Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Something in his soul shattered that day. The day he screamed until the gods felt his pain and Fate herself wished a different ending. The day that the world became darker and the stars shed tears. The day the lands shuttered in mourning and the oceans stilled to silence. The day Merlin lost him.

The one who shone like the sun.

The one who was as kind as he was strong.

The one meant to rule, to unite Albion into a brighter future.

The other side of the coin. 

The Once and Future King… but how could there be a future without Arthur? How could there be a Merlin without his Arthur?

Merlin stayed at the lake of Avalon, staring at the eerie calm long after the boat had sunk and the sun had set. He remained at the lake, wishing for the grounds to swallow him whole. And when Merlin left, he didn't notice the change. That came later, but right now, he had a Queen and her kingdom without a King to face.

~

It took time for the kingdom to mourn her fallen King and soldiers, but slowly, her citizens picked up the broken pieces. Thanks to Guinevere, the clean-ups started almost immediately after Arthur and Merlin disappeared. Children ran around, never too far from their parents, scavenging the wreckages, pretending to be adventurers exploring a long-forgotten city. Women set to make food and clothes for the community, and the men slowly cleared the rubble of broken buildings. 

After a few long weeks, Camelot almost looked like it once did. But the wounds left from the war still loomed over the city, or that’s how it seemed to Merlin. He never got to see much of the reconstruction… or the reunions… or the funerals. What remained of the round table was almost always locked inside the throne room, discussing what came next. 

A month after the war, Guinevere was crowned Queen, and soon after, she got rid of the banishment against magic and appointed Merlin as Head Warlock. After that, it was meeting after meeting, problem after problem. Merlin’s magic was the only thing keeping the remaining five going, bringing them food and water. He almost always ended up summoning pillows and blankets for them to sleep because they rarely made it back to their rooms before sleep claimed them.

Well, almost all of them. Merlin didn’t really need to sleep anymore but that was probably something to deal with later, and he got so much work done during the quiet hours of the night that he would hardly complain.

It took a while for everyone to get used to his powers. Gaius was as helpful as always, having always known about his powers. However, Percy still jumped when Merlin floated a book to himself, and Guinevere froze briefly when her ink well was magically refilled before going back to signing her documents. The kitchen staff were having near-constant heart attacks when food would seemingly plate itself and fly off to the throne room, and the maids screamed for the first week straight when jugs would stop mid-air right before falling and supplies zipped over their heads toward different sections of the castle.

The only one Merlin was surprised didn’t react was Leon. When pressed about it, Leon simply shrugged his shoulders and said he guessed a while ago because “no one could survive being that clumsy around Arthur and not have something working for them” before turning back to the stack of papers that seemed ever growing in front of him.

It took 6 months for the workload to die down, 13 months for them to be able to get consistent sleep in their beds, 17 months for the crops to grow back to full capacity, 22 months for Guinevere to stop needing sleeping draughts for her nightmares, and, on the 2-year mark of Arthur’s death, Merlin realized he was no longer human.

~

Every day, he promised himself that today would be the day he would leave. And each day he found himself with some task that kept him busy long enough that he would stay for another. He witnessed Sir Leon propose to Guinevere. He watched Sir Percival settle down with a lower lord’s daughter. He went to the baby showers of his god-children and the funerals of his mentors. 

Throughout the years, Guinevere made an excellent Queen with Leon at her side as King consort. Camelot shone brilliantly again under her rule and changed for an even brighter future. The two of them, however, didn’t change much after the war. Sure, they saw each other almost every day, and Merlin was one of her closest advisors, but he couldn’t bring himself to be her friend again. He sat with her on the nights she could do nothing but cry but never turned to her for the same. She had pleaded with him for fifty years for him to call her Gwen again, but his guilt swallowed his voice whenever Merlin tried. Merlin didn’t think he deserved to be called her friend, not after letting both of the loves of her life die. 

He stayed until the day Guinevere died.

Chapter Text

In the 5th and 6th centuries, Merlin spent looking for ways to die. 

He climbed the tallest mountains, too close to the gods, who didn’t need the air for an average human to live. He tied the heaviest stones he could find to his feet, sinking to the bottom of the North Sea. All the magical beasts showed him varying levels of respect, but they all seemed to wish him no harm (if he could die by eye daggers, however, the Sidhe would have long sent him to the goddess). Countless broken swords, axes, daggers, and any other man-made weapons prove that he can’t die by human means. He still carries around Excalibur but can’t bring himself ever to mar the memory of Arthur lingering on the enchanted sword.

Merlin decides that if he can’t join Arthur by his own means, he’ll have to wait for Arthur to return to him. It wasn’t an easy decision for him to make. The first few centuries after were filled with longing glances at jagged cliffs and almost reverent-like handlings of rope, but he kept living. 

He tried staying still during the 11th century, letting Mother Nature claim him as her own. His magic encased him with beautiful flowers of anemone, asphodel, and evening primrose. He mapped the stars and watched the clouds go by, his magic making the forest around him grand and bright. Trees towered all around with wildflowers taking over any open space on the floor. Animals, magical or not, thrived in his forest.

Their forest, he supposes, since he stood overlooking the lake of Avalon, never one to leave Arthur’s resting place for long.

Merlin didn’t stay for too long, forever being a social creature. His return to civilization went unnoticed and he made a home wherever he settled down like he had always been there.

~

Thousand of years went by. War raged, and civilizations fell. Babies were born, and discoveries were made. Songs, stories, and poems were written. Humanity explored space and the seas. And Merlin watched it all, learned it all, and engaged in everything he could. 

Merlin was as bright as the sun and as enchanting as the moon. He met all kinds of people, had friends and lovers alike (you should’ve seen him during the 70s). People seemed drawn to him, offering him jobs, food, trinkets, a space in their beds. Merlin took it all in with a grace he, at some point, developed through the years.

Actually, a lot about him had changed, evolved. After a year of shadowing a blacksmith, he found himself with a skill for craftsmanship and a nice layer of lean muscle to show for his hard work. A few seasons in a traveling performance group expanded his knowledge of music and entertainment, his hands deft at the harp and piano. A couple of months in a college led him to study under astronomers, mathematicians, and scientists. He painted under masters and danced in the ballet, leaving him with a soft elegance. In the ‘40s, he worked as an electrician; in the ‘80s, he was a nurse; and in the 2000s, he was a chef. Through it all, he took in everything, every technological advancement, every political policy, any and everything that could help Arthur when he came back.

Because that was what this was all for, Arthur. He was the Once and Future King, so he would have to return.

Right?

Chapter Text

Merlin kept to a pattern. It kept him alive and sane through… however many years it had been now. He rose before the sun, something leftover from serving under… Merlin would pad his way through his home, light on his toes so as not to step on the creaky floors. Maybe today would be the day he finally fixed the old wood, but it gave the house character, so he left it for another day. While Merlin entered the kitchen, his magic would swirl around, opening cupboards, picking fruits, gathering the flour and eggs, and gently placing them on the counter. He picked up many recipes throughout the years, but old comforts called him to pancakes most days. After eating at the small dining table he positioned so it would always be in the sun, he tended to the garden. Merlin’s living room functioned more as a greenhouse, with plants spilling into the back garden. He didn’t mind how his small cottage seemed overrun by herbs and flowers or how trees covered every view out the windows. The plants kept him company throughout the day, his magic becoming so sensitive that he could pick up on the subtle “emotions” coming from them. When the seemingly endless gardening ended, Merlin would read, play the piano, or sew. And Merlin would call it a night when the moon rose high in the sky, and his candles had burned low.

It was good to keep to a pattern. He rose before the sun and padded his way through his home, careful not to step on the creaky floors. Merlin considered fixing them, cutting down one of the trees from the backyard, and fashioning new flooring. Once he entered the kitchen, Merlin’s magic would zip around, gathering utensils, picking up the butter and cheese, and picking the vegetables. Merlin picked up many recipes throughout the years, but old comforts called him to an omelet most days. After he washed the dishes, Merlin would tend to the garden. Merlin’s living room functioned more as a greenhouse, with plants spilling into the back garden. He didn’t mind how his small cottage seemed overrun by herbs and flowers or how trees covered every view out the windows. The plants kept him company throughout the day, his magic becoming so sensitive that he could pick up on the subtle “emotions” coming from them. When the seemingly endless gardening ended, he would paint, dance, or build. And Merlin would call it a night when the moon rose high in the sky, and his candles had burned low.

It was good that ... kept to a pattern. He rose before the sun. Merlin picked up many recipes throughout the years, but old comforts called him to English breakfast most days. The plants kept him company throughout the day; he talked to them, and they talked back (you hear them too, right?). He would do yoga, bake, or write. And Merlin would call it a night when the moon rose high in the sky, and his candles had burned low.

What day is it? How long has it been?

The tall man was happy that he had a pattern. He rose before the sun and walked through his home. The floors creaked as the black-haired man entered the kitchen. His magic spread, searching for milk, grabbing seasonings, and picking the fruit. The man’s living room functioned more as a greenhouse, with plants spilling into the back garden. He didn’t mind how his small cottage seemed overrun by herbs and flowers or how trees covered every view out the windows (where did the sun go?). And the tall man would call it a night when the moon rose high in the sky, and his candles had burned low.

Merlin kept to a pattern. It kept him alive and sane. He rose before the sun. Merlin would pad his way through his home, light on his toes so as not to step on the creaky floors. Today may be the day he finally fixed the old wood, but it gave the house character, so he left it for another day. While Merlin entered the kitchen, his magic would swirl around, opening cupboards, picking fruits, gathering the flour and eggs, and gently placing them on the counter. He picked up many recipes throughout the years, but old comforts called him to pancakes most days. After eating at the small dining table he positioned so it would always be in the sun, he tended to the garden. Merlin’s living room functioned more as a greenhouse, with plants spilling into the back garden. He didn’t mind how his small cottage seemed overrun by herbs and flowers or how trees covered every view out the windows. The plants kept him company throughout the day, his magic becoming so sensitive that he could pick up on the subtle “emotions” coming from them. When the seemingly endless gardening ended, Merlin would cry, scream, and... (please help). Merlin would call it a night when the moon rose high in the sky and his candles had burned low.

He woke up before the sun. The cottage was deafeningly silent. Maybe he would step on the creaky floors to hear something, to feel the uneven surface beneath his feet. He went back to bed before even making breakfast.

Merlin had to follow his pattern. Merlin would rise before the sun, make his breakfast, and contemplate redoing his flooring over tea. His magic would be loose and free, touching everything in the tiny cottage. He would tend the garden and then do anything to keep his mind busy, to keep it from fracturing. And when he couldn't stomach the thought of being alive anymore, he went to bed.

Chapter Text

“You’re running away.”

“I’ll have you know, I am standing perfectly still.”

“You know what I mean, Mer lin.”

The voice was met with silence.

It was quiet, far too calm for a sunny day. No birds sang high in the breeze, no crickets chirped their melodies, and not even the breeze swayed through the trees. 

“How long will you keep this up? How long must you hide in this…” The figure gestured around the sky, the hill, and the small cottage that sat upon it. “Facade?” He finished.

A breath. “What facade?”

The two men were standing on the patio, facing acres of land. Side by side, their differences are ever more pronounced. One looked aged, not in appearance, since he still looked in his twenties. No, it was in the wary look in his eyes, the way he held himself up, or maybe it was the sorrow that seemed to paint his skin like a light wash of watercolor. The other looked the same as the days before his death. Back when he was sunlight itself, brilliant and bright.

“You were always such a terrible liar.” There was a pause. “Well, not for things that mattered anyway.”

A dry laughter filled the air briefly. “I happen to think I lied about something big, life-changing even, for a long time.”

“How strange is it that something can be so ‘life-changing’ yet everything is still the same?”

“The same?” Merlin snapped his head to the other, his eyes blown wide and his voice angry. Then he turned back around, rubbing his hands over his face. “I genuinely have gone mad, haven’t I? Dreaming up a dead man to tell me things that have never come to pass.” High, strained laughter started, murmurings of ‘I’ve truly lost it’ and ‘Couldn’t have imagined up a better story?’ cutting through occasionally.

“Oh, come on, you looked at me for like five seconds that time!” Arthur didn’t seem to mind his friend's mild mental breakdown. If his smile was anything to go by, he rather enjoyed it. “And what’s this about me being in your head?” Arthur feigned hurt. “I am quite real.”

That broke Merlin out of his trance, his hands flying off his face. “Arthur, you died . Years upon years ago, and you didn’t come back.” Tears stung at the corners of Merlin’s eyes. “You were supposed to come back.” The ‘for me’ rang unspoken between the two. Merlin pressed his hands briefly back to his eyes, attempting to collect himself again. “You were supposed to be the ‘Once and Future King’. But you went and died, and I waited for centuries, for eons.”

Arthur’s face softened, and he breathed to say something, but Merlin continued his rant. “I waited and watched the world move on. I waited and learned with the times. I waited and watched our kingdom, YOUR KINGDOM , fall and saw every other do the same. I waited, and” Merlin’s voice cracked, tears freefalled from his eyes. Arthur reached for Merlin in an effort to comfort him, but his hand passed through Merlin’s shoulder. As if that didn’t hurt enough, Merlin still moved his shoulder away, his glare clearly portraying his anger. “I waited and watched as humanity, along with everything else, died.”

In Merlin’s sorrow, he didn’t notice his magic failing for the first time in ages. Glamorous peeling away like old paint, revealing patches of the real world behind it. The luscious green fields were nothing more than dry dust. The cloudless, blue skies were tinged red with vicious black clouds seemingly fighting for space. Up to a few feet from the old wooden patio, everything fell away to how it truly was.

Arthur looked at what the world had become, a far cry from the beautiful lands of Camelot. But this is what it had turned into, hadn’t it? Merlin never went far from his home for long, building the cottage on the outskirts of what used to be the Lake of Avalon. This was now the world that Arthur had long left behind.

“You’re a prat, you know.” The shaking voice snapped Arthur back to the previous conversation. Merlin straightened himself out, wiping away the tears. “If you refuse to be nothing more than a figment of my obviously broken mind, I guess there’s nothing more I can do but travel back to the real you.”

With those words, Merlin returned to the cottage, purposely walking through Arthur’s incorporeal form and leaving Arthur to stare at the scenery around them. Seemingly with a mind of its own, Merlin’s magic swirled around, picking up the broken pieces of the glamour. It reminded Arthur of when the maids would glue pieces of a shattered vase back together. As the cracks and fractures in Merlin’s illusions stitched themselves back together, the perfectly blue skies replaced the dark storm clouds again, and luscious green fields spread as far as the eye could see. 

Arthur turned to the cottage to see Merlin excitedly running around his home through the kitchen window. A slight frown formed on Arthur’s face, and he sighed. Arthur’s words went unheard by Merlin, but he still managed a weak, “I’m not in your head.”

Chapter Text

The next few weeks were chaos—papers filled with diagrams and equations lined every inch of space. Theoretical magic bounced around, breaking multiple plant pots in the process. Small trinkets from different eras littered the floors. And in the center of it all was Merlin. Well, Merlin and a whiteboard.

“Where did you even get that from?” Arthur asked, sitting on the arm of a floral-print wingback chair that Merlin had picked up around the 1720s. The colors had long faded, and after an incident that involved a hair dryer, a cue stick, and a bachelor party a few centuries ago, Merlin had to do an extensive patchwork cover-up to the top of the chair. All this was to say, Arthur looked very silly as he gave Merlin his signature ‘I’m the king, and you should respect me’ look while ducking his head to avoid a flying book.

After Merlin managed to stop laughing—which took longer than it should have because, yes, Arthur, you should’ve seen your face when the plant pot landed in your lap—he pointed to the bolded words written at the top of the whiteboard with a laser pointer. “Rules to Save Arthur and the timeline keep Morgana from going evil and unite Albion… Well, the name needs work, but you get the point.”

Arthur, still stuck on how Merlin seemingly summoned said laser pointer out of thin air, considering he wasn’t holding it a minute ago, didn’t have much helpful insight on what the new name could be. “OK, we’ll get back to the name later, but more important are the five rules™, or things I need to change once I get back to the future. Number one– Arthur, pay attention; I need a captive audience.”

The rules Merlin must follow to keep Arthur alive™:

1. Don’t let Arthur die
2. Figure out how to get Arthur to lift the ban on magic
3. Don’t let Morgana be evil (and Mordred)
4. Figure out how to deal with Uther
5. TELL NO ONE THAT YOU’RE FROM THE FUTURE

“I think it’s a simple list to keep!” Merlin looked pretty proud of himself, smiling at the board before returning to look at Arthur.

Arthur decidedly was not proud of Merlin for his rules™ if his look of plain disbelief was anything to go by. “Ignoring that half of your ‘rules’ are things you have yet to figure out. Have you even planned the logistics of that? What time are you going back- scratch that; have you even figured out how to go back? This plan seems like a half-baked disaster waiting to happen.”

Merlin scowled at him, “Of course, I figured out how to time travel. I even have notes on the spell that I used and had to create myself, by the way! As for what time I plan to return to… time is somewhat inconsistent regarding exact dates. The magic behind it seems too elemental—too temperamental in a way—for precision. In my past trials, it was more based on a general feeling of the time I wanted to go to.” He took a deep sigh and ran his hands through his hair. “Ugh, I’m not explaining this well. For lack of better words, the spell requires me to ask the strings of time to bring me to a feeling tied to a time and place I’ve once been to. It’s almost the same as regular teleportation; I can’t go to a place I haven’t been to before, but as long as I can imagine a place, I can teleport there. Only time magic has always been fickle. Stopping time, even for a single object, is second nature to me, and turning back time by only a few moments is simple enough. You just have to grab the strings and pull it back to the time you wanted.”

“So that's how you reversed time on that pitcher of water you spilled this morning. That sounds much simpler than I thought you did in hindsight.” Arthur didn’t realize he had said that aloud and looked puzzled when Merlin laughed at him.

“Yes, it is a pretty simple piece of magic when you’re only moving time by a small amount. But this spell isn’t for a few moments; I have to go back eons, and you can’t really hold onto the strings for that long. The strings are always splitting off from one another, forming knots in places and twisting around. The only way I’ve been able to travel back was by hanging onto a feeling and willing the strings to take me there. That did take a lot of trial and error, though. The feeling has to be specific. I ended up in the middle of the Wars of the Roses because I only thought of returning to early-century England. It was nice to see real people and not a figment of my imagination, even if they were actively trying to kill one another. I think of it as asking a genie to grant you a wish; I told you about those, right? Anyways, I have to ask or think of a specific time I want. Unfortunately, we didn’t keep exact dates in our time, and I wasn’t in the right headspace in the following years to dock down what years we existed.”

Arthur took a second to process all of what Merlin told him. He had the same look as when they were planning for war or he was considering a consequential deal with another kingdom. Merlin felt a pang of longing for a time long past but reminded himself that he would be there once more soon enough. “What ‘feeling’ will you go for then if you can’t do an exact date? I think one of the crucial events, like Morgana’s siege or my coronation, might be a good idea.”

“That’s too late. Morgana would have already gone down the wrong path, and it would be hard to convince you that not all magic is evil when you’re facing down your deranged sister, no offense. I need to go back early enough to stop Morgana from going bad but late enough that we’re friends. I don’t think I could pretend I hate you as much as I did initially.”

Arthur gives a faux look of offense, his hand pressed to his heart. “You hated me, Merlin? I’m the one who had to put up with an insolent servant who couldn’t even mop a floor correctly, let alone display proper propriety and respect.”

“Oh please, you hated me too. Plus, if one more person bowed to your every whim and fancy, your head would be as large as your stomach! Arthur, no. Just because I said something you don’t like doesn’t mean you should throw a pillow at– AH!”

After the two finished running after one another and the room was in a worse state than before, Merlin settled back in front of the board. He didn’t think too hard about the fact that Arthur shouldn’t have been able to touch that pillow, let alone throw it at him. “Oh! One more thing, I can’t touch anyone.”

“Merlin, what are you talking about?” Arthur tilted his head to the side and gave Merlin a look that told him Arthur thought he was being dumb.

“It took a few tries to figure out how time travel worked. I can go to places I’ve been or times I’ve been, which is how I ended up at the Wars of the Roses, even though I was in Asia then. Well, once I figured that out, I went to a cafe I used to frequent in the 2000s. I’ve never been able to make coffee like they do, and I can’t explain the frustration of craving something you had thousands of years ago. Sorry, I'm off track. Anyway, when I got there, I saw an old friend who used to live in the area, Evangeline. I hugged her, but when I pulled away, her face was ashen. See, the thing is, Evangeline died in a car wreck a few months from the date I traveled to. She saw everything I knew about her from that date to her death. Gods, she was inconsolable. I used some mind magic that I would rather never have to use again to erase our meeting that day from her memory.” Merlin shivered, remembering the slimy feeling he got whenever he used mind magic.

“I experimented a bit after that. An old dog I had instantly remembered me, even though he was only a puppy. Criminals whose trials I had been the prosecuting attorney for remembered details about their crimes that they had yet to do. I only tried two more of my past friends before deciding never to touch anyone.”

“Saying that you’re not going to touch anyone is great and all, but have you thought about this practically? What happens if someone bumps into you? You can’t avoid touch forever.”

“From what I’ve seen, there has to be some point of intention behind the touch for any memories to cross over. Touch through fabric or even an incidental brush doesn’t seem to trigger any future memories. So this is my solution.” Merlin then produces previously-stored gloves in his pockets and shows them to Arthur. “Don’t worry, I would still be able to do all my chores with them.” They look like regular leather gloves from the outside, but Merlin added a few enchantments to them. Aside from the obvious durability and lightweight spells, Merlin created an enchantment that only let the gloves be removed if he wanted them to.

“See, I thought about it all. I just need to pack my bag, and I’ll be ready to travel back!” Merlin practically radiated his excitement, which was only slightly dampened when he saw Arthur’s look of concern.

“Look, Merls. I know you’re anxious to return, but you must think this through. You’ve barely had an idea of when you want to go back, this touch thing seems a lot more precarious than you seem to want to admit, and your rules are shaky at best. You don’t want to rush into this and get ahead of yourself. Will you stop trying to pack and listen to me? This doesn’t seem like a good plan, Merlin!”

“I KNOW!” Every object floating around crashed to the floor, and the cottage was filled with an aching silence. Merlin looked down to the satchel in his hands. It had once been Gaius’s and was one of the few objects he took with him when he left Camelot. Gods, he missed Gaius. He missed everyone. Merlin knew he should stop and formulate his plan but after so many years of being alone and even longer since he’d been home, Merlin couldn’t wait. “I know, but it’s the best I can do. I just- I just want to go home, Arthur.” Merlin looked up at Arthur, tears clumping his lashes together.

Arthur’s face melted into something kinder. It wasn’t sympathy but a sad understanding. “OK, Merlin, I trust you. Let’s go back home."

Chapter Text

Merlin ended up taking Arthur’s advice and waited for a few days. He packed and planned and cursed time for blurring his memory. Did Edwin come to Camelot before Lancelot or after? Was Leon’s hair more dirty blond or golden? Merlin didn’t remember if Percival was 1.98 or 2.04 metres. He couldn’t quite recall how crooked Gwaine’s sly smile was or the sound of Elyan’s laughter. Small things like dates and characteristics slipped out of his head, and he desperately wanted to remember. To etch it permanently into his brain.

Merlin also didn’t remember when that evil, manic look set into Morgana’s eyes or what Mordred looked like in the final battle, and he never wanted to know again. That’s why he had to go back, to make history a happier story to tell, even just for a chapter.

He finally ran out of excuses not to go. His satchel (equipped with a nice expansion charm) housed all of his favourite books, clothes, rare potion ingredients, and anything he thought would help at some point. He checked that all of the trinkets that he had acquired over the years were secured inside, which included a shard from the crystal cave, the rabbit’s foot Gauis gave him, a flower crown made by a young druid girl, and a few “shiny” things he picked up like a crow throughout the years.

The warlock patted himself down, making sure his clothes were straight and he had everything on him. Gloves-check, shoes-check, satchel-check… was that everything? What if he forgot something? Merlin thought that he should check the house again, just to make sure he had everything.

“Merlin, you’re throwing yourself into a panic. I’ve seen you check that drawer no less than five different times, and I’m pretty sure all you keep in there are batteries.” Arthur was currently in the corner of the room, definitely not hiding for Merlin’s slightly manic packing. “Weren’t you the one who wanted to hurry and get home?”

Merlin swung around to face the apparition. “You know, if someone didn’t have to be so stabbable, we wouldn’t be in this position in the first place, but nooooo.” The rest of his argument died down into vaguely threatening mumbles. Arthur stopped trying to listen when he heard Merlin threaten to put a rat in his bed when he got back.

It took a few hours but Merlin had searched every inch of his home and really couldn’t stall much longer. He took a deep breath and got to work on the spell. Lemon seeds, mandrake leaves, and a petal from a water lily. It wasn’t the most complicated spell in the world, but the power it took was the main reason Merlin had been the world’s first and last time traveller.

To his side stood Arthur. Merlin would never say it aloud, but he was quite glad for Arthur, even if he wasn’t really there. “Ready to go back home?” Merlin prayed that his voice didn’t crack.

Arthur looked into those eyes of the bluest ocean. He saw how nervous Merlin was, how scared. He knew that Merlin was terrified of messing up again. And he smiled. “Shouldn’t keep them waiting for much longer.”

Merlin held the eye contact for a few seconds more. He felt safer under Arthur’s gaze, more at peace than he’d felt in ages. And when he was ready, he raised his hands, eyes shining like melted gold, and chanted.

“Strenġas of ċierr aŝendan mec edhwierft æt hwonne wichita mæġe bēon ġedydest. Hlystest mín bēn āfēhst mec edhwierft æt ðær sê bescuton wōh,” His voice got louder with every syllable, and his feet slowly left the ground. “ Strenġas of ċierr aŝendan mec edhwierft æt hwonne wichita mæġe bēon ġedydest. Hlystest mín bēn āfēhst mec edhwierft æt ðær sê bescuton wōh. ” The very air around them whispered, chanting the spell with him. The hair on his arms stood up as every atom buzzed with magic. “ STRENĠAS OF ĊIERR AŜENDAN MEC EDHWIERFT ÆT HWONNE WICHITA MÆĠE BĒON ĠEDYDEST. HLYSTEST MÍN BĒN ĀFĒHST MEC EDHWIERFT ÆT ÐÆR SÊ BESCUTON WŌH. ”

The sound of everything rang louder and louder. Windows shattered, and the paint peeled down the walls. Pillows exploded, raining down feathers and glass all over the living room. 

Arthur saw the cracks in the floors and ceiling and knew the cottage was going to come down around them. The noise was just getting impossibly louder, and debris clouded his vision. Arthur was pretty sure he might have been yelling for Merlin, but he couldn’t even hear himself. A bright runic circle flashed beneath the floating warlock, and in a moment of pure panic, Arthur reached out to grab him.

And everything went silent.

Chapter Text

Merlin floated amongst a sea of blinding white. Images of time flashed by, the colours and sounds distorting and bending around him. Merlin blinked, and years passed by. His mouth was open, but there was no way to tell if anything was coming out. Merlin was everything he ever was and nothing and something new.

Time was slowly down and speeding up, and stayed still. Merlin didn’t know how long he had been falling, flying, screaming .

And in an explosion of the same molten gold that flowed through his veins, he was home.

~

Merlin patted himself down. Spells this powerful could be extremely dangerous if one wasn’t cautious. He smiled at the similarities to a rollercoaster worker boredly stating to keep one's hands and feet inside the vehicle at all times. His smile faded as his mind unhelpfully wondered if he would ever get to ride one again.

After his check-over (in which he happily remarked that his satchel and all of its contents were safely transferred with him), Merlin looked around the room he was achingly familiar with. The windows and pre-lit candles kindly told him it was just past dusk, which was good since he didn’t know if he could deal with his servant duties at the moment. The warlock felt tears slide down his face as he took in the tables overflowing with potions and brewing stands, the shelves near collapse with the weight of thousand-page books toppled on top, or the small cot in the corner of the room where Gaius would sleep.

Speaking of, where was Gaius? Where was Merlin? Well, it's more like when was Merlin, but semantics.

Merlin had no opportunity to figure that out since a tentative knock sounded at the door. He froze. What if it was Gwen, his friend that he was convinced he failed, or maybe one of the knights, with their teasing smile that he feared he didn’t deserve, or it could be Arthur?

The door creaked open, and every thought left Merlin’s head.

She was wicked and powerful. Every step she took shook the earth with her rage. Her power crackled with all of the anger she harboured within. She- 

“Is Gaius here?” Morgana’s voice cracked around the words, her eyes darting around the room, hoping to find the mentioned man hiding in one of its corners.

Merlin felt himself fall apart and shatter on the floor. This was the woman who had killed every hope and dream he had. The one responsible for countless loss of innocent lives and years of terror that shook generations. Morgana was at fault for Arthur’s death.

But so was Merlin. 

Because he was the reason she was like this. He turned her way. Merlin was the one who lied. That poisoned. That conspired and sneaked behind everyone’s back.

This was the moment that time chose, the moment where everything went wrong. But Merlin was frozen inside himself. He was seeing double. Merlin saw the gaunt yet terrifyingly beautiful monster that was so lost in her own grief and anger that she saw nothing else. He also saw the terrified but strong king’s ward, who was barely holding herself together in the middle of the room.

“Please, Merlin, it’s urgent!” Her eyes, so tired and scared, held him in place and took all of the breath out of his lungs. What was he supposed to do? He wanted to tell her to get out, to scream that she didn’t deserve Gaius’s calming presence, to send her flying into a wall, to scream to the sky all of the wrongs the world had committed to them all.

“Merlin, are you alright?” And Merlin broke down into tears because he remembered something he had long forgotten. Before all of the horror and fighting, before the anger and hatred, before the pride and lies, Morgana was kind.

Merlin suddenly had hands wrapped around his back and felt himself being pulled into a hug. Soft hands wiped the tears from his cheeks, and gentle words were spoken into his hair. Bottles of anguish and anger that he kept trapped deep inside burst open. Merlin trembled in her hold, crying tears for a past that no longer existed. Morgana only held him tighter and led him to a nearby bench

When Merlin pried open his eyes, he heard Morgana give a sigh of relief. “My goodness, Merlin. What has gotten into you? Are you alright? Did something happen with Gaius or your Mother? Do I need to strangle Arthur for you?” Merlin tried not to flinch at the last part, especially when her eyes only spoke of worry for him.

“There is no need to go to such drastic measures for me. I honestly do not know what came over me. I’m sorry you had to see that,” Merlin said with a sad smile. He pawed at his eyes until they were red and dry.

Morgana’s hands shot up to stop his actions. “Nonsense, Merlin. What are friends for?” Her smile was a replica of his, and he remembered what Morgana came here for.

“Well then, thank you. Now, was there something I could help you with?” Just as quick as the words came out, Morgana’s smile fell. 

“I really should talk to Gaius about this.” She had to get up, pulling away her hands that Merlin didn’t realise were still holding his. “Where is he? It was rather important.”

Considering that this night happened years ago for Merlin, he didn’t actually know where Gauis was. But Merlin did know he wasn’t here. “He’s gone out, don’t know when he’ll be back. Is there anything I can help with? I’ve helped Gaius with those sleeping draughts, and I could get you one-”

“NO!” Merlin couldn’t help the violent flinch that bolted through him. If she asked, he would simply blame the breakdown from earlier. Luckily, Morgana was too caught up with her own issues to notice. “Sorry, I don’t mean to yell, but I don’t need those potions. They don’t help.”

“We’re friends, aren’t we, Morgana? You can tell me what’s wrong. You can trust me,” He ignored the break in his heart and tried again a little stronger, “You can trust me. You know you can.” Merlin tried to keep his voice calm and gentle. He remembered how this conversation went last time and he knew he couldn’t let it end the same.

Morgana's eyes searched his, a mirror of her inner turmoil and Merlin hoped she saw something still worth trusting hidden beneath. “I’m scared, Merlin. I don’t understand anything anymore. I need to know what’s happening.” Her words hung in the air, a plea for understanding, for answers.

Merlin looked at her and silently promised to remember her as she was now. In one breath, he buried his memory of the old her. It wouldn’t fix any of the harm they had done, but he wouldn’t let their past get in the way of the future he always wished for. “Magic. Your dreams and the fires, you think it’s magic.”

Her face was painted in shock, but her eyes held onto hope. “How did you-”

“You’re right. It is magic, and everything will be alright.”

And this moment was what he would have forever missed out on. The pure relief coloured every inch of Morgana as she began to cry. Merlin reached to hug her but hesitated. All worries of making the wrong move were eradicated when Morgana crashed into his chest.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, Merlin. I'm not—” She looked up to him, her eyes swimming with tired elation. “I’m not crazy.” Her words were spoken so softly that if they weren’t so close, Merlin didn't think he would have heard.

Merlin gave her a genuine smile as he made up his mind, “No, you’re not. And you’re not alone.”

“Merlin, what do you mean?” Morgana’s gaze turned to that of confusion at his words. Then, in a moment of clarity her eyes widen in hopeful shock. “Wait, you can’t mean…”

Merlin cupped his hands together and thought up a spell, keeping his now golden eyes locked with Morgana’s. “I have magic too.”

Enchanting ocean blue butterflies circled around them, showering them both in glitter that shown like stardust. But not even the stars were as bright as her smile at that moment.

Chapter Text

The two sorcerors tucked themselves into a corner, Merlin whispering soft spells and filling the space with golden light when a pointed cough struck their attention. Both pairs of eyes snapped to the door to be met by a patented eyebrow-death-stare from the court physician. It had been eons since he last saw that stare, and Merlin still found himself internally wincing at the sight. But Merlin was a changed man now, staring down the look until Gaius dropped the eyebrow of death.

“Merlin… what on Earth are you doing?” 

Merlin opened his mouth to find a retort, but Morgana, as always, was faster with her reply. “It’s truly not his fault, Gaius. I asked him for help. If you must report this to Uther, leave Merlin out of it.” Both Gaius and Merlin cringed back. Merlin was sure that the thought of ever betraying him hurt Gaius, but Merlin honestly was more upset about the reminder of Uther. Of course, he had considered that Uther would be in the time he ended up in, but this was years before his death. Merlin didn’t know if he had it in him to do it again.

“I would never let Uther find out about Merlin. I would rather have myself at the stake.” The apparent offence in Gaius’s voice warmed over Merlin. All of Merlin’s long-built restraint snapped, and he rushed into Gaius like a child running to his father. To Gaius’s credit, he quickly gathered himself into a hug after the initial shock had worn off. “My goodness, lad, what has gotten into you? Are you feeling ill?” A wrinkled hand snaked its way to Merlin’s forehead to feel for its temperature.

A wet laugh escaped from Merlin. “No, I’m quite alright. I just missed you, is all.” A sceptical eyebrow met his honest grin.

“I was only gone for the day.” Gaius looked over Merlin’s shoulder where Morgana stood, taking them in. “And look at the mess you made while I was out. I thought we agreed not to talk to the Lady Morgana about her…alleged powers.” He barely made an effort to lower his voice, and Merlin was 90% sure Morgana still heard him.

Unwrapping himself from Gaius, Merlin winced as he looked away. This exact caution drove Morgana way in the first place, and Merlin wouldn’t see it a second time. “I know we talked about it, but I thought it over, and I really think she-”

“Merlin, why on Earth would you think that would be a good idea? What if this gets back to Arthur or, goddess forbid, Uther? Uther would have you killed and all for your foolish naivety. How else am I supposed to protect you when you go snitching on yourself to anyone who flashes you a sad smile?”

That’s all it took for Merlin to remember the man he had become. Yes, he loved Gaius as a father and valued his opinions over many others, but Merlin was no child, not anymore. He stepped back to stand in front of Morgana, blocking her from the ire of Gaius’s judgement. 

In his old life, Merlin never stood to his full height; his neck was always slightly bent down, and his back was hunched over in the slightest. He wasn’t as tall as someone like Percival and certainly not as built, but he was taller than most. Merlin liked coming off as friendly and approachable, so he bent down to a more ‘acceptable height’. However, Merlin learned that it also made him look weak and subservient in the eyes of others. And Merlin was anything but. He had found a balance throughout his years. He was still as kind and caring as ever but was certainly no pushover, even when it came to Gaius. 

So he stood to his full height, making Gaius look up to face him. “I’ve made no mess. I did what I thought was right.”

But Gaius was no pushover either; he was always one to stick by his beliefs. “Merlin, we discussed this. It’s too risky to have Morgana knowing about you. Honestly, Merlin, I leave only for the day, and you managed to reveal your secret to Uther’s ward,” Gaius chastised. 

“And what? You would have her go mad! We’ve known what was wrong with her for weeks, but you would have me sit by as I watch someone go through something so achingly familiar to me?!” Merlin knew that some of his anger may have been misplaced. Yes, so many tragedies and misunderstandings could have been avoided if he hadn’t had Gaius (and Kilgarrah) constantly telling him what he should and should not do. Still, Gaius only ever wanted what was best for Merlin. 

Maybe it was the decades alone with only a ghost to keep him company; perhaps it was the thousands of years spent wandering over the Earth trying to find somewhere to belong after Camelot fell; perhaps it was all the death and lies and heartache that had made its home in his chest; or maybe he was just tired, and that’s why he yelled, “I have followed your every suggestion and command, and if it’s not something for you, it’s the druids. If not them, another magical creature who ‘knows’ of the prophecy and has some task for me. I am constantly at odds with myself and what others think I should do. ‘Don’t talk to her, Merlin’, ‘Go deal with the pixies, Merlin’. ‘You must follow the prophecy, Merlin’, ‘Don’t let the prophecy happen, Merlin’. Nothing I do will ever make everyone happy, but I am sick of you pretending that I can’t make my mistakes. It was my choice, Gaius, and I don’t believe it to be a bad one.”

Merlin looked back to see tears in Morgana’s eyes and a smile framing her mouth as she whispered, ‘Thank you.’

“Look, I’m sorry I shouted. It’s been a long day. I just…I just wish you trusted me more. I value your thoughts far more than just about anyone, but you have to let me make my own choices. Please.” Merlin’s voice cracked around the last word, yet he still stood firm.

Merlin’s heart sank when his mentor only let out a quiet “I see.”

He didn’t know if he should backpedal or double down when Gaius’s voice rang out again. “I’m sorry as well, my boy. I should have known that you would always end up following your heart, and it was selfish of me to ask you not to. I was only ever meant to guide and protect you, but I’m afraid I got ahead of myself, seeing danger in strangers and friends alike.” He turned his attention to Morgana. “And I’m sorry, my dear. I will always carry the guilt of my deception.”

Like the Princess that Merlin would see her revealed to be, Morgana swiftly dawned a more diplomatic smile as she spoke. “I understand why you did it, Gaius. I don’t know if I forgive you just yet, but I feel I would do something similar if ever faced in your position.” With calm, measured paces, Morgana walked around Merlin into Gaius’s fatherly embrace.

As Morgana and Gaius whispered soft spoken apologies and placations, Merlin remembered that he wasn’t the only one who saw Gaius as a father figure in his life. Arthur and Morgana were practically raised out of this room, finding praise and love in the Court Physician before facing the scorn and disappointment of the King. That is just another reason why Merlin hated Uther.

~

Merlin enjoyed the companionable peace until Gaius kindly reminded them of their duties in the morning. Merlin entered his old room after biding Morgana a good night (with a promise of talking more of her magic later).

It wasn’t much, but it was his home for almost 40 years (since he never moved out after Gaius died). He gingerly floated his discarded satchel to himself before unpacking his newer belongings.

All of his old clothes were replaced with nicer versions, which had handy enchantments woven into their fabric. Merlin wasn’t in any mortal danger of temperatures or sickness. However, he still got uncomfortable with significant temperature changes, and he was glad for the temperature-regulating enchantment when the cold of his room bit at his ankles.

Casting one last quick spell to make his bed far softer than it should be, Merlin collapsed face-first into his pillow and knocked out a second later.

Chapter Text

The last strips of starlight clung onto the sky before Merlin awoke. His vision swam with the last vestiges of sleep, and he lay in bed feeling lighter than he had in years. Merlin couldn’t remember the last time he had genuinely slept, nothing in the last few thousand years caused him to lose as much energy as… time… travel.

Merlin shot up in bed, suddenly remembering why he needed to be up before dawn. He was a servant again—servant to the prince of Camelot.

Arthur.

The raven-haired man raced out of his room, a blur of magic straightening the bed linens, brushing his hair, refreshing his skin and remaking his clothes (which he would later have to re-remake into sleepwear, but he was too excited to change at the moment). His magic, ever having a slight mind of its own, nudged his neckerchief and gloves into his hands as if it sensed he needed something to do to ground himself.

Finishing the last knot on his signature red cloth, Merlin buzzed as he entered the kitchen. The familiar sounds and smells set his skin alight. All of the people he had worked alongside for years were alive, healthy, and happy. Merlin just had to stop and breathe it all in.

And promptly got knocked into. “I am so sorry-” Merlin cut himself off, nostalgia hitting him hard. “Chef Audrey! Good morning, hi, hello! How are you-” He reached for the counter to steady himself but, managed to miss and slip. Catching himself before he fell, Merlin gave the chef a smile and hoped she didn’t think his behaviour too odd. Especially once she narrowed her eyes at him.

“Merlin, you weren’t thinkin’ ‘bout stealing no pies just now. You know these are for the prince’s breakfast.” But, her cold demeanour instantly melted off as she gave him a warm smile. “I made you an extra; it’s already on the tray.”

Merlin’s heart hurt so much already. He really was home. After being rushed out of the kitchen with a few concerned looks as to why Merlin looked like he was ready to bust out in tears, he finally made his way up to Arthur’s room.

The achingly familiar hallways and doors almost seemed to welcome him back, the fires from torches glowed as he passed, and a soft breeze brought the air of spring. And then Merlin was faced with that door. He sat outside that door for years after Arthur had passed. Gwen had moved into the King’s old chambers so she didn’t have to see it and remember all she lost. But Merlin saw it and stared at it for hours on end. Some of the ‘wounds’ and scratches were missing from the wood, memories of fights and drunken stumbles not yet etched into the doors. Yet, they were the same, and so was what they held inside.

Maybe he couldn’t do this. Was he really ready to see Arthur? An alive Arthur, that is. The ‘ghost’ or whatever it was that decided to haunt him showed up just after the world had ended though he claims to have been there longer. And that was a lot to get used to. Would the real, human, alive version be something he could handle? What if he says something weird, or not on par with the friendship they’re supposed to be at? What if he doesn’t say anything and gives himself away by freezing as soon as Merlin lays eyes on him. What if-

“-lin. Merlin!” One of the guards stationed in front of Arthur’s door, Sir Greyson, if Merlin remembered right, was looking at Merlin with concern. “Are you alright there, lad? If your breathing gets any shakier, you might drop the food.”

“What? Oh, no, I’m quite alright, Sir Greyson. I just… um, I thought I forgot to do Prince Arthur’s laundry, and you know his temper sometimes.” The guards gave a small smile and laughed in agreement before leaving Merlin to enter the Prince’s chambers (without knocking, of course).

The room was still shrouded in darkness, the curtains blocking out the tiny wisps of morning light. Merlin’s magic soared throughout the room, breathing in the life filling the space. Pure muscle memory etched deep within Merlin led him through the darkened room to the head of the table. He quietly settled the platter down before whispering a soft spell to open the blinds.

Merlin all but teleported to the bedside, itching to be closer to his other half. His worries drained out of his head as he stared at golden hair.

It was easy to remember the ‘Golden King’ or the ‘Prince of Camelot’, but not many saw Arthur. Arthur looked so soft like this, his body buried under a pile of blankets with only the top of his face poking out. Merlin caught his hand, reaching out to touch the sun-kissed skin. It would do him no good to get caught on his first day back for inappropriately touching the prince.

Clearing his throat, Merlin blanked on what to say. It's funny how his body remembered every step in the castle, but he seemed to forget what he said every morning for years.

“Arthur. It’s time to wake up.” After a beat, Merlin blurted out, “Up and at ‘em, sleepy head. Can’t sleep the day away.”

The small mountain of blankets shook as the body hidden beneath stretched awake. Merlin had to step back when he saw delicate eyelashes blink open sleepily, and his heart could barely take it when Arthur murmured a quiet, “Merlin?”.

Chapter Text

“Merlin?” His eyes. His crystal blue eyes that still held that special twinkle of youth. Oh, Merlin could never forget a single detail about Arthur, but paintings and memory did his eyes no justice. “Merlin, I…” Arthur’s brow scrunched in sleep-idled confusion as he raised himself off the bed with one arm. Merlin was too busy cataloguing all he could see of Arthur to truly pay attention to the thoughts storming in Arthur’s head.

“Yes, sire?” Merlin replied, almost too late.

Arthur seemed to blink himself out of whatever had taken a hold of him and gave Merlin a once-over before replying. “Nothing, it was... nothing. Now, what do I have planned for today?”

~

A hazy bliss clouded over Merlin for the rest of the day. Despite his subpar work, he somehow made it through with minimal complaints from Arthur. That was other than the usual amount that seemed to be more friendly than genuine annoyance. Though it had been thousands of years since he was a manservant, Merlin’s body seemed to still possess some latent muscle memory and whatever he lacked in, his magic was beyond happy to pick up the slack.

But his head wasn’t in any actions he took. Merlin was beyond happy to have a living, breathing Arthur again but, the fear of failing and losing him again had begun to lap at the back of his mind. He wished he had spent more time writing down every problem that arose and stopped to theorise about how to deal with them. But, if he dealt with things too well, Arthur would never grow to become the king Merlin knew him to be. Or he might change things too much that he wouldn’t know about new threats that would arise. Or he could do too little, and things would go just as badly as-

“-Merlin! See you are clearly over working the man. I almost see steam coming out of his ears, his brain is working so hard.” Morgana’s teasing voice cut through his thoughts. When had she arrived?

Arthur was already turned to look at him, concern hidden underneath a face of slight indifference. “Yes, well that happens when Merlin thinks about things passed his next meal.”

Merlin simply smiled past the insult, not noticing as the siblings shared a concerned look with one another. He just hoped the future didn't turn as grim as it once did.

~

Two days later, Merlin was unfortunately proved right in his fears. Uther didn’t need Morgana leaving to seek advice as an excuse to order a raid on the Druid camp. Some well-meaning farmers saw the Serkets and Uther immediately jumped to the Druids trying to form a creature army to attack Camelot.

Arthur was ordered to form his strike squad and head out in the morning. So of course, Morgana was in his rooms that night desperately trying to talk Arthur out of going.

“Arthur, you can’t seriously be doing this. The Druids are a peaceful people, they would never send those creatures to harm innocent people!”

“I know they wouldn’t but, this is an order from the King. I can’t just not listen to him.” Merlin was passively listening to their arguments as he packed Arthur’s bags. He already had a plan to warn the Druids once he left Arthur’s rooms and didn’t want to give anything away by chiming in.

Though that seemed to be the wrong course of (non) action since, Morgana spun on her heels to face him and shouted, “And how could you have nothing to say about this! You are normally just as vocal as me on these matters.”

“Since when does Arthur listen to what I have to say anyways?” Merlin asked with a shrug. He honestly forgot how much he used to voice his opinions into the open. When he was alone all those years there wasn’t much difference between speaking in his head or out loud. There were days his voice was completely cracked with disuse and others where his throat was sore from him airing every thought into the void.

“That never stopped you before.” Arthur’s voice was laced with concern and hurt though Merlin didn’t put too much thought into why that would be the case.

Merlin met Arthur’s searching gaze and let all his feelings on the matter show straight through them. And Arthur conveyed his feelings right back. Merlin wanted peace for both peoples. Arthur wanted to be a good prince and son. Both of them were scared and didn’t want this fight. But both were bound by loyalty. So, Arthur would go on this mission and Merlin would be there right beside him.

“I see that I am no longer needed so I will retire for the night.” Morgana’s voice cut through the quiet conversation. She pressed a kiss to Arthur’s cheek and turned to leave the room. “Your legacy doesn’t just start once you are king, Arthur. What you do now matters.”

Arthur let out a sigh once the door was closed behind Morgana. He slumped down into a chair, letting his posture slip in a way he only did when it was the two of them.

“Merlin, you do know that I value your opinion, right? You are always so open and honest with me, and I do value that.” And Arthur’s trust was painted clearly on his face. Merlin knew that Arthur was a man of action over words so this blatant statement of honestly smashed into him.

Merlin opened his mouth to reply with something that would probably reveal too much of his emotions but, the tired look in Arthur’s gaze told him that it wasn’t the time. So, he simply replied with, “Well, someone has to keep you in line. Your crown wouldn’t fit your head if I let the advisors get away with their sugary lies.”

The smile Arthur gave didn’t quite reach his eyes but, Merlin knew it had done its job. Arthur and Merlin lazily went through their nightly routines, letting the trust between them fill the space around them. And, once the prince was safely tucked into bed and his servant blew out all of the candles a soft “Good night” was exchanged into the air and Merlin slipped away.

Chapter Text

With a flash of gold, the Earth bent and twisted till Merlin’s feet met soft mossy ground right outside the Druid camp. His thought process hadn’t gone farther than relying on the name Emrys being enough to get them to pack up shop and run for the hills. The Druid’s were usually pretty understanding when it came to listening to warnings anyways.  

His magic felt around until it was met with a familiar soul and sent out a call, an invite. This camp’s chieftain, Merlin thought the name started with an A, met with him not long after. Merlin racked his brain for what the sorcerer's name could be before he had to greet him.  

“Greetings Emrys.” He gave a slight bow of his head and wore a gentle smile.  

Merlin was still working on the Druid’s name but, he did remember the kindhearted man’s death and mentally swore to keep this man alive. At least passed tomorrow. 

“Apologies my friend but, we need to be quiet. We do not know what enemies may be nearby” Merlin actually did know that the nearest enemy was a Camelot patrol about half a kilometre away but, he didn’t want to be overheard by any Druids that were still awake. The panic that would ensue could be greatly imitated by having their leader come up with a suitable plan of escape before they heard. 

Luckily the sorcerer quickly caught on and channelled his voice into Merlin’s head. “ I see. What brings the great Emrys to our camp? I assume it must be of some importance since you came at such a late hour.”  

“ You need to take your people before sunup, far from here. I would recommend to the west but, just leave.”  

Aglain, Merlin finally remembered, raised an eyebrow but understanding showed it his eyes. “ Correct me if I was mistaken but, we were found by the King, weren’t we?”  

“Yes, and he blames you for the Serkets found in the nearby town. Prince Arthur and his knights were ordered to ride out for you at noon. Do not let them find you. Arthur does not want this but, some of his men do not share that thought.”  

“I will wake my people within the hour and set out somewhere safe then. Thank you Emrys for the warning.” Both men bow their heads to the other, then Aglain turns back to his camp to prepare for their escape. 

Merlin stands where he was for a moment, contemplating if he wished to kill the Serkets tonight or later this week. He really should be headed back soon to prepare for the ‘attack’ tomorrow but, he would risk innocent lives leaving them for another day. Merlin tries to remember if he heard about the Serkets attacking anyone besides Morgana in the past. Then a small thought occurs to Merlin.  

Aglain wasn’t the only notable Druid in this camp. 

He needed to get out. Now. 

His magic fought to teleport him as fast as possible, pulling at his body. He slammed into the wall of his room, clutter on shelves falling around him but, Merlin heard none of the noise. His ears rang and his knees failed to hold him up.  

Bile filled his mouth and threatened to spill out. The floor spun into swirls of grey. His mind felt like it was spinning with it.  

How could he forget? Forget HIM? After all that he did, how? How? How? How? HOW? 

There was blood on his hands. Where did it come from? There was so much blood.    He smelt it in the air, felt it making a home in his lungs.  The scent of iron. Of death. Of Decay.    It curled into his organs, blood with blood. Vibrant and red and vile.        It buries itself in every pore and burrows under his fingernails.   

Merlin’s arms were coated in it, drenching his shirt.       It was stuck to him, the blood seeped all the way through, staining the fabric red. Red.        Red.         

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  RED.

                       Red that would never come out would never come out. It would hold the blood into every fibre. Fusing, suffocating, cutting into his skin.                                                                                    It branded him, claimed his hands, arms, torso as a part of its domain.           Spilling everywhere, burning every part of his body as it climbed higher.                    Lower. Till he was one with it, changing and sharing his own DNA.  

There was blood on the floor.    It threatened to drown him.      Whatever was bleeding was dead. Something was dead. Nothing lost that much blood and lived. It’s blood was in  the grass, the ground.      It was in the air, choking him with every breath.                            And something was dead.

DEAD. WHAT WAS BLEEDING?  

A body. Blond dyed red, dripping, drenched in blood.          Once polished, glimmering silver chainmail permeated with viscous crimson.        There was a hole in the centre. Flesh meeting metal, broken pieces of chainlink stabbing into raw skin.              Useless padding sticking into the edges of flesh, so coated with blood that it can barely be told apart from the exposed organs it now lays upon.  

There’s blood. Filling the cavity. Coating the ragged edges of soft tissue. Layers of fat and skin painted with a vile strings of red.  

And Blue. Bright blue eyes.        Fading.           Closing.

Leaving.

Leaving him with just the red.  

And finally, black.