near the city centre?” He’s already reaching for his laptop.
Dizzy with relief, Merlin reaches over to the bedside table. “Let me get my laptop… Okay, I’m ready. Are you searching on Spareroom?” With Arthur’s confirmation, he brings up the site and starts setting up the filters. “Are we looking at a 5 mile radius?”
“Yep.”
“One bathroom okay?” He’s only checking out of courtesy. After all those years, there’s almost nothing they haven’t shared.
Almost…
“That depends.” Arthur gives him a dead-serious look. “Do you hang toilet paper over or under?”
“Under.”
Arthur’s expression turns to one of horror. “Two bathrooms, then.”
Merlin can see him smile.
So is this it? Is this going to be the life from now on? Arguing about toilet paper?
Sounds bloody awesome!
“Merlin?”
“Yeah?”
“I’d miss you too,” he says, so quiet that Merlin has to read his lips to be sure. Running a hand over his face, Arthur laughs. “God, mum and dad will be stoked.”
“Yeah?”
Arthur hums. “They think you're a good influence. If only they knew.”
“I’m a great influence.”
“Uh-huh. Oh.” Arthur’s face lights up. “I found something.”
Merlin scrolls down the page. “Me too. Wilson Close?”
“Yeah.” They both take a couple of minutes to scrutinise the ad. It’s perfect, if a little crowded: two bedrooms, one bathroom, a living-room with a kitchenette. Two miles from the city centre. Affordable, provided they both score a weekend job and don’t spend the money on take-out. Available in five weeks. “Looks good.”
“Yeah. I’ll bookmark it.”
God, they’re doing this. They’re going to live together! All those jokes about buying their houses next to each other and having neighbour wars suddenly don’t seem like a pipe dream.
“Merlin? Merlin!”
Merlin jerks as he’s pulled back from his musings. “What?”
“Did you space out?”
“A little,” he mumbles, blushing. “Just thinking.”
“About?”
What’s he supposed to say? About how unbelievable and scary and amazing it is? About how, despite having lived in each other’s pockets since they were kids, the idea of living with Arthur, sharing everything with Arthur, is both exhilarating and daunting, and everything he’s ever wanted?
About how much restraint he’s going to have to employ with Arthur being so close, all the time ?
“How we’re going to split chores.”
Arthur scrunches up his nose. “Well, you can be on dishwashing duty. And vacuuming. And mopping. And dusting.”
Merlin sputters, his tumbling, inappropriate thoughts momentarily forgotten.“What will you do?”
Leaning against the back of the couch, Arthur gives him a condescending smirk. “I’ll keep an eye on you, make sure you do it right.”
Merlin glares at him. “I’m not your servant.”
The smirk grows bigger. “We’ll see about that.”
Shutting the laptop, Merlin says, “I changed my mind. I’m staying in London.”
“No take backs!” is the last thing Merlin hears before he hangs up, just to mess with Arthur. His phone rings ten seconds later, making Merlin’s belly flutter with excitement and fear.
They’re doing this. Together.
He wouldn’t have it any other way.