Chapter Text
Arthur sat curled on the cement, slowly rubbing circles into his temples.
God, why did this have to happen?
He should have known better than to think they could catch a break. He had thought – he had prayed – that just this once, everything could be different.
But the world never truly lets go of its favourite chess pieces, and although he had not worn a crown in centuries, he would always be a king.
He curled a hand through his hair, tugging against his scalp in frustration.
A soft whimper drew his attention to a shadow curled on the floor. Arthur’s eyes snapped to the prone figure, his breath hitching.
“Merlin?”
The shadow shifted, and a scruffy head of raven hair twisted into view.
“Arthur?” whispered the fallen man, blinking in the too-bright light.
“I’m here Merlin. God, you’re awake. Finally,” Arthur’s words came too fast, his concern and relief obliterating his usually impeccable speech. He stretched himself towards his friend, but a harsh rattle reminded him of the cuffs cutting deeply into his arms, keeping him at the other end of the room.
Merlin blinked, rising slowly from his position on the floor. He stared owlishly around the room, taking in the dirty grey walls, the bare concrete floor. His gaze finally rested on Arthur, and he pitched forward, only to be brought up short by an identical set of cuffs holding him back.
“What’s going on?” he said, his voice rising in pitch as confusion started giving way to panic. “Arthur?”
“Merlin, it’s okay,” said Arthur, straining forward. “I promise you, it’s going to be … Look at me!” he cut himself off as Merlin’s eyes jittered over the room in distress. The man’s gaze snapped back to him. “Whatever happens, I’m going to protect you. You’ll be okay, you understand?”
Merlin stared at him, taking deep breaths and desperately scrabbling for his bearings.
“But, Arthur?” he said, shaking his head a little to clear it. “What happened?”
Arthur sighed. “Morgana happened.”
There really was a kind of artistry in making the perfect coffee. Not that Merlin himself was any good at it, but he’d gorged himself on enough caffeinated drinks in his time to adopt an air of expertise on the subject. At least, he spent a lot of time criticising the charlatanistic attempts of the local cafés in his little corner of London. These days, there were only two coffee shops he deemed worthy of his patronage, and his favourite, The Lady Cappuccino, had become somewhat of a camping ground during his first two years at university. In fact, most days he could be found tucked into a corner, sequestered in a fortress of books and nursing a mug that could probably fit over his head if it weren’t for his prominent ears.
It was a day like any other, with a soft murmur blanketing The Lady Cappuccino in cosy conversation, when Merlin’s perfectly constructed study nook was upended by a high-heeled harpy on a mobile.
“Well, I don’t see how that – Woah!”
Merlin shoved his chair back just as five and a half feet of agitated female ploughed into his table.
“Hey!” he shouted, grabbing the table as it swayed in place. A tower of books tottered near the edge, and he slammed a hand down on it before it could fall on top of the prone woman.
“Dammit!” swore the lady, grabbing the edge of the table to hoist herself up. She glared over the pile of fallen papers and books, searching for her dropped phone. Merlin stared at her, a little worried that if he drew her attention she might turn her ire on him and cause him to combust. With a short ha! of angry triumph she snatched up the phone, slamming it back over her ear.
“Don’t worry, I’m… for fuck’s sake Arthur, are you still talking?” she bit out, exasperation dripping from every syllable. Merlin coughed, leaning over to gather his abused papers. The lady’s eyes flashed toward him, and he stilled.
“Never mind, we’ll talk about it later,” she snapped into the phone. “Yes we can, it’s not that urgent. You’re just being a panicky little schoolgirl, now shut up.”
And she disconnected the phone with a decisive jab.
Merlin raised an eyebrow at her as she turned to him, dusting herself off.
“My apologies,” she said, in a clipped tone. Merlin tried not to snicker at her painstakingly upright manner.
“It’s okay,” he said, grabbing a few papers from the floor.
The lady pursed her lips. “Hardly,” she sniped, bending to pick up the books at her feet. “It seems like you’ve got half the lost library of Alexandria here.”
Merlin shrugged. “I’m thorough.”
“I’ll say,” she said, stacking a few more books on the table. “I know paralegals who would faint at the idea of this much research.”
Merlin looked at the wobbling stacks on his table and the carpet of scribbled notes, and couldn’t help but smirk a little.
“Go hard or go home,” he said, quirking an eyebrow.
The woman looked at him in surprise, before a grin stole its way across her features.
“Well said,” she chuckled. “Nothing’s worth doing half-way.”
“I guess that explains the heels then,” said Merlin, grimacing as he took in her eight-inch stilettos.
The lady’s face contorted in anguish as she looked down at her shoes. So far she’d been precariously balancing on one foot to avoid the snapped heel on her right.
“And they were so beautiful too,” she lamented, hopping into a seat so she could un-cinch her foot. “That’s why I tripped into you, I’m afraid. Stupid things could have held out a little longer.”
“Maybe if you bought you shoes for walking instead of skewering rogue hobbits it wouldn’t happen,” quipped Merlin, earning a glare.
“If a woman can’t strap weaponised shoes to her feet and make everyone in the near vicinity feel inadequate, then what’s the point in life?”
Merlin cocked his head to the side.
“You’re a little scary, you know that?”
The lady gave him her first genuine smile.
“Absolutely.”
She held out a hand.
“Morgana Prescott. It’s lovely to meet you.”
Merlin blinked at Arthur from across the room.
“Morgana? What did Morgana do?”
Arthur opened and closed his mouth a few times, at a loss for what to say.
“She… she met someone bad…” he said, his throat dry. “Something happened… but it wasn’t supposed to! I kept her safe. I did! She was never supposed to remember… but she knows… God, everything that happened…”
“Arthur, you’re not making sense,” Merlin interrupted. “What did she remember? Who did she meet?”
Arthur closed his eyes in anguish.
“You have got to be kidding me,” said Morgana, disdainfully. “You actually like Frankenstein over Dracula?”
“I’m a literature major, I’m obliged to go with the seminal text!” said Merlin, rolling his eyes. “Besides, do you even realise how illogical Dracula is? For god’s sake, Van Helsing, you know the bitch is a vampire! Stake her already! But no, let’s let her eat a few more kids so her husband can come home and get his ‘closure’.” Merlin threw his hands up at the end. “’Cause, you know, that’s not likely to cause problems at all.”
“What about the foreshadowing all through Frankenstein? ‘Oh! I learned so much and the world is so beautiful! But we’re all gonna die! I love my family so much! Look at the pretty mountains! But life is a whirlpool of despair!’ Blah blah blah, inevitable damnation. Good thing we weren’t trying to sustain tension here.”
“That is making a point about the dangers of scientific endeavour without conscience and the inevitability of – oh, screw that. At least Shelley knew how to pace a narrative. After five chapters of the Hardy Boys searching for Dracula while everyone with two brain cells knows he’s eating their lady friend I just wanted to throw the book out a window.”
Morgana sneered her I-am-right-and-you-are-a-philistine sneer and Merlin folded his arms in challenge. Both were gearing up to prove the other utterly deficient when an obnoxiously chirpy beep sounded from Morgana’s pocket.
“Oh, bugger,” she said, clawing it out of her pants. “This isn’t over!” she said pointing a perfectly manicured nail at Merlin. He smirked in response.
“Morgana Prescott,” said Morgana, decidedly less impassioned on the phone. “Oh, right. I forgot we were going to meet, sorry… No, I’m in town anyway, I came to see a friend… No, none of the ones you know, and you need to stop calling them she-devils… Because if they hear you they may actually try to chop off your bollocks… Are you kidding? I’ll hand them the knife… Oh, stop acting tough, we both know you’re terrified… Look, I’m at The Lady Cappuccino, how about you meet me here and we can head off together… No, he won’t mind. He’s a literature major with no life. You’ll be the second person he’s talked to all month. See you soo – ah!” Morgana promptly ended the call as a shower of sugar packets hit her in the face.
“You know,” said Merlin icily, “I do actually have a life outside of you, and most of my other friends aren’t heartless banshees with terrible taste in literature.”
Morgana delicately brushed the last of the packets off her skirt. “I’m sure you do.” She leant forward with a look of innocence. “Are they in the room with us now?”
Merlin sat back in the seat, looking petulant. “Perhaps they’re the real ones and you’re the hallucination. It would explain how you can drink triple-shot espressos without vibrating through the seat.”
Morgana smirked. “Science does seem to tremble at the scale of my sheer force of amazing.”
Merlin shook his head, snickering.
“So,” he said, changing the subject, “judging by the combination of affection and brutal disdain, that was Arthur?”
Morgana smiled. “We were supposed to meet for dinner today. I completely forgot.”
“I have that effect on the ladies.”
“So he’s going to meet us here,” she continued, talking over him. “I hope that’s okay.”
“Sure,” shrugged Merlin. “About time I met your infamous younger brother. Though apparently he’s heard nothing about me. Why, not Morgie, dear? Are you ashamed of our torrid affair?”
“Not ashamed, just greedily keeping you to myself,” she grinned, and her eyes softened. “Arthur’s very protective. He always has been. And he always presses me to be honest with him about my feelings. I know it’s because he cares, but it’s a bit too intense. Sometimes I need to step back.”
Merlin nodded. “That’s family, I guess.”
Morgana shook her head with a wry grin. “The best kind.”
The soft swish of the door alerted them to a new arrival, and Morgana signalled to the man over Merlin’s shoulder.
“Over here.”
Merlin cricked his neck, preparing to meet the notorious brother.
“Bloody hell, Morgana, would it kill you to keep a diary or something?” the voice was deep, and pleasantly smooth.
“I do, for the important things, like work and manicures. You don’t count.”
“Charming,” said Arthur, pulling up a seat. “So this is your friend?” He turned to look at Merlin and froze, his cheeks instantly paling.
“Yes,” said Morgana, not noticing her brother’s behaviour. “This is Merlin. I promise he’s not as destitute as his unwashed appearance might suggest.”
Arthur huffed a harsh laugh, quickly getting his breathing back under control.
Merlin stared at him.
“Are you okay?”
Morgana glanced at her brother, finally noticing his shaken appearance.
Arthur closed his eyes for a moment, then gave a smile that was very clearly forced.
“I’m fine. Of course. Sorry, it’s been a long day.”
“Are you sure that’s it?” said Morgana, shirking her ice-lady persona for a moment.
Arthur gave a slightly hysterical giggle and glanced between Merlin and Morgana, shaking his head.
“It’s nothing, Morgana. No need to worry,” he ran his fingers through his hair, and in a moment was once again the composed, charming young man that Merlin had expected.
“Dreadfully sorry, my friend,” he said with a surprisingly attractive half-smile. “I should be careful not to frighten off anyone brave enough to be friends with my dear sister.”
Merlin looked to Morgana, who frowned, but gestured for him to continue anyway. He turned his gaze towards the handsome newcomer and dismissed his worries.
“If she hasn’t sent me packing yet I doubt you could scare me off,” he said, in his usual Merlin tone: one part mischief, two parts challenge.
A grin slowly stole its way across Arthur’s face. “I’m glad. Maybe she’ll hold onto you yet.”
Merlin smiled, and told himself he had imagined the watery sheen in Arthur’s eyes.
“It was someone from a long time ago,” said Arthur, dragging his hand through his hair. “A woman I thought was gone for good.”
Merlin cocked his head to the side. “Who? Tell me.”
“Morgana’s sister, Morgause.”
“You two have another sister?”
“Not me, just her.”
“But… I thought you were full-blooded siblings.”
“We are, this time.”
“What does that mean?”
Arthur looked at him with eyes full of despair and pity. “I was hoping you’d never have to find out.”
“God, Arthur. Could you look much more uncomfortable right now?”
Arthur glanced at his dark-haired companion and purposefully stilled his fidgeting fingers.
“Sorry, Merlin. It’s just… she really should be here by now.”
Merlin rolled his eyes. “It’s a dinner reservation, not a doctor’s appointment. She probably lost track of the time.”
“I know, I know,” sighed Arthur, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I just worry about her.”
“I’ve noticed,” said Merlin turning away. “Can’t help that you’re stuck here with me either,” he muttered under his breath.
“What was that?”
“Nothing, Arthur,” said Merlin. “Look, let’s just go in. She can meet us inside.”
Arthur looked at Merlin for a moment, and nodded. Merlin pulled open the door.
“She’s not about to run into trouble, Arthur,” he said, when he noticed his companion looking over his shoulder. “I’m surprised you even think she’s that vulnerable. I reckon that girl could lead an army if she wanted.”
Arthur’s shoulder caught the side of the door as he passed through and he took a moment to gather his bearings, turning back to face his companion.
“I know she could,” said Arthur, his voice deep and weary. Merlin stared for a moment, sure he was missing something important, but Arthur merely gave him a sad smile and led the way to their table.
It was one of the many instances with Arthur that left Merlin feeling out of the loop. Sometimes it seemed that Arthur was trying to tell him something, with his cryptic half-responses and soft looks, but for the life of him Merlin could not figure out what, and he was getting exhausted trying to find the double meaning, just out of reach.
Merlin pursed his lips, damping down his irritation as he took a seat across from the confusing blonde.
“So,” Merlin began, clearing his throat. “I read that book you gave me.”
“Oh?” Arthur looked at him intently. “And?”
“And I seriously do not get your obsession with Arthurian legend.”
Arthur frowned. “It’s not an obsession.”
“That’s, like, the fourth Arthurian story you’ve made me read.”
Arthur shrugged, looking frustrated. “I thought you might like them!”
“I liked it the first time I read the story, but there’s only so many times you can see the same rehashed characters and relationships without getting tired of them. Especially since, no matter what happens along the way, it always ends with that god-awful fiasco at Camlann. And I haven’t seen a single version that does that ending justice anyway.”
Arthur scratched the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that we spend the whole story watching everyone protect Arthur and Camelot and getting really invested, and then at the last second he’s killed off, and the big consolation is that he’d done what he’d set out to do in the first place. It’s like he’s become irrelevant, because it’s only the mission that matters, and he was just a tool – one that’s now broken.”
Arthur swallowed, radiating tension. Merlin ignored it, and carried on.
“But the thing is, there’s always another mission. Always something new to fight for. But people are what push us to the front lines in the first place, who give us the will to fight. And King Arthur was just that for a lot of people. So in every telling of that story, I sit there, wishing that they focus on the man rather than the king. And I’m always disappointed.”
Arthur coughed. “You’ve thought about this a lot.”
Merlin shrugged. “With my name, that damn legend is inescapable.”
“And you’ve never – ” began Arthur, his voice catching, “… it’s never made you think… about the people… about whether they might be more than just stories…”
Merlin frowned. “Every legend has to come from somewhere. I figure Arthur was probably a warlord with a few colourful friends.”
Arthur huffed an angry laugh. “A warlord… God, there’s really nothing… how am I supposed to do this?”
Merlin watched him and shook his head in irritated confusion. He leaned forward, trying to catch Arthur’s eye. “Arthur? You’re doing that thing again where you babble like a crazy person.”
Arthur’s eyes flicked back to him, and he physically forced himself to relax.
“I do not babble like a crazy person,” he said, with as much dignity as he could muster. Merlin rolled his eyes.
“Of course you do, and you’re perfectly aware of it too.”
Arthur glared at him. “I deal with a lot of stress…”
“Around me.”
Arthur started. “What?”
“It’s only around me. I asked Morgana. You don’t go off on your weird babble-tangents with anyone else,” Merlin raised his eyebrows, trying to keep his voice both kind and firm. “In fact, she says you’re almost scarily composed when it comes to the hard stuff. Rough work days, illnesses, even mourning people you’ve lost. You don’t crack. Is it true that you once pulled a kid out of a car wreck?”
Arthur, rigid in his seat, jerked his head in affirmative, and Merlin blew air through his lips in admiration.
“See, I don’t think you realise how impressive that is. When the really crazy shit happens, you’re the one that everyone can rely on to hold yourself together. That’s incredible.”
“Where is this going?” asked Arthur, his tone clipped.
Merlin rubbed his neck, very uncomfortable.
“Sorry, it’s just… there’s always something that’s a bit too much, even for someone like you. And my point is,” Merlin bit his lip, and then blurted out, “I’m sorry I look like him.”
Arthur blinked, completely at a loss. “What?”
“The person that you lost,” Merlin’s words were coming fast. “I’m sorry I make you think of them… because there’s obviously a lot of pain there and…”
“What makes you think I lost someone?” asked Arthur, his mouth slightly open.
Merlin looked at him sadly. “Your… phase-outs… started when you met me. And it wasn’t anything I said. You went white as a sheet the moment you saw me. And sometimes you look at me and you seem properly happy for a second, and then I say something and it’s like you crash back down to Earth and you want to cry.”
Arthur’s mouth still had not closed. He looked completely at a loss for words.
“Whatever happened there, I’m really sorry,” said Merlin, trying to let his sincerity shine through. “He must have been very special.”
Arthur said nothing, simply closing his eyes. Merlin could see his hand clenching the table, knuckles bone-white.
“But,” continued Merlin, and Arthur’s eyes met his again. “I’m not going to go away. I like Morgana, she’s more fun than anyone I’ve met in ages. I’m not going to remove myself just because I make you uncomfortable.”
Arthur bit out a harsh laugh. “No, I don’t expect you would.”
Merlin smiled at him softly. Arthur sighed, delicately rubbing the corner of his eye.
The two sat in silence, sipping glasses of water as they waited for Morgana. Around them, a hundred distant stories played out in murmured conversation and loaded expressions.
“He was the bravest man I ever knew,” said Arthur, his voice soft, and regretful. “And when it was my turn to protect him, I failed.”
Merlin stared at him, swallowing tightly. He took a deep breath, and reached a hand across to rest on Arthur’s tensed fist.
Arthur, biting the inside of his cheek, let him.
“What does that even mean, Arthur? Is Morgana okay?”
Arthur closed his eyes. “She’ll be fine, I’m sure of that. She just…” He looked at Merlin with mournful eyes. “She’s not the woman you knew anymore.”
Merlin groaned in frustration. “Oh, for fuck’s sake! Can you just be clear for once? Who brought us here? Why did they do it? And I swear to God, if you give some wistful, poetic half-answer I will brain you against that wall!”
Arthur tensed, taking in Merlin’s flushed cheeks and pursed lips. A little fondness crept into his features, despite the stress practically bleeding from him.
“We’ve been brought here by a very powerful woman with a grudge against me and my friends,” he said, his voice deadened. “By the sounds of it, she’s got a scheme for world domination or some such rot. But she can’t make it work on her own, so she used Morgana to get to us.”
Merlin scrunched up his face in confusion. “So what, she thinks you can help her? What are you supposed to do?”
Arthur smiled a little pityingly. “No, I’m pretty sure she just took me to use as leverage. The one she wanted was you.”
The first time Merlin woke up after his death in Camelot he thought that the world had turned inside out.
His limbs were too small and flailed out of his control. He could barely see, though the brightness of the world still seemed overwhelming, and his thoughts were always disjointed, rushing away from him in a roiling, hazy fog that he simply could not cut through.
Such was the feeling of being reborn, though it would be several years before Merlin truly understood what had happened. He had been gifted a new body, a child’s body, and while his soul had flown into the new vessel with a vigour he had not felt in years, memories clinging on like vines to a fallen oak, it was still confined to the brain and mind of a newborn, fresh and unshaped.
So it was that Merlin grew and changed as all young children do, slowly relearning his identity as his mind shifted and settled to accommodate it. He wondered often why he had been brought back, if there was perhaps some new war he had to worry about, but with no great dragon or once-and-future prat to order him about, he allowed himself some time to relax with his newly-bestowed family. And if his soft-spoken, raven-haired mother ever noticed her boy staring into the distance, deep in thought, or saying something no one should expect to hear from a child, she simply dismissed it as one of those things that made the boy so special.
She was not Hunith, but Merlin loved her very much.
Many people would ask over the years how she had chosen his name, and she would laugh and say she had looked at her boy and the name had simply seemed right, almost like an angel had whispered in her ear. She was a bold woman, for no one had been brave enough to use that name since the death of Camelot’s great sorcerer, an old man with an illustrious legend.
When she told Merlin of her strange compulsion at age ten, he simply smiled.
“Me?” squeaked Merlin in incredulity. “Why the hell would she want me?”
“It’s a really long story,” said Arthur.
Merlin glared. “Then give me the goddamn cliffnotes.”
Arthur drew in a long breath. He looked at Merlin, trying to work out how to begin.
“Okay, the first thing you have to understand, and I know this is going to sound beyond crazy, is that magic is real.”
Merlin levelled an entirely unimpressed stare at him.
“What?”
In the fifteenth year of his first reincarnation, Merlin set out to travel the world.
He wasn’t sure what he was hoping to find – no wars had called him into their ranks, and he had no idea if anyone else from his old life had been reborn with him – but staying idle had never been something he could stomach, and after countless years of ‘destiny’ and ‘for the love of Camelot’, he found he could not function without a sense of purpose. So, the young-again warlock bade farewell to his family and comfortable life in search of the reason he had returned.
His search was long and mostly unsatisfying. He supported himself by offering his magical services, long since legalised under Gwen’s rule, to those he deemed worthy on his travels. He cured illnesses, blessed crops and helped keep order in some of the more dangerous parts of the kingdom. But the years trickled by, and while he made many great friends and helped hundreds of people in need, he never felt truly necessary. He could see no real reason he had been called back from Avalon.
Then, at age forty-three, he found Arthur.
Their reunion was nothing dramatic. Merlin was visiting a tavern with a farmer friend from the mountains when he caught a glimpse of sun-bleached hair across the room. Unable to help himself, he swung around to look at the blonde, jaw tensed, and when the man turned and met his eye, Merlin saw comprehension and a familiar sense of duty in his eyes. His king remembered everything.
Merlin stood, walking slowly towards his old friend, and Arthur met him half way. Neither made a sound, staring at each other, as though trying to convey with their eyes the thousands of things they never had the chance to say. Then all the breath left Merlin, and he dropped to his knees, wrapping his arms around Arthur’s hips and pressing his face into the folds of his shirt. Arthur threaded his hands through Merlin’s hair, tight and possessive, and the two silently held each other in the crowded pub, matching lines of tears sliding down their cheeks.
After that, Merlin stopped travelling on his own. Arthur was well known in his mountain village and managed to find a place for him very quickly. Merlin often wondered how Arthur could happily stay in one place, tinkering in his blacksmith’s forge, when he himself had been so discontent with his new life. He asked why Arthur never went looking for his destiny, for whatever had brought him back. Arthur evaded his answers for a long time, saying he had earned this peaceful time, that no war was brewing and no call had come for him. Merlin eventually backed off, slowly adjusting to the idea that perhaps there was no great purpose, perhaps this life was not a mission but a reward. It was an alien concept to him, but in time he learned to appreciate life for what it was, rather than what some higher power meant it to be.
Of course, that would be when Arthur finally decided to be honest with him.
One day, after Merlin had finished tilling the fields with the other men, Arthur put a hand on his shoulder and led him away to the edge of the forest. The two of them mounted a pair of horses and wended their way through the trees until a dismal-looking stone building came into view. Merlin cocked his head to the side askance, but Arthur simply spurred his horse ahead with a murmured, “You’ll see.”
At the door a stern looking matron greeted them with a nod. Arthur spoke to her in a low voice, Merlin trying not to let his skin crawl as he took in the damp walls and stark furniture. The lady led them through a dark corridor, finally coming to a heavy door with a square hole cut into the wood.
“Shall I let you in?” she asked in a brisk voice.
“That won’t be necessary,” said Arthur. The matron nodded, turning on her heal to leave them alone.
Arthur sighed, closing his eyes for a moment, then he gestured for Merlin to look through the observation hole. Brow furrowed, Merlin leaned forward, blinking in the flickering light, as a huddled form materialised in the far corner.
He gasped.
There, wrapped in a dirty white sheet and with her hands and feet bound, sat Morgana.
“She was born my cousin this time,” said Arthur, his voice tight. “She remembered, the same as us. Her parents couldn’t understand what was wrong with her. Even as an infant she was vicious, still out for vengeance.” His eyes drifted to the bent woman. “I was older; I knew what was happening. I thought maybe, since her brain was so young, I might be able to change her, give her a new life. But when she was four, she gave me this.”
Arthur pulled the collar of his shirt away from his neck, exposing a puckered, white scar, curling across his throat.
“I was lucky we had a physician nearby. After that, we all tried to keep her under supervision. Her magic hadn’t manifested yet, so we thought she was mostly harmless.” Arthur closed his eyes. “After you defeated her all those years ago I grew overconfident. I should have known better.
“She had an argument with another child when she was seven. None of us even know what it was about, but by the time we found the source of the screeching, his head had been bashed against a rock and she had blood running between her fingers.” He stared through the peephole. “She’s insane.”
Merlin stared in incredulity at the fallen lady. “You didn’t kill her.”
“I couldn’t!” said Arthur. “She’s my family, my responsibility. And what good would killing her here do? Will she be reborn again? To some other family without any idea what she is? We have no idea how this new life thing works, or even why it’s happening.”
Merlin frowned. “What about her magic?”
Arthur pursed his lips. “When I had her committed here, I warned them it might manifest. Those shackles are made of cold iron. They’ll suppress any powers that might show up.”
Merlin shuddered, stepping back with a hiss. Arthur put a hand on his shoulder.
“I know, Merlin. I know it’s awful, but what else could I have done? She’s a danger to everyone, everything we care for.”
Merlin took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He peered through the hole again, trying to equate the broken woman with the mighty witch he had once known.
Morgana seemed to finally sense their presence, shifting in place to gaze at the hole in her door. Her eyes locked with Merlin’s, and for one moment there was a bolt of recognition.
Then Morgana opened her mouth and bellowed all her hatred, grief and madness in one long, piercing scream.
“Magic, sorcery, whatever you want to call it. The world hides it really well these days, but it’s still there, under the surface.”
Merlin tugged at his chains, clearly itching to smack Arthur in the face.
“Christ, Arthur. Don’t bullshit me. Not now.”
Arthur sighed. “I don’t know how I can make you believe me. It doesn’t make sense. Fuck, nothing in our lives ever does. Just… let me tell you the whole story, and don’t call me a liar til I’m done.”
Merlin sat back on his heals. “So you can tell me a fairy story? Screw that, if you won’t tell me what’s happening I’ll find my own damn way out.”
He pulled at the cuffs around his wrists, already feeling the skin growing raw under their hold. His eyes scanned the room, looking for any structural weaknesses, perhaps even a piece of metal to pick the lock on the door. Arthur watched him with a kind of depressed amusement.
“The cuffs aren’t going to break anytime soon,” he said, holding up his own bloody wrist to illustrate the point. Merlin swallowed, eyes narrowing in anger at the blood dripping down his companion’s arm.
“And that door’s dead-bolted from the outside,” he continued, nodding to the door.
Merlin blew out all the remaining air in his lungs. His voice became very small. “So what happens to us then?”
Arthur looked at him, frowning. “We can’t do anything until they come back.”
Merlin slumped, drawing his knees into his chest.
Arthur leaned forward, protectiveness curling in his belly. “Merlin, I swear to God, I won’t let them hurt you. You hear me?”
“Oh good,” said Merlin, his voice sounding a little hysterical. “And what exactly are you going to do?”
“I’ll take them out when they come for us,” he smiled at Merlin’s disbelieving face. “Trust me, I’ve been in way worse situations before. The thing about Morgause, and every two-bit wannabe villain like her, is they always make a mistake. They think they’ve got everything covered, but there’s always some factor they didn’t consider, some opening they forgot to cover.” Arthur gave Merlin a steely look of determination. “I’ll find it, I swear to you, and when I do, I’m going to end this. I’m going to keep you safe.”
Merlin looked into Arthur’s eyes, and for a moment, against his better judgement, he believed him.
“Arthur! Your fuck-ugly shaggin’ wagon is parked in front of my car and if you don’t move the damn thing so I can leave this hell-hole of an apartment I’m going to set it on fire and roll it into a lake!”
Arthur lifted his head from his patch of drool on the couch cushion and slowly rolled himself into a sitting position.
“Hey, don’t knock the Lady Catrina,” He mumbled. “She could flatten your car in an instant.”
Merlin threw a cushion at him, hitting him in the face, and causing his hangover to blossom into full stampeding rhinoceros mode. He groaned.
“That truck is an angry, constipated stegosaurus on wheels. Why the hell give it that name anyway?”
Arthur smirked to himself. “Reminded me of a dear old friend of my father’s.”
Merlin rolled his eyes. “Yeah? Well, move the fucking thing or I’ll…”
“What the fuck is with all the screaming?” came a frustrated voice from upstairs. With pained, clearly unsteady steps, the rumpled form of Morgana emerged from the staircase.
“Arthur’s goddamn fossil of a truck has parked me in and I need coffee before the whole bloody world caves in,” groused Merlin.
“Arthur, move your fucking car so Merlin will stop whining like a little bitch.”
Merlin made a grunt of protest but Morgana shot him a withering look, which was somehow only enhanced by her tangled hair and bloodshot eyes.
Arthur groaned, pulling himself up from the lounge and scooping his keys off the counter.
“Fine, I need coffee too anyway.”
“Good,” said Morgana, turning back to the stairs. “Then maybe I can get some sleep without you two hellions bellowing at each other in my apartment.”
“I wasn’t bellowing!” protested Arthur, but Morgana waved him off.
“And can you take the wine bottles out to the trash on the way?”
Arthur glanced at the rather impressive hoard of glass bottles lined up on the counter, shuddering a little as his hangover greeted its mummy.
Merlin pulled a few bags from under the sink and began loading the bottles up, handing one bag to Arthur. The two of them left the apartment, dropping the bottles in the recycling with a clatter that sent nails driving into Arthur’s skull.
“We… may have overdone it last night,” said Merlin, rubbing his temples, to which Arthur huffed out a harsh laugh that left his stomach twisting in on itself.
“Come on,” he said, herding his companion to the monstrous truck in the driveway. Merlin baulked.
“But if I leave mine here I’ll be forced to come back and face Morticia in there!”
Arthur laughed, holding the door open for his friend. “You know perfectly well that by the time we come back she’ll be perfectly fucking composed and will probably have a stack of pancakes waiting. I swear she’s immune to hangovers.”
“And too damn nice for her own good,” said Merlin with a fond smile.
Arthur grinned, climbing into the driver’s seat. “That too.”
They drove the whole way in silence, and it was not until both had a latte big enough to swim in that either felt the compulsion to talk.
“The world makes sense again,” sighed Merlin, his voice sounding just a touch too pleasured to be appropriate.
“Now, now, Merlin. It’s not polite to orgasm in public.”
Merlin coloured, but grinned.
“I’ll not let you’re cultural prejudices bind me.”
Arthur chuckled, quietly taking in the atmosphere of The Lady Cappuccino.
“So,” he began. “How’s the job search going?”
Merlin groaned.
“You know, when I started a Literature degree the complete lack of employability seemed like a funny joke.”
Arthur smirked.
“Still feel like laughing?”
Merlin threw him a dirty look, taking a long drag of his coffee.
“I’ve been stuck at the same crappy retail store since graduation. You realise my pompous, stick-up-his-arse manager is actually two years younger than me?” he lamented, throwing his head back in despair.
Arthur chuckled. “Sounds awful. What have you told your parents you’re doing?”
Merlin peered at him in confusion. “Crappy retail. What did you think I’d tell them?”
Arthur shrugged. “I don’t know. They’re so proud of you for what you did at uni and half the time you seem really embarrassed about your job. I thought you might have hidden how the world took a crap on your prospects.”
Merlin shook his head.
“Nah, I hate lies. Especially the big ones.”
Arthur looked at him in interest. “Really?”
“Sure,” said Merlin, shrugging. “It’s not that I can’t. I’ve actually got quite the knack for it. But I like being honest.”
“How very moralistic of you,” said Arthur, face a little blank.
“It’s not that,” contradicted Merlin. “It’s just, I have a great connection with my family, and the people who stick around even when I’m a stark bastard often turn out to be really great friends. I think you lose a lot of that if you waste time hiding bits of yourself. Even if you do it to protect yourself or stop the people around you worrying.”
Arthur’s face had turned a little stony. “I guess it helps that there’s nothing you really need to hide.”
Merlin smiled. “I’m pretty lucky that way. No murderous grudges, no terminal illnesses, no spectacularly deviant fetishes.”
“Sounds… freeing,” said Arthur.
Merlin looked at him curiously. “You sound dubious.”
Arthur took a sip of his coffee, looking thoughtful. “I’m just not sure I could do that. Be totally open, or whatever.”
Merlin watched him, a small smile curling his mouth. “Maybe not, but if you’re ever ready to give it a go, I can take whatever you dish out.”
Arthur cocked an eyebrow at him.
“Well, maybe not,” amended Merlin. “I have no idea what goes on in the deep, dark recesses of your mind. But I can promise to listen and only make fun of you when it’s particularly hilarious.”
Arthur stared at him, and chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Do,” said Merlin decisively. “I am an awesome sounding board and can make an excellent soothing tea for when you finally do decide you want to break down like a weeping man-child.”
“Hey!” said Arthur, flicking a napkin at him. Merlin laughed at him, but then his face softened into a genuine smile.
“Really, though,” he said. “If ever….”
“Yeah,” said Arthur, a fond expression settling on his features. “Maybe one day.”
The two went back to sipping their oversized coffees, Merlin pointedly ignoring the warmth pooling in his cheeks.
Arthur surreptitiously gazed at his companion, assessing him. He was about to redirect the conversation into less sappy waters when he heard his name from across the room.
“Arthur! There you are.”
Arthur looked around to the newcomer in surprise.
“Gwen! What are you doing here?”
The sweet-faced brunette picked her way between the tables, smiling.
“You haven’t been answering your email in weeks, so I gave Morgana a ring and she said you’d be here.”
“Sorry,” apologised Arthur, suddenly very tense for no reason that Merlin could discern. “I keep forgetting to check and my phone died last week.”
Gwen offered him a small smile. “I thought that must be it. You’re never out of contact long.”
“I promise I’ll meet up with you and Lance for drinks sometime, but I’m a bit busy at the moment,” said Arthur, looking like he wanted to push Gwen from the room with his eyes.
Gwen looked taken aback. “Arthur, is everything okay?” she asked. Then she finally seemed to notice Arthur wasn’t alone. “Oh, gosh, I’m interrupting,” she realised.
Merlin did his best to stifle a chuckle.
“You should go,” said Arthur, his voice strained. Gwen frowned at him, holding up her hands in surrender.
“Okay, sure. I’ll just…” she trailed off as she caught sight of Merlin’s face. Her mouth slipped open as she stared at him.
“Merlin,” she whispered.
Merlin stared at her in confusion. “Um, yes? I guess Arthur’s mentioned me?”
Gwen frowned, looking at Arthur, who had closed his eyes in defeat.
“He’s…”
“Yes,” bit out Arthur.
“But he doesn’t…”
“No,” he snapped.
Gwen turned back to Merlin, worrying her lip. “Oh, Arthur,” she said, a tear slipping from the corner of her eye.
“Please just go, Gwen,” said Arthur, sounding almost lost. Gwen looked at him pityingly.
She hoisted her bag more firmly over her shoulder. “I’ll tell Elyan and the boys to organise a get-together next week. I’ll see you there.”
It was a command, however gentle the tone, and Arthur nodded, not looking at her. She continued to watch him for one long moment, before turning to leave. As she passed Merlin, she placed one hand firmly on his shoulder.
“I’m so glad he found you,” she whispered, and then bustled out of the shop.
Merlin stared after her for a moment, before turning back to his companion, who was refusing to look at him.
“I’m guessing she also knew the boy who looked like me?”
Arthur’s mouth twisted into a pained grimace. “She met him the same day I did,” he said, his voice wistful. He bit the inside of his cheek. “I wasn’t the only one who lost him.”
“Is this why you haven’t introduced me to your other friends?”
Arthur frowned.
“It’s more complicated than that. But I imagine you’ll be meeting them all soon anyway, now that Gwen’s seen you. You’ll probably get a few more looks like that.”
Merlin bit the inside of his cheek.
“Is she going to be okay?”
Arthur sighed. “Yeah, she’ll be fine.”
Merlin peered at him.
“Are you going to be okay?”
Arthur looked at him a moment, and finally smiled.
“Yes, I think so.”
Merlin had to control the slight blush creeping up his neck at Arthur’s tender look, and he couldn’t help but notice that, despite the dark subject, that particular smile had not seemed forced.
“Okay, then. If we have to wait til they come back anyway, you could try explaining all this to me without the crazy,” Merlin said, sounding dubiously hopeful.
Arthur chuckled, shaking is head. “Sorry, Merlin. The crazy’s kind of at the heart of all this.”
Merlin smacked his palm down on the ground in frustration.
“Dammit, Arthur! Can’t you just be straightforward with me?”
“I’m trying, Merlin!” yelled Arthur. He ran a hand through his hair, visibly having to calm himself.
“Look, you once said I could be totally honest with you and you’ll listen. This is why I never tried. It’s insane, I know that! But I need you to hear me out. Please, right now, I need you to keep your promise and listen.”
Merlin stared at him, disbelief and frustration written across his face.
“Fine,” he said, trying to cross his arms, only to be brought up short by the chains. “Start with the most important thing. You said they brought us here because they needed me. Why?”
Arthur looked at him sadly.
“You couldn’t have started with a simple question?”
Merlin glared at him, and he drew in a breath in preparation.
“They took you so they could bring back your magic.”
With Morgana locked up in the asylum, Merlin knew he and Arthur were bound to their little mountain village. Whatever was going on in the great wide world, she would always be the bigger threat.
So he returned to the fields, working amiably with the other villagers and having to physically stop himself from falling back into the role of royal manservant.
Arthur, to Merlin’s eternal irritation, had proven more than adept at taking care of himself in this life. Merlin had been so ready to rub their equal status in his face, but apparently Arthur had spent his entire childhood as a poor blacksmith’s son, learning how to do all the little tasks he had once palmed off to Merlin and proving more than equal to the task. Merlin had to hold in an angry huff the first time Arthur served him a full baked dinner and it turned out to be better than anything Merlin had cooked in either lifetime. When Arthur realised what was upsetting his friend, he doubled over with raucous laughter and would not stop until Merlin whacked his backside with a skillet. The chase that ensued and the hysterical cackles echoing through the village caused many to wonder about the strange pair at the end of the lane, but the two were so well loved that nobody ever brought it up with them.
All the while, Merlin was sending out letters to all the greatest libraries and universities, searching for information on reincarnation. A few books were sent to him, and one philosopher even sent a copy of his very long dissertation on the subject, but so far it seemed all the information was purely theoretical, and shed practically no light on their situation.
It was a cold day in late Autumn when their strange stasis came to an end. Merlin was bringing Arthur a large ham from the market, but was brought up short when he heard a thump from inside Arthur’s little cottage. He looked up in alarm, hurrying to the little door.
“Arthur?” He heard a muffled grunt from inside, followed by another thump.
Now feeling truly alarmed, Merlin unbarred the door with a flash of his eyes and stormed into the room.
“Arthur, what…” he began, but stopped short when he saw Arthur flat against the opposite wall, pinned there by shackles that he knew had not been there this morning.
“Welcome back,” came a silky voice from behind his ear. Merlin whirled around, just in time to see Morgana lift a hand and fling him to the wall beside Arthur, shackles immediately snapping over his own limbs. His head cracked against the wood with a painful rap that left him woozy and unfocused.
“Merlin?” called Arthur from beside him. “Merlin, can you hear me? Answer me, Merlin!”
“Did you know,” said Morgana, her voice practically singing with delight, “that iron can only keep magic subdued for a limited time?”
Merlin blinked, trying to force his eyes to focus. He could hear Morgana’s prancing footsteps drawing closer.
“Neither did I!” she said with a high-pitched giggle. “But I imagine the nurses at the crypt you sent me to will be more careful in future. Well, the ones that are left.” She grinned at the boys, an odd twinkle in her eyes, and it was clear that however cruel she had been in her first life, the insanity that gripped her now was something new and terrifying.
Merlin screwed his face shut, trying desperately to focus his magic. He gave it a colossal push, and heard a sharp crack as the bonds holding Arthur and himself in place snapped open.
Morgana gave a shriek of indignation as the two dropped to the floor, Arthur quickly gaining his bearings and stepping in front of Merlin.
“Morgana, the war is over,” said Arthur, edging towards the witch. “You have nothing left to fight for.”
Merlin was still on his hands and knees behind him, trying desperately to gather his wits.
Morgana pulled a thin dagger from her dress.
“This isn’t about the war, you stupid boy,” she spat. “This is about the one who cost me everything.”
Arthur braced himself for an attack, but to his surprise she simply raised a hand and threw him into the side wall. With fast, deliberate steps, she descended on a dazed Merlin, closing a hand around his throat and forcing him to his feet against the wall.
“You pathetic, weak little man,” she said, loathing dripping from every word, and she slid the knife between his ribs.
The sharp, slicing pain brought Merlin back to himself just as Morgana’s head snapped to the side, slammed by the heavy kettle in Arthur’s hand. The witch slumped, blood pouring from the deep dent in her skull, and without her hand pinning him to the wall, Merlin toppled forward.
Before he could hit the ground, Arthur’s firm arms caught him around the middle.
“Merlin?” said Arthur, his voice shaky. “Merlin, are you okay?”
He levered himself onto the ground, pulling Merlin’s weakening form against his chest – a painful facsimile of their last goodbye.
“It’s just a knife, Merlin,” said Arthur. “Nothing magic, you can heal yourself!”
Merlin felt blood bubbling up his airway.
“Can’t,” he rasped out, watching as drops of red flicked onto Arthur’s neck and face. “Too late.”
“But you’re a warlock!” shouted Arthur. “What good are you if you can’t save yourself?”
Merlin smiled. “You always did say I was useless.”
Arthur choked, holding his friend tight against his chest. “It will happen again, won’t it? You and I, we’ll come back again?”
“You’re not going anywhere!” snarled Merlin, indignant even as blood trickled down his chin.
“Tell me you’ll come back again!” bellowed Arthur, tears now streaming down his face.
“I…” whispered Merlin. “I don’t know.”
Arthur stared at him, then let his chin fall to his chest, breath hitching. “But you have to.”
Merlin’s breaths were getting harder, his lungs feeling like they had been filled with lead. With the last of his strength he reached across and took Arthur’s hand in his own, smiling softly. Then, slowly, his eyes lost focus, and his head dropped back onto Arthur’s arm.
Arthur held onto him long after the sun set.
By the time the confused villagers came to check on the suspiciously silent blacksmith, his cottage was empty save for the red stains on the floor and the body of a gaunt young woman with a broken skull. Arthur, and his enigmatic companion, had disappeared.