Chapter Text
Prologue
In a vast naturally lit bedroom, a young man stands in front of a black framed mirror. He shrugs on a white collared top and as he buttons up, he overlooks etched words on the mirror to land on a pair of reflected eyes.
They are bright blue on a face that hasn’t aged in over a millennium, not since he had met one obsessed warlock one fateful day.
He reaches for a red velvet cape hung off to the side and pulls it from its hanger, draping it over his shoulders. As he faces himself once more, fingers rubbing over the rings on his hand, he recalls the long distant past. In a time where he and that warlock were still mortals, stumbling into adversities and yet grinning through it all.
He thinks of a witty black-haired boy, whose smile was infectious and whose clumsiness brought countless occasions of mayhem and laughter.
The man lowers his gaze and smiles to himself at the memory. There is no such boy now.
Turning his head at an angle, sunlight hits the mirror and a kaleidoscope flash of colours reflects off so intensely, that he has to shut his eyes.
A wave of dizziness comes and goes quickly. He opens his eyes once more, unaware that the whole world around him has already changed.
Chapter 1: In Which There Are Two Arthurs
Merlin’s day starts like any other: being late.
He rushes towards Arthur’s chambers, holding a platter of meat and bread, occasionally picking off of it when no one is looking. Along the way, he spots Gwen heading in his direction.
“Oh, hello Merlin,” she greets with a smile, a bundle of fresh flowers in her arms.
“Hello, Gwen!” Merlin grins, not slowing down. “Are those for me?”
She chuckles and shakes her head. “These are for Lady Morgana.”
As Merlin comes closer, a sweet calming scent drifts through the air. He slows down enough to ask, “They smell nice, where did you pick them?”
Gwen describes the location. Keeping it in mind, Merlin thanks her with a smile and they wave goodbye. As he hurries on his way, he briefly wonders if bringing Arthur flowers would make him as nice as Morgana is to Gwen. Then he thinks better of it.
It isn’t long though before he reaches Arthur’s room and enters without knocking.
“Merlin, what use are you as my manservant if you can’t even do your job?” Arthur yells as Merlin carelessly places the platter of food onto a table and heads towards the blond. “I’m starving by the time you come and I’m already half-dressed too!”
Rolling his eyes, Merlin shoves a lump of bread into Arthur’s mouth before tugging the shirt Arthur just put on, off.
“I left you some fruit last night for today in case I was late, which I see you didn’t bother to eat, and I’m still your manservant because you’ve put your shirt on backwards. Inside out. Again ,” Merlin says, all while pulling the shirt back down onto Arthur the right way. “Besides,” he adds while expertly lacing the top up and raising his brow, “if I’m so bad, why don’t you replace me?”
Arthur chews and swallows the bread before saying instead, “You’re lucky you even got this position at all.”
“I’m pretty sure I got the short end of the stick,” Merlin snorts, stepping away to grab Arthur’s breeches.
“Anyone else would be jumping for the chance to serve me!” Arthur huffs.
“Yes, it really is a privilege to serve a royal prat,” Merlin says, then kneels down, motioning for Arthur to step into the breeches.
“…You’re really asking to muck out the stables today, aren’t you Merlin?” Arthur threatens even as he obediently puts a foot through the legs of his breeches one after the other.
While pulling the breeches up and straightening himself, Merlin prattles on. “Of course not, sire. It’s an honour to serve you, sire. I wouldn’t know what better things I could be doing if I wasn’t cleaning up after you, sire ,” Merlin ends, looking straight at Arthur now with a cheeky smile.
“...Merlin.”
“Yes, sire?”
“Do shut up .”
Grinning, Merlin doesn’t say a word after that. He continues dressing Arthur and feeding him in between, until the blond is out the door with a slam, leaving Merlin behind to tidy up and catch up later. He sighs, thinking of all the chores to do and the people to please, or avoid, and still carry out his destiny.
A day like this would have passed with Merlin being target practice during morning drill, then having lunch with an anti-magic king, then there would be patrol, an afternoon of court sessions and more meetings with Uther, possibly an intervention in saving Arthur’s life, and then dinner in the evening in which Merlin would be serving along with Gwen. And when all is good and done, Merlin would return to Gaius’s quarters, have dinner together, and then sleep. And then it would all repeat the next day.
Had this been a normal day.
But life would never return to the way it was, not when a flash goes off behind him and catches his attention. Merlin turns around and Arthur is standing in front of the mirror, again.
Merlin startles to a quick halt, doing a double take between the closed door and the man in the room, completely speechless.
Arthur hasn’t noticed him yet, clearly preoccupied with adjusting his buckle and collar, but Merlin already intuitively knows that this person isn’t the same person who left moments ago.
The obvious reason being the change of clothes.
A jewelled gold crown rests on this man’s head while a red cape, lined with white and black spotted fur, hangs from his shoulders, pinned together with a gold chain and clasp. Underneath, he wears a white buttoned shirt with more gold embellishments, straight white breeches, a black belt with a ceremonial sword hanging from it, and a pair of high black boots that Merlin could only dream of getting that shiny.
He can’t help but blink a few times at this outrageously lavish outfit, for there is no special occasion today. But it isn’t just the clothes. The second reason something isn’t right is that, although he still appears youthful, there is something older about this Arthur. Wiser. As if he has already seen it all reflected in the way he carries himself so steadily.
As if he is already a king.
This thought barely finishes crossing Merlin’s mind before cool eyes glance his way. He freezes on the spot, mouth still slightly open from admiration.
It’s not the best impression of himself really.
Arthur pauses and raises his brows. “Merlin? Why are you dressed like a peasant?”
Shaking out of his stupor, Merlin manages to say, “Because I am a peasant. Who are you?”
“After all these centuries, are you finally going senile?” Arthur chuckles as he adjusts his cuffs. Merlin can’t help but notice that even his fingers aren’t without ornaments. Gold and silver rings adorn his left hand while a black and red one fits his right.
Then Arthur starts approaching him and Merlin remembers the question. “What do you mean by centuries?” He says, backing away. “I haven’t even lived half of this one yet!”
Arthur slows his steps, a sharp glint in his eyes now. “Merlin, I can forgive you if you forget an event or two,” he says calmly, even as his hand reaches for his sword, “but the last thing you should forget is me.”
Being the clumsy person Merlin has always been, he trips on nothing, and gracelessly falls backwards onto the table behind him. When he looks up again, a tip of a sword is pointed at his chest.
“Arthur…?” Merlin says breathlessly, eyeing the sword with great trepidation. “W-what are you doing?”
“Oh, so you know me now?” But Arthur doesn’t withdraw his sword. Instead, he hovers it dangerously over Merlin’s heart. “I don’t know what game you’re playing at,” he says in all seriousness, then he tilts his head, and a pleased smile eases onto his face, “but I like it.”
Merlin blinks a few times, baffled. “Wait—what?”
“You’ve got me riled up there, as if we were young and reckless again.” Arthur sheaths his sword and rests both hands on the table, looming over Merlin in between and covering him in his shadow. His lips curve upwards and his eyes turn a shade darker. “So, how do you want me this time, love?”
“Love?!” Merlin squeaks, shrinking away.
There’s no way Arthur would say the word “love” and glance at him that way in the same breath! This must be… sorcery!
Arthur continues on suggestively, “Should we do it here or take this to the be—”
Unable to listen any longer, Merlin frantically pushes him away before the blond can finish.
“Y-you’re not Arthur!” Merlin accuses, pointing a shaking finger at him. “You may look like him but I won’t be fooled! What are you doing in Arthur’s room!”
“Our room,” Arthur corrects with a sigh, finally backing off. Then he looks around seemingly for the first time and his eyes widen. “Merlin, where did your wardrobe go?” He asks, cape swishing around as he turns from corner to corner, “And your reading chair? And our portrait?”
With each question, Merlin feels as confused as Arthur’s tone, head hurting more and more. How could he, a mere servant, have any of his belongings in the crown prince’s room? Let alone a portrait? Of them no less.
Before he can raise a hand to keep Arthur from talking any further, the blond manages to say, “And where are the shelves with all your spell books?”
Merlin’s hand halts in mid-air. He glances nervously at Arthur, blood thumping loudly in his ears. “What do you mean by spell books? Why would I have any?”
Arthur gives him a strange look. “Are you really asking me why you, a sorcerer, would have spell books?”
Merlin’s heart nearly pops out of his chest. “I’m not a sorcerer!” He immediately denies.
“So your title as Grand Sorcerer is just a fancy title?” Arthur raises his brow in amusement. “I wouldn’t bestow an empty title, Merlin. It’s been over a millennium, how can you deny this now?”
Merlin baulks. Is he hearing this right? Him, a Grand Sorcerer and not a dead one? In what world? And if this Arthur can bestow, then is he really a king? But how could he still be this young after a millennium?
Better question yet, Arthur knows he has magic and actually let him live?
How? When?
Merlin swallows with difficulty after coming to a possible reason. Taking a deep breath in and out, he slowly says, “Arthur…I don’t think you belong here.”
“This is my castle, our home! Why wouldn’t I belong here?” Arthur puts his hands on his hips in indignation.
Just as Merlin opens his mouth to tell him why, Merlin’s name is called from beyond the room. It starts off small and far away, echoing through the halls and through the wooden door. Then the name is said again, louder, closer, and more impatient.
Arthur tilts his head to listen; recognition crosses his eyes.
Because that’s other Arthur’s voice coming towards them.
Merlin stares at the door, a familiar rush of hot blood pumping through him at the fear of discovery. Whether this Arthur is real or not, now isn’t a good time to figure it out.
He urgently pushes Arthur across the room, “You need to hide!”
Arthur only lifts his chin proudly and says, “I don’t need to hide in the face of dan—”
“MERLIN!” A voice bellows.
“Now!” The young boy hisses, shoving the reluctant blond towards the bed. “Get under!”
“You dare shove me, a king, under his own bed?”
Merlin really can’t deal with this right now. He’s not sure whether or not to trust in this man yet, but with another Arthur about to enter, there is little choice. “Yes!”
“But it’s dusty, I refuse!” Arthur crosses his arms over his chest.
Cursing in his mind, and already half convinced this is Arthur by their similar attitudes, Merlin’s eyes flash gold, paralysing the man. Then Merlin catches him as he falls and lowers his body to the ground. Lifting the blanket that’s almost touching the floor, he inhales deep, lowers his head under the bed, and infuses magic into his breath as he blows out with all his might.
A gust bursts forth, sweeping out the under bed and passing on through to the rest of the room as a strong breeze.
A door loudly slams shut as Merlin hastily rolls Arthur, royal cape and all, underneath the bed. He catches a glimpse of the blond’s very awake eyes, which are undoubtedly furious at this point, but Merlin has no time to apologise.
Another shout of his name, angry now, comes from just outside the room.
Pulling the blanket back to cover the under bed, Merlin scrambles towards the door and pulls it open.
He tries to sound nonchalant, but it comes out breathless, “You—called, My—Lord?”
“Did you just slam the door in my face?” Arthur says none too happily.
“Of course not! It must’ve been the wind!” Which is really the truth now that Merlin thinks about it.
Arthur pushes him aside to get through. “What wind? All the windows are closed!” But the curtains slightly sway and some sheets of parchment flutter about.
“I just closed them!” Merlin lies, following behind. “Had to let some air in, your room was starting to smell a little weird with all your training gear lying about.”
Arthur wrinkles his nose. “It wouldn’t smell weird if you would actually clean them on time.”
Half-heartedly laughing, Merlin picks up a few scattered parchments from the floor. “What are you doing back here anyway?”
Arthur sweeps his eyes across the room before heading to the table and grabbing the sword resting on top. “You forgot to hand me this.”
“Ah, right.”
Arthur heads back out and pauses, looking expectantly at Merlin, who stands there blankly with parchment in his hands. “Well?”
Merlin blinks. “Well what?”
“Aren’t you done already? Let’s go!” Arthur says impatiently, head motioning to the door.
“But…I’m not done cleaning!” Plus, he has to move the other Arthur somewhere safer!
“It’s not my fault you were late or that you take too long,” Arthur huffs impatiently. “Now, let’s go! You can come back later.”
Later?
“That’s a great idea! I’ll be back later!” Merlin says the end louder than necessary, glancing towards the bed, but Arthur pays no attention. He just rolls his eyes and makes his way out.
“Just so you know,” Merlin adds chirpily along his side, “that’s why your room smells too, when you just pull me away whenever’s convenient. How will it ever get cleaned properly?”
Arthur sighs. “Merlin?”
“Yes, yes, I’ll shut up.”
Merlin doesn’t come back until late afternoon.
He’s been anxious and curious all day, mind half-occupied with questions. So much so that he’s forgotten things more and either tripping, bumping, or dropping something. Almost sent to the stocks twice, he finally managed to get away when Arthur was preoccupied by Uther and Morgana, quickly excusing himself before taking off. It’s the perfect time to make a move.
Holding a bundle of bedsheets, Merlin shuts the door behind him, and quickly makes his way to the side of the bed farthest from the door. He lowers on to his knees and lifts the blanket. Sure enough, Arthur, with arms still frozen across his chest, hasn’t moved an inch.
Scathing eyes turn to him and Merlin can’t help but let out a small chuckle. This Arthur really is similar to his own.
“I’m sorry, it had to be done,” Merlin says, spreading the bedsheet on the floor. “The spell will wear off soon but I can’t have you roaming around just yet. I have questions and Arthur would kill you if he saw a copy of himself.”
Merlin grunts as he drags Arthur’s body out, then quickly rolls him onto the bed sheet. Giving him another apologetic look, Merlin adjusts the man’s limbs to be better comfortable before gathering the corners of the fabric.
“Merlin,” a voice calls from the door as it squeaks open. “Why did you suddenly run off?”
Just as Merlin looks up, Young Arthur strides into the room, heading towards the table. Panicked, Merlin hastily murmurs a spell to lighten his load and stands up, slinging the makeshift bag over his shoulder.
Arthur pauses in the middle of taking off his sword and stares. “...What were you doing under the bed?”
Laughing nervously, Merlin slowly steps around the bed and towards the door. “Oh you know, just gathering some long forgotten laundry…that I’ve hidden underneath there…”
Arthur eyes the large bundle slung over Merlin’s shoulder. “…You’ve what?”
“But that’s all getting sorted out today!” Merlin hastily adds. “Fresh clean clothes for tomorrow for my favourite crown-prince!”
Arthur’s sword lands with a heavy thud on the table. “I'm the only crown-prince.”
“Let’s hope it stays that way!” Merlin says cheerily.
“What’s that supposed to mean—wait, MERLIN!” But the young boy has already stepped out of the room and dashed off.
“I’ll be back!” Merlin yells over his shoulder, sprinting down the hall before Arthur can chase after him.
He travels a good minute away before spotting Uther and sneaking past him. Then he sees Morgana and avoids her too, just in case she gains more material to pick Arthur with about either overworking Merlin, or the amount of dirty clothes Arthur has. Then either way, Merlin would be scolded by Arthur. After the initial detour though, without anymore delay, Merlin rushes through corridors and down flights of stairs, passing guards, and servants and noblemen alike.
By the time he reaches the physician’s quarters, Merlin’s breath has shortened and a sheen of sweat has covered his forehead.
“Gaius!” He yells, bursting through the door.
“Merlin?” Gaius places a bottle down and turns his attention to him.
With thighs burning, Merlin heads towards a chair. “Quick, bolt the door!”
Gaius does so as fast as his feeble body can go. After making sure the door is secure, he looks to the young boy with concern. “What’s wrong?”
“This!”
Dumping the bag onto the chair and quickly unravelling it, Merlin takes a step back after adjusting the seated body. A crumpled red cape flows to the ground while a lopsided crown and tousled blond hair glow in the stream of sunlight from a small window. His unkempt appearance is only offset by a pair of sharp blue eyes glaring up at them in silence.
Gaius takes one look and, without glancing at Merlin, asks, “My boy, what have you done?”
Merlin holds both his hands up in defence. “This is not my fault! Well, the freezing spell, yes, but this is not Arthur Arthur! He just looks like him and claims to be the king of this castle.”
“And why have you brought him here?”
“He knows I have magic and Arthur was about to see him, and he’ll for sure execute us both if he did!”
Alarmed, Gaius turns to Merlin. “He knows you have magic?”
“And claims that I’ve been a Grand Sorcerer for over a millennia,” Merlin goes on, pacing back and forth, “And apparently that we live together and—”
“Merlin, calm down,” Gaius says patiently. “If this really is Arthur, he could somehow be from the future.” Merlin stops pacing at that and Gaius continues. “You have a destiny with Arthur and he’s already crown-prince. It isn’t hard to imagine that he’ll be a king one day. And if you become Grand Sorcerer, that means he has already accepted you and magic. That’s a good thing, Merlin.”
It is, but Merlin can’t help but doubt. “I don’t know, Gaius. This could be some sort of trick too.”
“Why not ask him then?” Gaius suggests. “When will this freezing spell wear off?”
A throat being cleared turns their attention back to the figure on the chair. Arthur stretches out his limbs, then adjusts his crown and smoothes out his hair. Placing his legs shoulder-width apart and leaning over slightly with his elbows resting on his knees with hands interlocked, he appears very much the king he claims to be.
His gaze is steady when he asks, “What do you want to know?”