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When Arthur closes his eyes and whispers his last goodbye, he is a king and husband. A warrior and diplomat. He is the last true great king of Albion and the one that brought war upon his lands.
When he opens his eyes, he is still all of those things.
But he doesn’t understand.
For one, he is back in his chambers. There is no Guinevere, and the servant that comes through the door is decidedly not Merlin. Arthur asks the lad if he’s dead. The lad fetches Gaius.
Gaius is…young. Far younger than the wizened old man Arthur recalled from the last days on the battlefield, wearing of being worked to the bone and yet unable to give up in case he can save just one more. And it’s odd, because Arthur had never thought of Gaius as young, but looking at him now, he is. And he’s excited.
Arthur knows he’s excited because Gaius hums as he opens Arthur’s door and he exchanges pleasantries, not getting down to business as usual. Arthur asks what the occasion is and Gaius lifts an eyebrow.
“What occasion, my boy?” Gaius asks as he looks Arthur over, checking his head for any bumps or bruises. He won’t find any, Arthur knows, but he lets him look.
“You’re humming,” Arthur points out, “You do that when you’re excited about something.”
Gaius pauses. Pulls back. Arthur watches as his eyebrow climbs ever higher and wonders if it ever got lost up there on his forehead.
“Well,” Gaius huffs after a moment, looking down, “I suppose I have a new apprentice coming into town.”
Arthur tries not to let his own excitement show too much.
“But he won’t be here until Wednesday,” Gaius dismisses with a wave of his hand. If Arthur recalled Merlin’s stories correctly, today was a Wednesday, and Gaius was about to get a very interesting surprise.
“I see,” Arthur says, his voice odd and strangled and there’s no way Gaius didn’t notice that, but the older man allows the moment to pass. He finds nothing wrong with Arthur, of course, and leaves with a word about making the younger servants run about for his practical jokes.
Arthur dresses before not-Merlin can come back and heads to the town square. He doesn’t remember the boys that accompanied him last time, doesn’t bother looking for them, but he does know who he is looking for.
In fact, he’s giving a lady in the marketplace hell, sure that Merlin would have passed through here just moments ago, when he hears it.
“Hey, I think that’s enough, friend.”
Arthur freezes. He knows that line. He knows that voice. The gentle disapproval, trying to peacefully negotiate before doing anything brash. It’s more boyish than Arthur remembers, but ten long years have passed for him.
Arthur knows this exchange. It became an inside joke between Merlin and himself for many years. So he turns and follows the script.
“Sorry, do I know you?” Arthur cocks his head to the side the way he would’ve a lifetime ago, when he was more arrogance than action.
Merlin is blessedly there, standing in front of him with that little frown, and continues just as Arthur remembered. His clothes are so ratty that Arthur is afraid they’re about to melt off of him.
“No, I don’t think so,” Merlin laughs nervously. Arthur is taken in by the dimples on his face and how wide even that small smile is. Merlin was never so free with his affection by the end the first time.
“And yet you called me…friend?” Arthur asks, something in his gut kicking up in excitement. He’s missed this. He’s missed this. He and Merlin didn’t get to banter so often before - not with Arthur’s kingly duties and ever growing circle. Merlin had been, well, not forgotten, because Arthur could never forget him, but put to the side in moments he shouldn’t have been. Especially not now that he knew what he knew.
So Arthur takes special delight in the storm of emotions on Merlin’s face, something he would never have shown before, and his smile widens as Merlin fires back, “No, that was my mistake, I’d never have a friend who was such an ass.”
Arthur tosses back his head and laughs. It’s real. It’s delighted. Merlin thinks he’s making fun, and ten years ago he was, but now it’s full of relief so strong Arthur might cry.
He missed him.
This is Arthur’s Merlin, snotty and bratty and, a few more barbs later, swinging on royalty in the market square. He doesn’t allow the guards to take him this time, releasing the boy and shoving him off in the direction of Gaius’ chambers. He recalls how Merlin said Gaius gave him hell for that for weeks.
Arthur gets back to the castle and is met with more ghosts. He sees Uther and Morgana, having a hushed yet fierce conversation. They ignore him as he walks by, and he remembers how they used to do that. Get so wrapped up in fighting one another that sometimes Arthur just vanished.
He gets back to his room and paces.
He doesn’t know how he knew he woke up at the beginning. He just knew he needed to go greet his best friend. He doesn’t know how he even woke up like this, taking the time to stare in the mirror and catalogue all the differences age made. His teeth are more crooked, the edges of his eyes softer, and he has no smile lines.
If - if this is some sort of gift, or perhaps final spell by Merlin, he must take it with the utmost seriousness. He doesn’t know who sent him here, but he knows enough. He knows that, five years from now, he will suffer the worst betrayal of his life. Six years from now, his father will die in his arms and Arthur will be crowned king. Four years from that, he and Morgana shall walk hand in hand into the dark forever.
He can stop that. Maybe not forever, maybe he can only put it off for a few years, but they will be years he’d never had before. There is before and there is after. He is in the after.
Arthur follows the script as best he remembers. He attends knight training, not yet having been named First Knight. It is odd to see these men - the ones who he remembered dying at Morgana’s hand or simply being swept away by the passage of time. Leon is here, and while he knows the rest will come sooner or later, Arthur revels in the familiarity of his most trusted knight.
That night, he cannot sleep. He still remembers what it feels like to die. When he closes his eyes, the drift into unconsciousness feels too similar to allow him rest.
The next morning sees him back in the market for his second encounter with Merlin. He asks if the man knows how to walk on his knees, and wonders how he missed the brief blush on the boy’s cheeks the first time. They fight, and Arthur wins, but he watches carefully. Sees the moments when Merlin lifts a hand or ducks his chin to avoid his eyes. He catalogues all the little things, the tiny moments that were sure to pile up the longer they went unnoticed, and still wins when Merlin gets distracted by Gaius.
“There’s something about you, Merlin,” Arthur says. He doesn’t say the second part, that he doesn’t understand it just yet. He knows now. He knows it all.
Merlin casts worried glances back at him every few steps as Gaius ferries the young man to safety.
Arthur and Morgana are called to their father that afternoon. They are told to be on their best behavior for Lady Helen’s arrival, and that Arthur is not to fall asleep again in the midst of a performance. Arthur spends the whole time on the verge of tears, recalling the last interaction he’d had with his father, or, the shade of his father, he should say.
Worse, he knows that is the only thing he cannot change. Time and distance opened Arthur’s eyes to his father’s wrongs, and though it hurt like an open wound, he would not make him proud by executing Merlin or banishing Gwen.
Speaking of Gwen, she is quiet as a mouse when she scurries in after Morgana. Arthur eyes her, seeing his wife ten years younger and still a bit fearful of him. His heart squeezes for her, and he recalls the night she’d asked if, when Arthur looked at her, he was really seeing her. They’d both been a little too honest that night, the wedding nuptials and festivities getting to them, and Arthur admitted that, every now and then, she reminded him of Merlin. Guinevere had mumbled something about Morgana, and they’d left it at that.
Arthur watches now, older and wiser, and sees the way Gwen’s eyes never leave Morgana. He sees Morgana’s hand twitch backward, almost as if to reach for her, before thinking the better of it. He hurts. For his wife and sister both. He wants to fix this too.
That night, he reasons that he should be nervous as he takes his place at the head of the table alongside Uther. He knows Lady Helen is not who she says, and he knows he is the target of her wrath. He also knows, without a shadow of a doubt in his heart, that Merlin will save him.
And he does. And this time, instead of groaning when Uther declares him Arthur’s new manservant, Arthur rejoices.
He will make it right this time. He won’t let them all be swept away again.
—
Arthur keeps a careful eye on Merlin that first year. He decides that he is curious, and he remembers many of their early adventures being decently lighthearted, and he wishes to know exactly how Merlin came into his power.
Honestly, he’s dumbfounded he didn’t notice it before.
Merlin is painfully obvious, to the point where Arthur wants to shake him and tell him to knock it off. His heart leaps into his throat at least twice a day and he can’t even tell Merlin why, not without sending the man running.
When Lancelot arrives, he doesn’t allow him and Merlin to go through any silliness like they did last time. No, this time around, he allows Lancelot to train with them despite no semblance of a royal heritage. Lancelot is stunned by the offer, as are others. Arthur gets an earful from his father.
But, just like last time, it is Lancelot that finds the killing blow on the griffon threatening the kingdom. Arthur makes sure he is knighted the next day.
He always liked Lancelot. He mourned him dearly when he passed, and celebrated with all the rest when the odd replica of him returned. Lancelot was kind and gentle and filled many of the gaps Arthur himself didn’t even realize were there at the time. He’s glad that Lancelot is on board far sooner this time.
Before, Arthur had been confused at the fast bond between Merlin and Lancelot. After, he sees it for what it is. Truth. Knowledge. Trust. Lancelot knows of Merlin’s magic, and both Arthur and Merlin are able to breathe a bit easier for it.
He invites Lancelot up to his quarters one night, making sure Merlin is there while it happens. He and Merlin are not so close as they once were, not yet, and Arthur still has far too much fun ruffling his feathers. He got quite good at ignoring Arthur’s jabs as the years went on.
Arthur splits a bottle of wine with Lancelot and, in full earshot of Merlin, asks the man’s opinions on magic. He hides a smile as Lancelot chokes on his wine, his eyes darting between Merlin and Arthur. Merlin, who has stopped working on whatever he was doing and is most certainly staring at Arthur.
“I have begun to ponder it myself,” Arthur pretends to muse as Lancelot collects himself, giving the man a reprieve as he glances out his bedroom window, “Such things must be thought of, as the future king.”
“Of - of course, my lord,” Lancelot says nervously.
“So?” Arthur hums lazily when he looks back, arching an eyebrow and expecting an answer, “You’re a well traveled man. Tell me something of the world outside Camelot. Tell me what I do not know.”
Lancelot gapes at him for a moment before he obliges. He gives no opinion, not that night, regarding magic, but he does tell Arthur stories. He speaks of spellweavers in Mercia who create the most beautiful garments in the land. He tells Arthur of a legendary forgemaster, said to imbue weapons and armor with magic runes for a terrible cost. He pulls out story after story, each more wondrous than the last, but it is his final one that catches Arthur’s attention.
“They have a herald,” Lancelot is into his cups by now, making Arthur grin. The man had never been the biggest drinker. “Emrys. He’s said to - to push the wheel of fate. Make destiny happen.”
“Sounds like a hard job,” Arthur says and pretends not to notice the choked noise Merlin makes behind him, “He would make a great ally.”
Both Lancelot and Merlin fall silent, looking at him as though he’s grown a second head.
“What?” Arthur asks in drunken amusement, “One who predicts and enacts the prophecies of our time is better an ally than enemy, hm?”
“Y-yes,” Lancelot takes a sip of his wine, attempting to collect himself. “Of course, my lord.”
He dismisses Lancelot and Merlin at the same time, allowing the two men to speak. He figures the best way to get Merlin to truly trust him is to plant the seed early, and not simply between the two of them. He must see, better yet, he must understand in a way he was never able to before.
That night, he feels satisfied in saying he’s taken a decent step toward that.
—
He’s not sure when it clicks for him. Possibly after he followed Merlin down down down into the dragon’s den one night, and heard the beast Kilgarrah speak.
Merlin loved him.
At least, he did before.
Merlin loved him enough to make a deal with a dragon. Merlin loved him enough to hide in fear for ten years. Merlin loved him enough to drink poison after a month of knowing him - and no, that hadn’t been easier to watch a second time around.
Merlin loved him. How could Arthur have been so blind? Years spent in his service, always questioning but never disobeying. Arthur had called him loyal, brave, chivalrous, kind, and many other things, but he’d never seen what was right in front of him.
He’d always had a hard time with love.
He remembers why the longer he is around his father again. He begins to feel the same frailty and doubt he remembers from his youth. He sees the tears shining in Morgana’s eyes and fumes when his father throws one of them in the dungeons for a night. He’s more combative with the man than he’s ever been, and it’s earned him an ounce more of Morgana’s respect.
He spends many long hours with his sister.
He does not ridicule her how he used to, but he does tease. She knows something is up, but her eyes simply glitter with that knowledge, and she does not ask. He gets the feeling she doesn’t want this sudden streak of his to end. The guilt that follows that thought threatens to crush him.
When Morgana begins to get nightmares, Arthur is there. He speaks with Gaius and Merlin both and, when he fails to draw an answer out of either of them, he goes to Morgana. She is tired, the circles around her eyes darker than he remembers as Gwen has not yet finished getting her ready for the day.
Arthur sends Gwen off for a moment and sits across from his sister.
“Tell me about your dreams.”
Morgana does. Arthur’s gut churns as he hears them. They are direct predictions of the future - images of Camelot burning in a great fire, a frightening roar echoing in the distance. She dreams of a young man with black hair and green eyes, fighting Arthur on some far off battlefield. She sees a white dragon, beautiful and splendid, that screams as its spine grows warped and twisted from disuse.
Arthur leaves her chambers with a sick feeling and goes to Gaius.
“You must help her,” Arthur is pleading, almost crying, as he kneels in front of the old man, because he does not want to lose his sister again, “Please, Gaius, I am begging you.”
“I see that,” Gaius says with a frown, “But I can do no more. These are nightmares she is having, my boy. Nothing more.”
He wants so badly to tell him he’s wrong. To share what he knows and find some tome hidden away in here that will take away his sister’s pain and erase the years that have both passed and lay in wait. He receives no more help from the man and understands better why his sister turned from them.
It cannot occupy Arthur’s mind for too long, as Merlin’s mother appears to the court mere days later. This was the only time Arthur met her, and he smiles softly at the similarity between the pair.
Just like before, Uther turns her away. Just like before, Merlin leaves and Arthur, Gwen and Morgana follow.
He is better this time. He doesn’t get frustrated with the people in Ealdor, instead keeping his head as they run through battle formations. He sets up reinforcements where he knows the bandits will attack first and he extends a hand to Will, wanting to make an effort this time. He did not speak to the farm boy much before he died, a regret that would later haunt him as Merlin spoke of their time together as children.
When they spend the night in Merlin’s house, Arthur says nothing about how if he weren’t a prince, they’d get on. Instead, he tells Merlin point blank.
“I’ve come to consider you a friend,” Arthur confesses in the low light. He sees Merlin look over, wide eyed in the dark, and knows he won’t respond. He doesn’t know how to, not when he is lying to Arthur about himself. This time, Arthur knows that, and he does not take his silence as offensive.
He is just as distraught as Merlin when he fails to save Will the next day.
A whirlwind sweeps through town, just as he remembered, and he whirls around to face the pair. He’s not fast enough to stop the arrow from embedding itself in Will’s shoulder. He doesn’t ask who the sorcerer was as Merlin catches his body.
He helps them bring the boy into the same room as last time, a spare in the village hall. He watches Merlin grasp his best friend’s hand. He watches his best friend watch his best friend die, and realizes this is not the last time this might happen. He recalls Lancelot’s death and his own, and is more familiar with the look on Merlin’s face then he thought.
Arthur believes this is where the cracks started. This is where Merlin began to lose himself a bit, and for good reason. Will still takes the blame for magic in his final moments. He still looks up at Merlin and whispers that he’s scared. Merlin is still helpless to stop it.
Later, Arthur will get angry. He’ll be upset at the world for being so cruel to the man he loved and was loved by. He’ll cry for how Merlin must have suffered in secret all these years and how Arthur could never understand the depths of what Merlin went through before. He can only hope to keep him from having to go through it in this strange after.
Now, though, Arthur watches as Merlin’s mother draws him into an embrace and Will’s family mourns. He watches Morgana turn white as a sheet and knows she has seen this too. He watches Gwen pick up the pieces the three of them have left behind, always cleaning up after them, and he thinks that nothing has really changed. His presence here hasn’t altered anything.
He tries harder after that.
—
Arthur does not kill the unicorn this time around. He does not need to.
Before, he credited this event as the catalyst for his change. Never had he been so succinctly humbled and never had he been given explicit instructions on how to be better.
He knows it now, though. He is a thirty year old man in the body of a twenty year old, and he is wise enough to lower his crossbow when they find the beast. His knights mutter amongst themselves, confused why he would not want such a trophy, while Merlin stares at him with something like awe.
He isn’t surprised that’s when Lancelot figures it out.
“You know,” Lancelot accuses him one night, following him out of the armory and up the spires to his quarters.
“I know what?” Arthur asked, just to be obstinate.
“About Merlin,” Lancelot huffs, standing in front of Arthur’s door so he cannot enter and drag said idiot into this conversation, “You know about his magic.”
The words hang between them for long enough that Lancelot’s face begins to pale and Arthur sees regret creep in.
“Yes,” Arthur admits finally, making Lancelot breathe out a sigh of relief, “It’s not what you think.”
Lancelot looks at him curiously. He’s always been good at reading people, much to Arthur’s dismay. The man was impossible to pull one over on.
“Then what is it?”
Arthur wishes he knew. He pulls Lancelot into his chambers and dismisses Merlin for the night. Then, he explains.
Not everything, granted. He doesn’t know what Lancelot will do if he knew everything, but he tells him enough. He tells him of Morgana’s betrayal, of his eventual death. He tells him of those long few days in the woods, just him and Merlin how it used to be, and yet so different from the world they knew. He tells Lancelot of the days when his world fell out from under him, and the knight listens.
He agrees to help where he can, and Arthur stifles a laugh at how both he and Merlin trusted no one else like this, not even each other. It was not easy to be honest with one another, not with what their relationship was built off of. They were all sarcasm and cutting words, poking fun and simultaneously keeping a safe distance away from one another. Arthur wondered, if they didn’t have to do that, would they lose themselves in each other?
Even as he asks the question to himself, he remembers Merlin’s tears as he confessed to his magic and knows the answer. He recalls the Disir, how Merlin had a chance to make everything right, and instead went with what was best for Arthur. He thinks of a thousand moments in which Merlin proved that yes, yes, they would lose themselves but through that, they may also find one another.
Perhaps the problem was never Merlin’s lies. Perhaps it was Arthur’s distance. Perhaps it was a million other things that neither Arthur nor Merlin could control - but he didn’t like the thought of that. He was here to rewrite destiny, not fall victim to it a second time.
After the questing beast and Nimueh, Arthur sits Merlin down. He tells him he knows, and watches Merlin fall to pieces. He begins to hate his father a little bit.
It is better this way though. Merlin is freer now, happier as he tends to Arthur’s needs. He hums a tune, the same as Gaius, and occasionally teases Arthur with a magical touch or two. Arthur’s fondness for the man can do nothing but grow.
By the second year, Arthur finds himself growing impatient. He wishes, horrible as it sounds, for his time as king to come. He wishes Uther would step down, taking age as an excuse, and pass the crown off so Arthur may better care for his family. He wishes Gaius would help Morgana or that Uther would let her flee to the druids. He wishes his sister and best friend could both be free as birds, flitting about on the wind just because they can.
He follows his script where he can. He still stumbles sometimes, certain things only Merlin would have known about coming to fruition. Gwen’s father still dies at Uther’s hand and Arthur hates himself for it. He tries to help pick up the pieces better than he did last time, and the woman that in another life he married thanks him through teary eyes.
He’s more attentive with Morgana. She comes to him after more than one nightmare and cries into his shoulder about how afraid she is. He soothes her as best she can, wondering if she’s put together that she has magic yet, or if that is still to come.
He trains Lancelot, drilling the man like no one else. He has decided that in this new after, Lancelot will be his First Knight. He will make sure the man does not have to die, that he will be strong and brave and smart and fast enough to duck death’s grasp. The pair are often the last ones on the field and Lancelot quickly becomes one of Camelot’s finest knights.
He spends as much time as he can with Merlin. He steals them away for day trips and packs them snacks of fresh fruit, the kind Merlin cannot usually enjoy as a servant. He annoys Merlin into telling him bits of home and how it’s going working with Gaius. He gives him a sword this time, and begins to teach him how to defend himself a bit better. They spend days roughhousing in Camelot’s green meadows, the flowers themselves turning to face king and herald alike as they tumble through the grass.
Somewhere along the way, before all of this, Arthur became filled with so much love. It is more apparent now than ever, as he recalls how lonely his younger years were. He doesn’t know how he survived those first twenty years without Merlin and the rest.
Arthur is glad to show it now. It surprises those around him, he knows. His father disapproves each time, but Arthur doesn’t care. He knows his day is coming, and when it does, he must be ready.
He won’t let them go again.
—
Much happens during his third year in the after. So much that he didn’t even know about.
Morgana’s power grows and she confesses to Arthur what she suspects. Arthur nods, accepting it easily, and goes to the only person he can.
Merlin agrees to aid Morgana with controlling her magic, but confesses his worries to Arthur secretly. Arthur nods, understanding that both man and dragon alike have warned Merlin off from this.
“She’s my sister,” Arthur tells him anyway, because at this point he knows the power he holds over Merlin. Cruel as it may be, he’s willing to take advantage for Morgana’s sake.
Merlin does as he bids, and something in Arthur’s soul eases.
Morgause’s arrival was expected. Arthur leapt at the chance to duel her, accepting her deal to go to her hideaway without a hint of hesitation. She was interested in that, he could tell, and not so cold as his memory had made her out to be. He reminds himself that she, too, sought justice for what Camelot had done to sorcerers, twisted as her vision was.
Merlin and Morgana both think it’s a bad idea. Lancelot agrees and Gwen, who somehow got roped into this whole charade over the past year, does too.
This time, Arthur goes to Morgause alone. He does not tell Merlin that he is leaving, nor does he alert Lancelot. They don’t know where he travels to. Even he does not remember, but, like last time, Llamari guides him through the thick forest to a hidden tower.
Morgause is not expecting him to be alone. He does her tests, lets her hold an axe to his neck, and is only thrown when she pauses before her spell.
“You are not what I expected,” Morgause says, her eyes glittering curiously, “You know something, don’t you?”
Arthur wants to laugh. He gets the feeling that wouldn’t get him very far, so he nods and tries to forget what her snapped neck and broken body looked like on the castle floors.
Morgause casts her spell, and Arthur meets his mother for the second time. She tells him what he already knows - and he does know now - to be the truth. Arthur grasps his hands in her and presses their foreheads together, soaking in these precious few seconds. He knows they are all he will ever get.
When he returns to Camelot, his rage has had seven years to cool. Even so, he spends the next few days downright murderous whenever his father is so much as mentioned.
He doesn’t share his knowledge with his friends, though they beg for it. Gwen and Lancelot are worried, where Morgana is suspicious. Merlin withholds his opinion, though it is clear he does not approve of Arthur’s silence. Arthur is fine with that.
When the slaver comes to Camelot with a druid girl in tow, Arthur doesn’t make the connection.
He doesn’t understand until he is looking in her eyes, his sword drawn, and sees her looking elsewhere. He turns his head in time to see Merlin, his face white and terrified as tears run down his cheeks.
He is not the one that kills her, not this time, but Freya ends up dead all the same.
Merlin shows up the next day and Arthur blubbers his way through an apology. He’s a mess when he finishes, mostly because Merlin has that look on his face. The one that became commonplace in later years. He was flat, empty, devoid of any of his usual cheer. It isn’t until Arthur is on his knees, his head in Merlin’s lap as he weeps for a girl he never knew, that Merlin rests a hand in his hair and he knows he is forgiven.
Merlin leads him to the lake he sent her off at, and explains that this was her home. Arthur looks about reverently, before he turns and realizes.
This is Avalon.
This is where he died.
He sees Merlin standing at the shore, his eyes teary as he looks out at the lake, and suddenly it is too much. He can’t imagine Merlin’s face as he sent off Arthur’s body, he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to remember the faint screams he heard as death claimed him, nor the feeling of Merlin nearly crushing him, even through the armor, with how tight he was holding on.
He doesn’t realize he’s in the middle of a panic attack until he pitches forward and falls face first into the water. Merlin laughs until he doesn’t. Until he realizes Arthur isn’t trying to cheer him up.
How many bodies had Merlin sent to this lake? How many that Arthur didn’t even know? Freya was one of ten? Twenty? Thirty? Arthur had no idea the girl even existed, forgetting about her in a week’s time, while Merlin spent the next seven years mourning.
He begins to feel the impossibility of the task before him and grasps as Merlin’s stupid shitty jacket lapels, dragging him closer until they were almost nose to nose.
“Promise me,” Arthur gasps through tears, “Let me help. Promise me that next time, I can help.”
Merlin nods quickly, uncomfortable with his display and not understanding the root of his desperation. Arthur takes it anyway, folding the other man into a crushing embrace and banishes all thought of what his own funeral may have looked like.
It works, as far as Arthur can tell.
Morgana is happier than he remembers her being, even with Uther’s presence. She comes to Arthur with all her problems, large and small, and is still followed around by a glowing Gwen. Merlin’s help means she doesn’t need to rely on Morgause for aid, which in turn means that they see the blonde sorceress far less often than before.
Merlin comes to him far more frequently, though it is clear he dislikes doing so. He’s accompanied by Lancelot the first few times, who stands as a silent pillar of support. When Arthur doesn’t turn him away, when he nods and asks what Merlin needs, his friend slowly begins to believe him.
They do still all share a good laugh regarding Lady Katrina and Uther’s marriage. That, Arthur allows to play out in full form. It was one of his fonder memories of his father, though he could’ve done without the troll stench that clogged up the halls for about a month or so after.
The witchfinder comes to town and Arthur acts as a shield between him and all others. He rages and spits and throws fits enough that Uther bans the servants from taking him his dinners three nights in a row. He makes life a living hell for Aredin, and he does it with a smile. The witchhunter is run off without so much as a single accusation, thanks to Arthur, and he is locked in the cells for a week because of it.
He gets out and tells a guilty looking Merlin and Morgana that it was worth it.
When Merlin comes to him about the dragon, Arthur nods. He has prepared for this, spending the last three years carefully suggesting infrastructure to help them withstand this siege. Better than that, he knows of the dragonlord now, and they will be able to find him much quicker. He still doesn’t know exactly how Merlin got rid of Kilgarrah the first time, but he knows he didn’t kill him.
Merlin releases the creature and all hell breaks loose. Arthur makes sure Gwen and Morgana are safe, and then he, Lancelot, and Merlin set out to find Balinor.
Along the way, Merlin confides in them that he believes Balinor is his father. Both Lancelot and Merlin jump as Arthur bursts into tears.
They attempt to comfort him, Lancelot likely understanding better than Merlin. Arthur is ashamed that he hadn’t known that, that he didn’t connect the dots before. Merlin had been there when Uther died, complicated as Arthur’s relationship was with his father. He didn’t leave all night, keeping watch over Arthur’s vigil until the sun crested and a new day dawned.
Where was Arthur when Merlin’s father died? Celebrating a dead dragon, that’s where.
Arthur hates how obvious his failures have become. Especially in the after. He tells Lancelot this once Merlin goes to bed, and his knight wraps him in an embrace. Arthur is awkward about it, using to holding, not being held, but he appreciates the gesture.
Arthur makes sure Balinor does not die this time. Even when that means leaping in front of the arrows meant for him. He takes one in the shoulder and another in the leg, hearing Merlin’s cry as a wave of magic is unleashed and the men after them end up dead before Arthur can do so much as stumble.
Father and son rush to his side, Balinor muttering a hesitant thanks to the son of Uther, while Merlin wastes no time getting to work on his injuries. He lets Merlin get him well enough to ride, and then insists they set off.
The fight goes much better this time, and Kilgarrah is barely a speck in the distance by the time Arthur sees his father again. Balinor has not joined them, instead deciding to ride back to Ealdor to reunite with his wife. As such, the lie from before holds.
To Uther, the dragon is dead. To Camelot, the evil is banished forever. As for Merlin, he, Arthur, and Lancelot are happy to collapse in a pile upstairs in Arthur’s room. Gaius comes in to see to Arthur and Lancelot, and Morgana and Gwen poke their heads in at one point. Less of Camelot has been damaged, less men have been killed, and Arthur feels that perhaps there is a point to his return.
—
In his fifth year, things really begin to change. He stops running into obstacles he hadn’t realized were there the first time. He waits for several adventures to occur that never come, and is surprised by some that didn’t happen the first time around.
To be honest, though, the most annoying moment is the reappearance of Goblin Gaius, as they decide to call him. The damned creature takes possession of him again and, when Arthur feels his head sprout ears and his throat grow rough, he has no choice but to groan and accept his fate.
He convinces Gwaine to stay over a pint, and grins when the man comes back after a few weeks finishing out his business with Percival in tow. Elyan, too, arrives sooner than expected. Gwen has asked him to come home, telling him Arthur would make a place for him with the legacy their father left. Being First Knight, Arthur is quick to make good on that promise. All three men are knighted before the year is out.
Morgause troubles them a few times more. Her alliance with Cenred still holds, even without Morgana, and she is still intent on destroying Camelot. At one point, Arthur finds himself at the tip of her blade, and he believes it to be the end.
But the years and knowledge he has poured into this - his version of Camelot - come to fruition. He is saved by the arrival of Morgana and Merlin, and watches in awe as they send the witch flying. He’s half sure she’ll return at some point, but can’t be bothered to care when the pair free him with twin smiles and gentle teases.
His trip to the Fisher King is far easier than the last time. He tells Merlin to come along and bring Gwaine, just maybe a day or so after Arthur departs, because he did actually have some fun with them the last time.
This time, they arrive together, and the odd bridgekeeper smiles knowingly at them.
“Strength, Magic, and Courage,” he declares, looking at each of them in turn, “I did not realize you all would arrive together.”
“And you are?” Gwaine asked, looking between the small man and his sword, which had just been turned into a beautiful daffodil.
“Ah, don’t worry about me,” the bridgekeeper crowed, his eyes bright, “the one you should be asking more questions of is your friend there.” He nods to Arthur and the prince shifts uncomfortably as two sets of eyes fall on him. “For how did he know to bring the two of you along instead of any other?”
Arthur isn’t sure how to answer the questions that follow. For the better part of a day, Merlin and Gwaine pester him, wanting to know what the bridgekeeper meant. Arthur waits until they are sitting around a small fire to speak.
When he is done explaining (once again, not everything, just the relevant bits), Merlin and Gwaine are looking at him like he is something alien. Which, he supposes, his consciousness technically is.
“So…you knew about the dragon?” Merlin asks, his eyes narrowed.
Arthur sighs and nods, “Yes, but it didn’t go like that last time.”
Merlin gestures for him to continue. Arthur obliges, not looking at the man.
“I never learned about…you,” Arthur says quietly, his eyes trained on the fire, “Your magic. Not until - until the end. When we found your father, I didn’t know who he was.”
“So?” Merlin shrugged, looking at Gwaine to see if he was missing something, “What does that matter?”
“He died,” Arthur says raggedly, remembering how Merlin had looked in the weeks following, “And I didn't know he was your father. I never -” He cuts himself off and huffs.
“Oh,” Merlin says quietly, “That’s why you - oh, no.”
Arthur shrugs, “I mean, I knew about some of the funny things too. The troll, for one.”
That gets a laugh out of both men, Gwaine impressed by Arthur allowing it to happen again. He carefully does not tell them of Morgana or the manner of his death. He does not speak of how, the last time he heard from Gwaine, he’d been captured by the enemy. He doesn’t tell Merlin that he married Gwen, though it almost feels like a betrayal to her. He just talks. He talks about their sillier adventures and how purposeful he’d been in gathering his knights again. He expresses to Gwaine his appreciation for the man, for his loyalty to Merlin and his courage as a knight.
They leave those lands as a closely knit trio, though Arthur catches Merlin watching him more often after that.
There is one night, just before Arthur knows the Cup of Life can be found, when it is just the two of them. It’s cold outside as winter approaches, but Merlin got his hearth roaring earlier and has yet to let it die down. Arthur’s gotten them a thing of mulled wine from the kitchen, drinking his friend in as Merlin sips his cup by the fire.
“I never told you?” Merlin breaks the silence first, as per usual.
“At the end,” Arthur says quietly, “You didn’t want me to go without knowing.”
“Ah,” Merlin says and falls silent again. Arthur wonders what he is thinking. Merlin still does not seem so serious as before, and Arthur can only hope that it is because he does not do things alone now.
“How did you make it back here?” Merlin asks next, huffing in amusement when Arthur has no answer and muttering about the stupidity of knights. “Why change things?”
Arthur stares at that question and wonders how much he should say. Merlin catches his eye, looking curiously as emotions dance freely across Arthur’s face.
“You,” is what Arthur lands on. It is the honest truth, if not the full one. Yes, he changed things for Morgana as well. Her and Guinevere and a few of the knights. But he did it so…so Merlin would not suffer again. He did it so he could see that smile and those dimples, and he did it so Merlin could be happy for the first time since coming to Camelot.
Merlin here and now blushes and looks away. Arthur doesn’t regret his answer.
“You’re the most important person in my life,” Arthur tacks on, the wine loosening his tongue. “You - you were the only one. The only one who ever truly cared and stuck around.”
Merlin looks at Arthur and he looks sad. Arthur doesn’t want him to look sad.
“Were you truly so unhappy?” Merlin asks softly.
“No,” Arthur chuckles and ducks his head, thinking of banquets and balls with Guinevere, Merlin, and his men at his side, “We had many good days. But it was you who made them good.”
“How old are you?” Merlin asks, scooting closer to him. Arthur felt their shoulders press together and resisted the urge to melt into the touch.
“Thirty five,” Arthur sighs. Far too old to be running around as he was still.
Merlin makes an interesting noise at that, “So you were…thirty when you died?”
“Yes,” Arthur rests his head on Merlin’s shoulder and decides to blame the wine in the morning, “Sword to the belly. Nasty bit of work.”
Merlin makes another odd noise, sounding a bit strangled, “And I…was there?”
“In the end,” Arthur said simply, “You stayed with me for three days. Took care of my needs. Saw to my safety. It was just…”
“Not enough,” Merlin murmurs into his cup, sounding far away.
“Maybe,” Arthur sighs, “but not from you. I think that’s why I’m here. To do more this time around.”
Merlin shifts, twisting around to look at him. Arthur lifts his head and meets that gaze, allowing Merlin to look as long as he liked. He’s pretty sure he’d let Merlin do anything at this point, fifteen years of friendship giving way to something far more intimate than he knows what to do with.
“Do you think you’ve done it?” Merlin asks conspiratorily, leaning in just slightly, “Changed things for us?”
“I think I’m getting there,” Arthur admits quietly, his eyes flicking down for a moment before he meets Merlin’s gaze again, “The differences are beginning to show.”
“Like what?” Merlin asks.
“This,” Arthur said, bringing a hand up to Merlin’s face and tracing the outline of his smile, which only grows under Arthur’s touch, “I hadn’t seen this in a long time before I came back.”
“What, my face?” Merlin attempts to joke.
“Your smile,” Arthur hums, tapping his thumb against Merlin’s lips, “the real one. Not the one you think no one notices is a front.”
Merlin’s face melts into something far too affectionate for Arthur to continue looking. He withdraws his hand and clears his throat, taking another sip of wine.
“What else?” Merlin asks. The atmosphere in the room grows heavy as Arthur looks back, trying to overlay this Merlin with his memories of the one before.
“I wasn’t very nice to you,” Arthur offers, much to Merlin’s amusement, “Seriously. I would never have let you drink my wine before.”
Merlin knocks his shoulder and sets his cup down, placing both hands behind him and leaning back, “I don’t know that I believe that one.”
Arthur hums and smiles, “What can I say, with age comes a propensity to drink.”
“Alright, old man,” Merlin laughs, especially when Arthur gives him an affronted look, “What? You’re like…twelve years older than me now.”
Arthur drags a hand down his face, not having done the math himself, while Merlin cackles to himself to the side.
“Well,” Merlin says once he’s calmed down a bit, “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you know. You’ve been good to me Arthur, truly.”
Arthur looks over and something in his chest aches with want. He recalls Freya and Lancelot, the only two others that he was sure Merlin loved aside from family, and aches a bit more. He can’t imagine what Merlin from before felt all these years. It seems this Merlin can’t either.
“Arthur,” Merlin said quietly, drawing his attention again, “You and me…did we ever -?”
Arthur smiles at him. Shakes his head no. Watches as Merlin’s face does a funny thing.
“Huh.”
“I married Gwen,” Arthur says, drawing his knees up to his chest. He’s aware of Merlin’s eyes on him, but keeps his trained on the fire, “We were both looking for a distraction.”
“And that was marriage?”
Arthur shrugs, “She needed to get over Morgana. I was the second best option. Besides, we did care for one another, just not as we should have.”
“And you?” Merlin asks softly, like he’s not sure if he’s ready for the answer.
Arthur simply turns and gives him a look.
He’s not surprised, then, when Merlin closes the gap between them, pressing the softest kiss Arthur has ever felt to his lips. He doesn’t let him get away with it. Merlin shrieks as Arthur tackles him to the floor and returns the embrace, far more passionately, and laughs when his hands land in his hair.
When they come up for air, Merlin is beaming. Arthur is too, come to think of it.
“Hey,” Merlin says, grinning up at him, “Guess what?”
“What?” Arthur asks, two seconds away from picking the man up and bringing him to bed.
Merlin smiles and Arthur knows there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for this man, “You just changed the future.”
Arthur rolls his eyes and muffles whatever words may next spout from this ridiculous man’s mouth. And no, his smile does not go anywhere as he does so.