Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I choose to love you in silence, for in silence I find no rejection.

I choose to love you in loneliness, for in loneliness no one owns you but me.

I choose to adore you from a distance, for distance will shield me from pain.

I choose to kiss you in the wind, for the wind is gentler than my lips.

I choose to hold you in my dreams, for in my dreams you have no end.

⸻ rumi

You were my town, now I'm in exile, seein' you out

⸻ exile (ft. bon iver), taylor swift

MERLIN EMRYS failed and has only known failure ever since. A failure that cost him everything, a failure that broke his spirit in a hundred million pieces, leaving only an empty shell of existence roaming the earth for over a thousand and five hundred years—only the stubbornness of his magic keeping him alive. It didn't matter what Kilgharrah had said back then, he had failed to fulfill his destiny, and the death of his king—the love of his life—in his arms, at the end of it all, had been proof enough. He’s seen kingdom after kingdom fall, empire after empire conquered and erased, and country after country be founded. He would’ve never had expected, for nothing in the world, that Kilgharrah’s words held any substance to them… but they did. Here he founds himself, in the twenty-first century, married to the reincarnation of the love he’s held century after century, with two children, his beautiful Gareth and Elaine, and on each holiday, looking around the table, and seeing the beautiful faces of those he had lost millennia ago. But, how long is it bound to last?  Kilgharrah’s last words in the back of his mind: “He is the Once and Future King. Take heart, for when Albion's need is greatest...Arthur will rise again.”

ARTHUR PENDRAGON ’s birth was witnessed by the world in the eighties. Born, once more, as the heir, but not for a throne, but to Pendragon Enterprises, the second most important imperium in the world. Having been a fan of the Arthurian legends—and committed them to memory—, he didn’t pass the opportunity to have Merlin, the most intelligent senior back in uni, as his mentor. From there, everything spiraled out of control, when naturally, as the leaves are moved by the wind, Arthur fell, helplessly, for the older. From there, in the most scandalous press tornado, Arthur found himself married to ‘the one’, and as the new century was inaugurated, so did his life, and soon enough, he found himself raising his children. Of course, destiny seemed to have a good belly laugh with him, if the names of his best friends were any giving, because, where, in the world, Arthur and Merlin meet with the assemble of Lancelot, Leon, Gwaine, Percival, Elyan, Guinevere, and Morgana—his half-sister—?   

KING ARTHUR gave his life in the name of Camelot for the defeat of Morgana. The last thing he remembers is dying in the arms of his most faithful, incompetent, and devoted servant, his manservant, his Merlin. The scrawny man who devoted his entire existence to serve him. The man for whom he tried his hardest, year after year, to swallow and will away his affections. The man whose presence graced his dreams, even when he slept next to his queen, the one who for a moment betrayed him. But now, what is this weird place? What are the clothes he’s wearing? Why does the world look so weird? Where’s his castle? And why on Earth are two beautiful children—strikingly like himself and Merlin—calling him Daddy, and calling his faithfully, idiot manservant Papa?

KILGHARRAH had been the one to tell him to do it, and as he did so many centuries ago, Merlin listened. It was supposed to be a simple spell, one that would bring back the memories of his friends. It was supposed to be easy, and it went easy. One by one, they awoke, remembering so many things—including their deaths and those of the others—, but when it was Arthur’s turn, it didn’t go as planned, and Merlin should not be so surprised for destiny to try so hard and sabotage his life. Now, his husband of ten years awoke as The Once and Future King, not remembering his current life, and now Garreth and Elaine are left in the dark, not understanding why their father is behaving so weirdly. How is Merlin supposed to hold his life together when there’s a tearing pain threatening to destroy his family from the inside, as his husband looks at him, only seeing the manservant he was millennia ago?

DESTINY had been promised to him. It had misguided him. Destiny had promised Merlin to be the one to protect and guide Arthur in his quest to become not only the king of Camelot, but the one who would unite all of Albion, and bring magic back to the world. Destiny had failed to warn him that he would fall for him and that Arthur would end up dying in his arms. Years upon years of silently hidden sacrifices, of worries of pain, of bad decisions due to his naiveness and short-sightedness. Now, for almost twenty years, he’s lived the happiest ever, not only did he get another chance, in meeting the reincarnations of everyone from back then, but the twenty-first century offered him the chance of having much more, and Merlin, as the covert greedy man he was, did not waste it. Now, with destiny knocking once more on his door, will he be able to hold his family and the precious lives that look at him with questions he’d rather die than answer?

Cause the sign on your heart said it's still reserved for me,

Honestly, who are we to fight the alchemy?

⸻ the alchemy, taylor swift

I’m the albatross, I swept in at the rescue…

I’m the life you chose, and all this terrible danger

⸻ the albatross, taylor swift

PLAYLIST

𝚃𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚘𝚛 𝚂𝚠𝚒𝚏𝚝 — 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙰𝚕𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚜

𝚀𝚞𝚎𝚎𝚗 — 𝙶𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝙾𝚕𝚍-𝙵𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝙱𝚘𝚢

𝚃𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚘𝚛 𝚂𝚠𝚒𝚏𝚝 — 𝚎𝚡𝚒𝚕𝚎 (𝚏𝚝. 𝙱𝚘𝚗 𝙸𝚟𝚎𝚛)

𝚃𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚘𝚛 𝚂𝚠𝚒𝚏𝚝 — 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙰𝚕𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚢

𝙺𝙸𝚂𝚂 — 𝙸 𝚆𝚊𝚜 𝙼𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝙵𝚘𝚛 𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚒𝚗' 𝚈𝚘𝚞

𝟻 𝚂𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝙾𝚏 𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚛 — 𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍

𝙴𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚊 — 𝚂𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚖 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚂𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚠

𝚃𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚘𝚛 𝚂𝚠𝚒𝚏𝚝 — 𝚁𝚘𝚋𝚒𝚗

𝙴𝚟𝚊𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 — 𝙼𝚢 𝙸𝚖𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚕

𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎...!

open.spotify.com/playlist/1xQ7tyPHJB4ngkxQtQF4sb?si=f95bac22ed0d465d

Chapter Text

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ 

There was an ongoing sound. A beeping? Probably. But in between the warmth of the mattress, the softness of the blanket, the soft sound of the wind against the windowpane, the beard tickling his neck, and the thick arms around his waist mixed with the warmth pressed against his back, Merlin couldn’t care less about it.

But still, the incessant blaring Arthur chose permeated his mind with each passing second. This is why you should never let a prat, even—and especially—if it’s your beloved husband, choose the alarm sound, no matter how sweet and handsome he is.

He shifted his weight, bringing one of his arms, stretching it, towards the bedside table, from where the infernal sound came from.

The only answer that came from a sleepy Arthur was the flat palms on his stomach gripping him, trying to bring him closer once more, low senseless grunting and the rubbing of his beard against the back of Merlin’s neck.

It was only by miracle that Merlin’s clumsy blind fingers managed to turn off the sacrilegious alarm.

Once the sound had died, peace reigned once more in the large bedroom. But of course, life is not that considerate with him, at least not since they become fathers, for the sound that came, was that of heavy bare feet approaching, and suddenly, the door was thrown open.

Merlin could only press his face on his pillow as the utmost excited voices yelled for them, Arthur’s smile pressed against his skin. What kind of ungodly entity provided children with that much energy at 6 a.m.? 

Still foggy from sleep, Merlin’s mind was only able to understand a few words like, “Daddy,” “Papa,” “School,” “Breakfast,” “Famished,” —who taught them that word? — “Late,” “Aunt Gana,” “Move.”

All that tornado of words came alive as two small bodies crept up the bed, parting the sleeping couple like an elephant stampede, and coming to snuggle in between them. A mop of ink-black hair, and locks of blonde. Gareth and Elaine. Gentleness and Light.

“Daddy, we’ll be late,” said Gareth in his gentle voice, coming to straddle on Arthur’s chest.

“We wouldn’t want that, would we?” said Merlin, nuzzling Elaine’s soft locks. She looked up to him with wide eyes, the same sea blue as Arthur’s.

“I’m hungry, Papa,” she said, wrapping her arms around Merlin’s neck, as the man moved to stand. Beside them, Gareth squealed as Arthur mercilessly tickled him.

“Well, we can’t stand that,” Merlin said, walking towards the door with Elaine in his arms. “Come one, Dragonling!”

And following his command, as if he were a dragon recognizing the voice of a Dragonlord, Gareth jumped out of the bed.

“Ah, don’t run away!” Arthur moaned from bed, and Merlin was abruptly reminded of how he met Arthur when he was a prince, over a millennium ago, a lifetime ago.

“Move if you don’t want to be famished ,” Merlin said, looking at Gareth. “Who even taught you that word?”

“Aunt Gana was talking about—” his son’s voice drifted away as they walked out of the room. With a satisfied large smile, Arthur fell back on the mattress, before stretching his back like a lazy cat, and he followed them to the ground floor.

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The kitchen was filled with the smell of flour, sweetness, salt, chocolate, and coffee by the time Arthur’s heavy steps came in.

“His Highness finally graces us with his presence,” Merlin called out, both children pressed their lips to try and stuff their laughs.

“Shut up,” Arthur rolled his eyes, reaching Merlin’s back, bearded chin tickling him. Gareth, sitting on the counter, handed him a coffee-filled mug; next to him, Merlin was standing, mixing cookie dough. “Thank you, Love,” he said, ruffling the boy’s hair. He tried to grab a bit of dough, but Merlin slapped his hand away. “Ow!”

“Filthy fingers off it!” Merlin said.

“I beg your pardon, Merlin?” Arthur put a hand on his chest as if his very honor had been insulted. Drama queen once, drama queen in all his lives, Merlin assumes.

“You’ll set the table? Thank you, Babe,” Merlin says, looking back over his shoulder with a grin.

“Move on, Daddy,” said Elaine, who was in charge of patrolling the pancakes on the stove. “Or we’re going to be late!”

“But of course, Your Little Majesty, your word is my command,” said Arthur, giving a mocking bow, before turning back.

“I’ll help you, Daddy!” Gareth prompted, as Merlin helped him down.

“To our duties, Sir Gareth,” said Arthur as Gareth rushed to take his hand.

Twenty minutes later, the table was set, with a large plate of pancakes for everyone to take. Toppings like honey, Nutella, jam, and butter available. There were cut bananas and strawberries, with milked tea as their typical breakfast drink.

“Last night I dreamt of a gigantic cheese chasing me,” Gareth said to apparently no one, a large chocolate mustache over his mouth. All heads turned to him, Merlin confused, Arthur concealing his amusement as shock, and Elaine already fed up with the tale. “But I ate it, ‘cause I’m a brave knight,” the boy quickly added.

“That was astonishingly brave of you, Sir Gareth, I’m very proud of you,” said Arthur, clasping his son’s shoulder, as if he was a real knight who slayed a dragon and not a six-year-old prattling.

The boy beamed at the praise, before his face twisted in a frown. “Although the cheese tasted like apple pie,” he said in deep thought.   

“Make sure to mention that to Uncle Gwaine, I’m sure he’s dreamt of that,” Merlin said with a grin, remembering very clearly Sir Gwaine dreaming nonsense like that, back then in Camelot.  

“Did you finish your presentation for the Board meeting?” asked Arthur, drinking his tea.

Merlin looked up from Elaine’s face, after wiping her mouth. “Of course, what kind of worker do you take me for?” he asked, receiving only a questioning raised brow from his husband. “Lance did, in fact.”

“Guessed so,” said Arthur with a grin.

“Oh, shut up, you dollop-head, I had to finish yours for the last meeting,” Merlin argued.

“There’s no such word,” Arthur groaned with a comically offended face.

“It’s idiomatic,” Merlin rolled his eyes as if it was obvious.

“It’s what, now?” Arthur retorted with a breathy chuckle.

“It means, Mr. Fancy-Pants, that you need to be more in touch with the people,” Merlin snickered with a wide grin. 

But before Arthur could argue back, Elaine jumped in, “what’s a dollop-head?” she asked as Merlin stood up to gather the empty plates.

“In two words?” asked Merlin. Elaine nodded, Arthur groaned, and Gareth giggled. “Your father,” Merlin concluded, walking back to the kitchen.

“You lot have half an hour to get ready at the door, and I’m leaving behind anyone else!” Merlin yelled from the kitchen.

Flushed, Arthur turned back to the children. “You heard your father, kids,” giggling, both run up the stairs to get ready for school.

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

“You really never learned to dress yourself, huh?” asked Merlin as he adjusted the necktie around Arthur’s neck. They had a meeting, and he decided he needed to be at the utmost style for it.

“Excuse me? Why would I do that, when I have you? What else would I have a husband for?” Arthur retorted with a lopsided grin, just like Gareth would after some hidden mischief.

Helping him dress was something that came to Merlin as naturally as breathing.

He had spent years doing so while he was his manservant, a lifetime ago, back when Arthur was a prince. He was thankful, though, that with each century, people seemed adamant on making clothes easier to wear, and the fact that nowadays nobody needed to wear a freaking armor.

“Well, I’m glad my services are worthy of flattery, even if it comes from a prat,” Merlin quipped, brushing off the shoulders of Arthus’ dressing shirt. After finishing, he walked to grab his bag.

“It’s time!” came Elaine’s voice from the kitchen.

“Your children call,” said Merlin walking out. (“They’re yours too!” argued Arthur from the bedroom).

Reaching the kitchen in quick steps, Merlin grabbed two small containers filled with cookies, handing one to each child, before taking another one, bigger, and putting it in his own bag.

“Where are you taking those?” asked Gareth, looking at the cookies with interest, ignoring the fact that he had his own cookies in his hand.

“We’ll have a long Board of Directors meeting today, Love,” said Arthur entering, bag in hand.

“Do adults eat that many cookies?” asked Elaine.

“Uncle Leon and Aunt Gana promised to bring ice cream for us,” said Arthur bragging, both children gasped.

“I think I want to go to that meeting with those boards, too,” said Gareth, eliciting smiles from his fathers, as they walked out the door and towards the car.

“Board of Directors,” corrected Arthur. “And trust me, once you start the job, you’ll want to quit it.”

“That’s rich coming from the owner, huh? You’re lucky you’re his son,” Merlin said, looking at Gareth from the rearview mirror.

The ride to school was passed in a comfortable silence, only the soft music coming from the radio, as the children explained what they would be up to at school. That was, of course, until Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy by Queen came, ‘cause from there, the car was filled with energetic chanting from everyone; the children’s singing following Freddy Mercury’s lead, while Arthur and Merlin were in charge of the backing vocals.

The arrival at the school was fast, and easy, neither of the children was prone to making any kind of scenes, and both enjoyed greatly their time at school. The moment the car stopped they dragged Merlin with them, eager to get to their classrooms.

The school, “Camelot Primary School,” was, not surprisingly, founded by Arthur’s late father, Uther Pendragon, a few decades ago as part of his social work from Pendragon Enterprises; he also had founded “Camelot High School” and “Camelot Business College,” and now it was in Arthur’s shoulders to see that “Camelot University” sees the light in the upcoming years.

Camelot Primary School was a private school that offered a few scholarship seats—a number increased by Arthur since he took the company’s lead—and it was a special school oriented towards business life, although, much subdued, as these were children, for God’s sake.

The company’s main tower was only fifteen minutes away from the school, both on the outskirts of London.  

They entered the parking being followed closely by Percival’s car; the bodyguard assigned to their family.

Percival was, just as a lifetime ago—when he was a Knight—, a bulking and towering man. Merlin had met him through Lancelot, back in uni, when the man was doing his military service. After coming back and training, Arthur—with the biggest man crush—decided to hire him.

Entering the main hall, they were greeted by María, the receptionist, to whom Merlin bribed two cookies in exchange for the location of the rest of the Board of Directors, who were mostly waiting for them.

Percival walked behind them in his completely black attire, just like every day, like their reliable guarding shadow. In the door, already posted and in equal black clothes, was Elyan—Morgana and Leon’s bodyguard.

Elyan, while not as tall nor bulky as Percival, was stealthier and quicker. It was curious how life worked, even in stuff like reincarnation, because even here and now, he still was Gwen’s brother, and so, after he did the training required, he was hired.

“Good morning, Elyan,” both Merlin and Arthur greeted at the door.

“Good morning, Sirs, the rest of the Board, save for Gwaine and Lancelot are waiting for you,” the bodyguard said, opening the door for them, Percival took post at the other side of the door.

“Perfect, we’ll call you guys in later for a small treat,” Merlin said, as he closed the door.

The meeting room was probably the largest one in the tower, occupying the space of almost three rooms. It was, just like the rest of the tower, a combination of modern architecture and specks of the ancient one.

The walls were all painted in cream, most of them adorned with thick shelves filled with trophies, certificates, recognitions, and commemorations that the Board and the company have collected throughout the years. The floor was of dark laminate flooring; there were water and coffee machines, a microwave, and a small fridge, as well as a large screen of almost an entire wall for presentations and reports. 

But what took the main stage in the room was the table, it was a round one. Their Round Table. It was made of wood, and it had been commissioned by Merlin once Arthur had taken as Head of the company, as a gift for his husband, alongside a long talk about equality, aligned with his social work.

Waiting in their seats were already Morgana, Leon, and Guinevere.

Morgana was a funny curiosity, being born once more as Arthur’s half-sister. Thankfully though, this time around, she was two years younger than Arthur, and from Uther’s second marriage, rather than being Uther’s secretly bastard daughter.

She was as gorgeous as she had been once, with her ink-black hair and her stunningly green eyes. She also carried herself like the princess she had been a lifetime ago and had all the good traits Merlin remembered from a young Morgana, still not poisoned by Morgause.

As she was younger, Merlin helped her in uni, even when he was a graduate. She had inherited a smaller portion of Pendragon Enterprises’ shares, but while Arthur was the Board of Directors’ Chairman, Morgana was his Vice-Chairwoman.

Merlin had met Arthur when the latter started his bachelor’s in business in Cambridge so he could take on as Head of the company. Merlin was doing his own PhD on finances at the moment. One of his teachers had referred him for tutoring, and Arthur—as a big fan of Arthurian legends—took the chance of having someone called Merlin as his mentor. 

Of course, after seeing him die in his arms over a millennium and a half ago, Merlin would have never expected to see Arthur, his Arthur, walk through the door to demand to speak to him. Yes, demand, not ask, no sir. Because even in this modern reincarnation, Arthur was raised like a spoiled brat and was a total prat.

But Merlin had so much experience in dealing with that, dealing with him, that by the end of Arthur’s career, Merlin had already polished him into a much-improved version of himself, taking out to shine all the magnificent traits from the Once and Future King he once was devoted to.

The turn that their professional relationship took, happened long after Merlin had graduated and gotten a job at Pendragon Enterprises.

“Hello, everyone!” Merlin greeted.

“Good morning,” added Arthur, more subdued than his husband.

“Your Majesties finally decided to show up!” said Morgana, standing from her seat to approach them with open arms.

“Sorry, Gana,” Merlin said, “ someone decided to be a lazy daisy today,” said added, giving Arthur the side-eye, embracing Morgana.

“Oh, but that’s no surprise,” quipped Leon, also approaching them in a suit of his loyal gray. “Our Arthur’s not a morning person, Merls, not even you can change that.”

Leon was, in a plot twist not even Merlin—with over a millennium of life—could have prophesied, Morgana’s husband. The two met at uni and from there it all fired up. He was also the current CEO of Pendragon Enterprises.

Last to approach them was Guinevere, or Gwen, for short.

Gwen was their Company Secretary, and she was, to no one’s surprise, Morgana’s best friend from back in uni.

While Gwen was telling the tale of her last date with Lancelot, and Merlin was putting down his bag, and taking his seat at the table, the door was opened. In came Gwaine and Lancelot.

Both had been Merlin’s best friends back in uni. Even if none of them studied the same career, they were roommates and spent a great deal of time together.

Gwaine was the company’s COO—Chief Operating Officer—and also dating Percival.

Lancelot at first didn’t want to work for Pendragon Enterprises, as he thought it out of his reach, but Merlin still hired him as a contractor for a special project, and after a few months, the two of them created what is probably the most important strategy the company saw in a few decades, saving it from crumbling to a point of no return.

Arthur was desperate to get Lancelot on the Board of Directors after that, and the man had only delivered, as Merlin knew he would. He was their CSO—Chief Strategy Officer.

“Okay,” started Arthur, taking, as usual, the main voice of the meeting; perks of being the owner. “Let’s start then.”

Nodding to one another, Merlin, as CFO—Chief Financial Officer — and Lancelot stood up, starting their presentation. First, they gave a long review of the commercial performance of the last product the company put out—one that wasn’t doing as expected—, and then came the even longer marketing strategy they had developed which would help great deals in boosting the sales.

Because, if Merlin learned anything from the twenty-first century, is that nothing moves the masses as well as celebrities do.

After that, Merlin, Lancelot, and Gwaine gave their reports from their own departments, finishing with Leon, as the CEO, to give the overall report on the company’s performance.

By the time they decided to take a small break, almost three hours had passed, and Merlin took out the cookies he and the kids baked, and Morgana came back with large tubs of ice cream for them.

Merlin, as promised, called Percival and Elyan to join them, and an hour later, the meeting was concluded, with everyone going straight back to their own offices.

Morris—Merlin’s Personal Assistant—was already doing his work when Merlin entered his office.

It was a normal and tranquil day. Merlin went out with all the others to have lunch in an Italian restaurant just around the corner, and then came back to finish the last three hours of work, before checking out with Arthur and going to pick up their children, with Percival following close enough and Morgana’s promise of visiting next weekend.

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“So,” said Merlin, fastening his seatbelt. “Santorini, or Venice?” he turned the motor on as Arthur put their things in the trunk.

“August’s still five months away, Love” Arthur retorted, fastening his own seatbelt.

“Well, yes, but time passes fast, the children are gonna be all caught up with homework, and I prefer to be ahead,” Merlin said, driving out of the parking lot.

“You’re always ahead,” Arthur mocked, squeezing Merlin’s thigh.

“Well, obviously, wouldn’t want to look like a clotpole,” Merlin jeered, before looking back at his husband with a grin, “like you.”

“That’s not even a word!” whined Arthur, tired of hearing it.

“Of course it is!” Merlin laughed. “It describes you perfectly! I swear, it’s like the equivalent to Arthur Pendragon.”

“But you said that was dollop-head!”

“Well, two different statements can be true at the same time, can they?”

“Oh, just shut up, you buffoon, and better keep your eye ahead, unless you want us to pick the children from an ambulance,” Arthur argued, using his hand to turn Merlin’s grinning face back to the road. 

The remaining ten minutes of driving were passed in Merlin’s loud laughter, his constant tapping on the steering wheel, and humming to the music coming from the radio.

Arriving at the school entrance, Arthur jumped out, face flushed, offering to pick up the children alone, just to not hear Merlin talking any more nonsense. Merlin decided to simply wait by the car.

It was windy, but that was typical as the winter made space for the spring. Merlin sent Morris a text to clear up a few hours for next week so he and Arthur could take the children to the Chelsea Physic Garden.

Fifteen minutes later, probably held back by Mrs. Clara—Gareth’s teacher—and Mr. Smith—Elaine’s teacher—and their updates, Arthur walked out.

Elaine was sat on Arthur’s shoulders and Gareth clung to his middle like a koala, both school bags on his thick hands. There was something so primitively attractive in seeing a man of Arthur’s stand—owner of one of the most powerful business empires in the world—letting his dressing suit—an ungodly pricey one—be ruined in soil, just for their children’s amusement, not giving a single fuck.

“Papa!” Gareth shrilled, throwing himself from Arthur and running to Merlin.

“Oh, but look at you, Dragonling, you are covered in soil,” said Merlin, holding Gareth up for inspection. Even his hair—black as Merlin’s—was slightly brown in its dirt.

When Arthur reached him, he noticed Elaine was in no better state, some of her blonde locks suspiciously dark.

“We had greenhouse time today! Two hours!” said Eline hugging Arthur’s head. And seeing her so close to Arthur was never less striking. Their blond hair glimmered under the sun in the exact same hue, just as their blue eyes, which were slightly paler than Merlin’s and Gareth’s.

Ah, the greenhouse, of course. The greenhouse was a space Morgana fought with all her might to have approved. She argued that the school was far too focused on educational and business stuff and the children had no time to focus on being children. And, as such a thing was completely inconceivable to her, she bullied Arthur to create the greenhouse, where the children are taken a few hours each week to tend the plants and flowers.

Morgana argued it worked as Occupational Therapy, and it had its results, as the stress levels from the children did go down, and everyone loved the experience, even the most pompous and poshy ones. All at the cheap cost of having children dirtier than dogs at the park, as evidenced by Gareth and Elaine.

“Well, I don’t know how His Majesty feels about having peasants in the car,” Merlin said, looking at Arthur, who faked thinking as Gareth and Elaine gasped.

“Filthy peasants, at that,” said Arthur, eliciting even more dramatic gasps as he simply tutted loudly. “Guess we’ll have to take them, lest they spread their filthiness,” the man concluded, opening the car door and throwing Elaine inside in fits of laughter.

“I’ve been thinking, you know,” Gareth said out loud from the backseat, addressing no one in particular, it seemed, once the car started.

“You, thinking? Well, now I’m really getting worried,” said Elaine faking worry. Was an eight-year-old supposed to have that much sass? Probably if they’re Merlin’s daughter and Morgana’s niece.

“Shut up... hay-hair,” hissed Gareth after a moment of thought. He was barely six and still working hard on his creative-insulting skills. “I was thinking about my dream.” Merlin and Arthur, from the front seats, exchange highly amused glances, remembering the dream of cheese with the taste of apple pie.

“You only dream nonsense, Gareth,” Elaine rolled her eyes.

“No, it has a meaning, I swear!” said Gareth, even if not a single one of them believed him for the slightest second.

“That at six years old you’ve already lost the plot?” asked Elaine dryly.

“And what do you think it means, Love?” Merlin decided to humor his son, stopping them before their bickering took off.

“It means we should bake apple pie and eat it with cheese!” the boy said matter-of-factly, because of course that was the most obvious interpretation of being chased by a gigantic piece of cheese that tasted like apple pie.

“I think it’s brilliant!” said Arthur from the passenger seat with a goofy smile, forgetting all about his status.

“Of course you would,” Merlin grumbled, “which is the reason you will go to the store by yourself and by the ingredients.”

“But we have most of them at home!” Arthur whined. If there was one thing he hated, it was making line for anything, he was raised spoiled like that, and Merlin, as the good husband he was, had to, sporadically, take him down a peg, help him connect with reality.

“Yeah, well, Sir Gareth wants to buy it fresh, right?” Merlin asked, and Gareth was more than eager to drag his father out of the car and into the store.

“This is why you and I have to make sure they keep their heads on their shoulder, Princess,” Merlin said, looking at his daughter who was dying of laughter at Arthur’s disconsolate face as an overeager Gareth dragged him around the store.

“Well, they’re empty-headed like that, aren’t they?” she said, shaking her head like a disappointed teacher and very much not like the eight-year-old she was. “But we love them as they are.”

“You’re right on that one, Little Miss!”

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“You still think it was a brilliant idea?” Merlin asked with a wide grin. In front of him, Arthur, face and hair white with flour, didn’t find it as amusing.

“You take joy from my suffering, don’t you?” Arthur grunted, pointing a spoon at his husband.

“Your suffering?” Merlin chuckled. “Love, it’s flour, don’t be such a girl’s petticoat,” he giggled, delighted in being able to throw back the insult to Arthur, even if it’s a thousand and five hundred years later, and to his reincarnation.

In the background, more specifically in the living room playing Just Dance, were Gareth and Elaine, filling the house with laughs and squeals, as they had done for the last hour. Who would’ve thought that a thorough shower would give children that much energy?

The kitchen was starting to be filled with the smell of sweet apples, as the pies in the oven were finishing their cooking.

“I think it’s almost time for—” Merlin’s voice was cut off by the loud knocking on the door. With only a glare, Arthur walked to open the door, as Merlin opened the oven.

Gwaine’s voice came quickly, “Oh, but it smells delightful!”

“I thought you were kidding when you said you were cooking!” said Morgana, walking into the kitchen with a slightly sleepy Elaine on her waist. Even from the kitchen, Merlin could hear Gareth trying to gather everyone else’s attention so he could prattle about the plants in the school’s greenhouse.

“Trust me, Gana, if you had a six-year-old on your back, dreaming about cheese with the taste of apple pie, you would do it, too,” Merlin said, setting the last of the five apple pies on the large tray.

Lancelot and Leon walked in after Morgana, taking plates, cutlery, and glasses to the dining room, where the rest were waiting, Gwen took the cheese out of the fridge too.

As always, it was far too many people, but it never felt like that. Apart from the four hosts, everyone came, Morgana and Leon, Gwaine, Lancelot, Gwen, and even Percival and Elyan, after Merlin convinced them to take a few hours of rest from their bodyguarding duty.  

They were none the lazy to start digging into the pies and cheese, sipping from the wine Morgana and Leon brought, and the orange juice for the children, obviously, because Morgana was a most responsible aunt. 

“Gar, why don’t you tell Uncle Gwaine about your dream?” Merlin asked, all the heads snapping to him and his son, who was nodding eagerly. (“Don’t encourage him, Dad,” Elaine sighed next to him).

“I dreamt of a ginormous piece of cheese chasing me!” Gareth said, starting to make gestures with his arms and hands, everyone looked at him with different grades of amusement, humoring him to continue. “But I’m a brave knight! So, I decided to attack it! But you won’t guess what,” he added, making sure the story sounded like out of a horror movie.

“What happened?” Gwaine gasped at the edge of his seat, having perfected the feigned surprise.

“I bit it, but that’s not all! It tasted... of apple pie!” the boy concluded, and the table exploded in fake gasps.

“Are you kidding me?!” Gwaine gasped (“No, I’m not,” said Gareth most seriously), “I’ve had that dream too! Haven’t I, Percy?”

The Great Percival, mouth to the brink of apple pie, nodded solemnly.

The next two hours passed in a hurry, faster than Merlin could count. They passed among jokes, side remarks, some small talk about the job and the next Board of Directors meeting, and quick enough, it was time for everyone else to leave, and for Arthur and Merlin to put their children to bed. On days like this, when the children were sleepy and tired, it was easier.

It’s a routine engraved in their brains and bejeweled in their hearts. Arthur and Merlin took turns each day to tuck in one of the children.

Both children had their own rooms, of the exact same size. Elaine’s room was painted in rainbow-like pastel colors, just as her bed was always dressed in pastel duvets, many big plushies and toys scattered around in harmony. Gareth’s room was painted in pastel earth colors, with superhero duvets, plushies and toys of dinosaurs scattered around, alongside his ceiling filled with glowing stickers.

Elaine would always choose one of her—also pastel—nightgowns and have her hair brushed before being tucked in bed. She would cling to her large bear plushie almost her size—her favorite, a gift from Morgana when she was born—and she would fall asleep being read a story. That night, Arthur read her a chapter of “Dealing with Dragons,” as her breathing slowed, and Morpheus took watch over her.

Gareth would always dress in shorts and an old shirt, either from Arthur or Merlin, that was far too large for his small frame. Once tucked in bed, he would cling to one of his dinosaur plushies, usually his purple Stegosaurus—a gift from Gwaine—, and be read a chapter of one of the Harry Potter books. That night, Merlin read him a chapter of “The Prisoner of Azkaban,” as his breathing slowed, and he joined Morpheus.

With all the mimicking and enthusiasm Gareth demanded from his readings, Merlin was the last to arrive in the room, finding a relaxed and most dishy-looking Arthur, shirtless and writing something.

“Took you long enough,” said Arthur with a smile, leaving his journal on the bedside table.

“Yeah, well, sorry for having an over-enthusiastic reading for our son,” Merlin said, taking off his clothes.

“Oh, don’t even tell me, I had to swish a ruler trying to mimic those damned wands the other day,” Arthur said, moving so Merlin could get inside, before spooning him from behind. “Wouldn’t change them for the world,” he sighed against Merlin’s neck.

“Me neither,” Merlin sighed, the soft tickling of Arthur’s beard comforting him.

“I love you,” Arthur whispered against his hair, his arms tightening.

“I love you, too,” Merlin whispered back, bringing up their interlocked hands, and leaving a soft kiss over Arthur’s ring finger.

It only took minutes for their breathing to fall in synch, and for both to drift away to wherever the mind and the soul rest alongside the body.

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It was a week after that, that Merlin started to hear it.

A voice he hadn’t heard in at least five centuries. Like an albatross that spiked his life. The same voice that has burgeoned good and bad news for him, confusing riddles, and half-told prophecies. The voice that once told him the most outrageous lie, the promise of the most glorious destiny that was never fulfilled. The voice that guided him through the path that only brought him pain, loss, and devastation.

“Merlin,” the voice called once more, as it’s been doing for days now.

A voice that sounded so ancient and wise, but so naïve and untrustworthy, after so many misleads and half-baked answers.

“Merlin,” Kilgharrah, The Great Dragon, called once more.

And Merlin knew he wouldn’t be able to get any more job done.

It’s been half a millennium since they last spoke, once The Great Dragon told him he was on his own, as he had to find Aithusa and take care of her, as they were the last Dragons to walk the Earth.

Merlin closed his laptop, telling Morris he wasn’t feeling well, and leaving him in charge to keep working on a few reports. He quickly left a text for Arthur to read, telling him he needed to go out earlier and wouldn’t be in time to pick up the children.

He was able to walk into the parking lot without Percival noticing, only leaving another text as notice, before turning his phone off.

He got in his car and drove off, not really sure where he was going, and feeling like the scared and confused teenager he had been when Kilgharrah first called out to him once he arrived at Camelot, so many centuries back. But this time it wouldn’t be as easy as walking behind some guards in a castle.

“Merlin,” The Great Dragon kept calling.

And he drove and drove. Passing meadows and flowered fields, until the houses grew apart and apart, and he hit the road.

He left the company tower before lunch and drove for four hours, with his arms already numb, hands gripping the steering wheel, and the constant calling of his name inside his head relentless. The Great Dragon calling out to the last Dragonlord in the world.

And at last, he arrived at what seemed to be some kind of beach, but it was deserted and hidden behind a tall cliff.

He walked out, feeling the humidity of the air hit his face, making his hair dance, and the salt in the air stuck to his skin. He walked over the sand, until it became a rock path, as if it was opening to him, and trying to guide him.

He probably should be surprised, but at the end of the day, very few creatures ever had as much magic as a Dragon.

The entrance of the cliff wasn’t an entrance, as it was a solid rock wall. And everything was so dark there, he wasn’t able to see much of it. It seemed to have some kind of carvings, but he couldn’t really read any of it, it was some ancient language he had long since forgotten.

Seeing no other option, and feeling the tug from inside his chest, as well as the constant calling, Merlin raised one arm, and focusing his attention, he brought forward a power he had long since sworn to keep hidden and forgotten.

From the middle of the palm of his hand, a spark fired up, and in an instant, he was holding a perfect ball of fire.

Back in Camelot, Merlin had been a very young warlock, a very inexperienced and unknowable one. Magic to him, ever since he was born, came as natural as breathing. He never required spells, incantations, or any study. He simply was magic, and it responded to him, to his calling, to his instincts.

After King Arthur had died, Merlin drifted away, sworn to never use his magic for anyone else, for never would be born a man more worthy of his service than Arthur, nor a destiny as big and impossible to fulfill, nor any other he could ever love as much.

And even so, he spent a few years in isolation, studying on his own, and doing magic for himself, until he mastered most of his power. But after that, his magic, the very essence of his being simply existed, with no purpose, with no meaning to it, for his other half was gone.

And as if the rocks responded to his magic, the carvings in the stone came to alight, and fire started to fill them. Merlin moved his face closer, trying to get a better sight of them.

They told a story. The bittersweet story of his life, or at least, the story of how his life began.

“In a land of myths and a time of magic, the destiny of a great kingdom rests on the shoulders of a young man, his name... Merlin”.

The story of Arthur Pendragon, the Once and Future King, his battles until his ascension to the throne, culminating with his death in Merlin’s very own arms.

And with a loud quiver, the rock parted, making a space for him to walk in. The inside was even mustier than the beach, with the strong smell of seawater and humid seaweeds.

He walked a small path, only the fire in his hand illuminating his way, and its heat warming his face.

Finally, he reached the cave’s chamber. In the middle was a large oval rock in what seemed to be an altar. The rock was enormous, reaching the top of the cliff.

“Merlin,” Kilgharrah’s voice resounded in his mind once more.

Walking up to it, Merlin raised a hand, touching the cold and humid surface of the rock. And under his touch, the rock heated, and it cracked, and it trembled, coming alive. Soon, its shape changed as strong curves started to appear and move.

It took less than five minutes before the rock took the shape of a dragon, and soon, the rock covering fell off, turning to dust, leaving none other than Kilgharrah, The Great Dragon, in front of Merlin.

“Hello, young—“ The Great Dragon cut himself off. “But you no longer are a young one, are you?”

“It’s been a long time since I was young,” said Merlin.

“Indeed it has, my friend,” Kilgharrah conceded. “Tell me, how is the world treating you?”

“Better than ever, I guess,” offered Merlin, not sure how much information he wanted the dragon to know.

“Has any of my words come to fruition?” Kilgharrah asked with a large grin.

“I am afraid that’s the truth,” Merlin whispered.

“You are afraid? I would’ve thought you’d be ecstatic about having them back,” It raised a brow at him.

“I’ve been, but you said it before, Arthur would raise when Albion’s time of need is great. We have children, I don’t know if I want him to get involved in that, there are no longer kingdoms in the world, it doesn’t make any sense,” Merlin argued.

“But my magical friend, Albion has never been a solid place, back then it never came to be,” Kilgharrah said, as if that explained anything.

“I see the time hasn’t changed you,” Merlin grumbled. “You still speak in riddles and cryptic messages,” he added, brow furrowed.

“The reason they are back is because it needed to be like that,” the dragon added, as if that was of any help.

“And what am I supposed to do with that?” Merlin was growing more annoyed with each evasive comment.

“That is up to you. Once Arthur was a king, but no longer, although, a king like him, the Once and Future King, doesn’t require a crown on his head, nor men at his beck and call. But even so, Arthur’s destiny and yours are still the same.”

“There is no Albion, and there never was!” Merlin shouted quickly tired. “There’s no Camelot! The are no kingdoms to unite, least of all to govern over!”

The Great Dragon only chuckled, most amused with the warlock.

“And why do you think Arthur is back? Why do you think everyone is back?”

“How am I supposed to know?!” Merlin yelled. “Tell me a straight answer! These mystifying half-baked answers grew very old back when Camelot existed!”

“A great danger approaches, Merlin. Do you really think your friends are the only ones who have raised once more?”

“No,” Merlin whispered, two names coming to his mind. The two names that marked the end of it all.

The name of the one who corrupted one of his friends, turning her into his greatest enemy, and the boy he saved, only to have him staving him in the back.

“The High Priestess and the druid boy are indeed back, my friend. And it’s only a matter of time before they find you and your family, and your friends.”

“And what am I supposed to do? I’ve spent centuries trying to forget about my magic—”

“Oh, but you didn’t succeed in that, did you?” Kilgharrah asked with an amused smile. “There’s no way for you to not have magic, Merlin. You are magic.”

“Just like Arthur was born from magic,” Merlin whispered.

“Don’t you see it? The two of you were born to be together. I have to admit, I didn’t see it as being married and having children, but there you are.”

“Things were much different,” Merlin sighed.

“Now, were they?” asked the dragon with a chuckle. “Why don’t you tell me about your kids? How’s their magic coming along?”

“Excuse me?” Merlin’s eyes widened.

The dragon opened its eyes just as wide. “Don’t tell me you’ve neglected this part of yourself this bad, you haven’t noticed your kids’ magic? What do you think’s been waking me up? If it weren’t for them, I wouldn’t have been able to sense Morgause and Mordred growing stronger.”

“I’ll need a longer explanation, Kilgharrah,” Merlin demanded. “Explain it clearly,” he ordered, using his Dragonlord voice. The dragon seemed to wince before speaking once more.

“Did you really think that a child coming from you wouldn’t have magic?” the dragon asked, more amused than before. “You are the embodiment of magic in this world, Merlin, everything that comes from you is magic, now congratulations, you no longer are the last Dragonlord on this world.”

“Gareth,” Merlin whispered to himself, but of course, the dragon heard him, and hummed loudly.

“But Arthur had his own magic too, none of your children are defenseless, you know.”

“Are you saying Elaine has magic too?”

“Mm-hmm, yours and Arhtur’s essences flow through your children, no matter which comes from which.”

“Then what am I supposed to do? Are Morgause and Mordred searching us?”

“Search you? Do you think the name Arthur Pendragon is a difficult one to find? No, Merlin, they are coming to you, and are soon to arrive.”

“Then what can I do? How am I supposed to kill them this time? I don’t even know where Excalibur is or the Cup or anything.”

“The first step towards your victory is getting back your allies, old friend.”

“I already have them back,” Merlin prompted quickly.

“But do they know they are back?”

“What do you mean?”

“You need to bring back their memories, Merlin. You need them to remember what’s at stake.”

“And how can I do that?”

“What’s been the answer to the greatest of your troubles, Merlin? What’s been the source of your brilliance?”

“Magic,” Merlin breathed. The Great Dragon hummed.

"But beware, Merlin, your enemies don't work disjointed, they're united by something bigger, much bigger than you've faced before. He's slept for eternity but now he hungers for your power, and won't stop until it's in his grasp and control."

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Chapter Text

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A week had passed, and Kilgharrah’s words still rang in Merlin’s ears. Each time he went to bed, each time he woke up to his children’s noise, each time Arthur’s arms tightened around his waist or when his beard tickled his neck.

Often time, even if they were elusively woven, and carefully riddled, the dragon’s words tried to be of help. Of course, that help did not always align with Merlin, but in time he learned to dissuade what to take and what to ignore, completely blind of how cruelly he was outlining his own fate.

“You must bring their memories back, Merlin,” Kilgharrah had insisted. “For they will fail without the knowledge you possess of them.”

“Knowledge? I have nothing but aching pain, Camelot left me in scattered pieces, and you know it. I had to gather every ounce of my will to live, and even so, I would’ve never asked for a dismal gift like immortality that feels more like a curse,” Merlin countered.

“I know how many times you tried to go against your very essence, against your immortality, lucky for you, scars don’t linger on you, do they?”

“This is not about me, Kilgharrah.”

“No, my friend. This is about you embracing who you are, and what you came to this world to be. Only Emrys can assure that the Once and Future King succeeds.”

“Fat lies coming from you,” Merlin snared, incredulous. “Not when Arthur died in my arms!”

“Seldom do fates go how they should,” the dragon said, highly amused. “If you don’t want to undergo the same forfeit, I would suggest you reconsider, old friend.”

With a heavy sigh, Merlin squeezed Arthur’s thigh. His husband only sent him a questioning look, Merlin was not prone to distractions, least of all when Gwaine was giving a report.

But right now, with so many things to think about, his mind was completely unable to focus on why they would greatly benefit from creating a flexible work schedule.

From the little Merlin was able to gather, the idea was to change their work environment approach, from one focused on physical attendance and time regulation, towards a Results-Only Work Environment, where workers would be more independent over their work, either doing it from home and in the time that adjusted to their own personal schedule or lifestyle.

Of course, changes like this needed months to be approved, so Merlin simply voiced for a small department to be studied, and if the results were satisfactory, then they could move to other departments.

After giving the small input his busied mind allowed him, Merlin excused himself to the bathroom.

The cool water brought a bit of respite to his thoughts as he splashed his face, looking at his tired reflection in the mirror.

“Bringan stæpe gemynd eald lif,” had said Kilgharrah. And even with how old and weak the dragon was, and how repressed his own magic was, Merlin could feel its magic tingling in the air.

It had been centuries ever since Merlin had been taught a spell, and it still came to him, carving itself in his mind, as effortless as it had been when he was young, and not even after centuries of denying himself his inner power, Merlin felt it awaken something in him.

“Beware, old friend, ‘tis not a single-step journey. You’ll have more to do, and so much more to discover about yourself and your family,” the Great Dragon had finished, not really giving much away, as it was common.

“Love?” came Arthur’s voice alongside a knocking on the bathroom door, his voice betrayed his worry. Thankfully, Merlin had wisely chosen to use the bathroom of his office.

“Is the meeting over?” Merlin asked, blinking in quick succession, trying to get rid of the unnatural yellow light that took over the blue of his eyes. It had been so long since his eyes had shone with magic.

“Yeah,” responded Arthur. “I asked Alex to fetch you a bottle of water.”

“Thank you, Love, but Alex is a Personal Assistant, not a serving boy, you know,” Merlin chuckled.

“Yeah, well, he can still do a favor, can’t he?” Arthur chuckled too. “Are you sure you’re okay?” his voice was still laced with his sweet worry.

“Just — give me a second and I’ll come out, I just — I don’t feel much like myself at the moment.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Arthur asked.

“No — not right now. Could you tidy up while I come out? I won’t take long.”

“Oh, look at that,” said Arthur humorously, “I thought I was you husband, not your servant boy.”

“Oh, please, you barely tidy up your own messes,” Merlin chuckled, finding his own respite in the banter, the same that accompanied them and made his life easier so many centuries ago.

“Your word is my command, Sire,” said Arthur, before Merlin heard him walk away. It was hilarious to hear Arthur say the word ‘Sire’ with the same insolence Merlin had said it once, directed back at Arthur when he was a Prince and later the King.

It only took him another five minutes of deep breathing for the bright golden in his eyes to be subdued, letting the ocean blue come waving again.

By the time he walked out, Alex had already checked out, leaving him a message with the progress he had managed, and in case he needed anything. Arthur had his bag ready and had assigned himself the role of driver of the day.

If there was anything Merlin desperately needed at the moment, it was to have his children at arm’s reach with Arthur by his side, and merely exist in their proximity and familiarity.

The ride to the school was silent, only filled with the soft music coming from the speakers, and with the grounding grip of Arthur’s hand squeezing his thigh. He checked his phone, with multiple messages of the rest, all concerned about his premature departure from the Board of Directors meeting.

The children were less energetic today, having been worn out by their classes and already sleepy. They only greeted him with a soft ‘Papa’ and cheek kisses, and then silently settled in the backseat.

The only thing that got a bit of more reaction from them was Merlin deciding they would have pizza for dinner. Of course, nobody disagreed, except for the argument that arose about which type of pizza they would be having.

Gareth decided that he and Arthur—as King and Knight, rather than mundane father and son—were more than worthy of being entrusted with the formidable quest of buying the pizza, so Merlin stayed with Elaine in the car.

“Papa, are you okay?” came the girl’s small voice, searching her father’s face in the rear-view mirror.

“Of course, Honey, why do you ask?”

“You look… far away,” the girl said with a frown, probably not understanding her own way of describing things.

“I — I guess I kind of am — distant, I mean,” Merlin stuttered.

“And where are you, then?”

“In the past,” was all Merlin could offer.

“Do you want to talk about it?” asked Elaine, always trying to be of help.

“No, Love,” Merlin turned his daughter down gently. “This is nothing for you to worry your pretty head, okay?”

Before a frowning Elaine—clearly not satisfied with being left out—could prod his father any further, Arthur and Gareth arrived with three boxes of recently baked pizza. 

They drove in silence and once at home, ate in silence too. It was a comfortable silence, but seeing them around the table, Merlin made up his mind.

If destiny had let him down once, it was now coming back to knock at his door. He had two options, face it or turn a blind eye. And if there was something Merlin learned in his youth, it was that he was not cut out to turn a blind eye to anything.

He took out his phone, opened it to send messages, and created an urgent meeting in his house for the very next day after work. In the background, Gareth's energetic voice retold the very profound discussion he had with a carnivorous plant in the greenhouse, and Merlin was left wondering if perhaps it was the boy’s magic that was starting to reach out to other living beings.

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Everyone—Arthur, Morgana, Leon, Lancelot, Gwaine, Percival, Elyan, and Gwen—was looking at him with different grades of concern and perhaps amusement. But of course, it would have been stupid to have expected any other response. Not when he was trying to tell them that all the Arthurian legends were not only true, but that they themselves were the main characters.

“Love, I’ve always been a fan of the legends, that’s why I chose to reach out to you back at uni, but this is just absurd,” Arthur said with a pressing smile, “where’s the punchline?”

“There’s no punchline, Arthur, it is just as I said,” Merlin sighed. “I told you it was mind-blowing.”

“But it’s just absurd, Merls,” Morgana argued. “Arthur and I studied those legends with fascination when we were kids, and they don’t match at all,” she tried to reason. "Most of them not only contradict themselves and change their plot, but many were created as time progressed."

“Well, obviously, I wasn’t going to let them know everything as it had been, it never felt right,” Merlin argued. “I changed things as much as I could, names — Sir Gwaine for Sir Gawain — I changed relations — I made Morgause yours and Arthur’s sister and I made Mordred their incestuous son, I changed origins — Guinevere is never told to be a servant — I needed to make it obvious that it was but fantasy, I couldn’t let it be known that magic existed, not after I failed.”

“I don’t even exist in the legends,” Leon whined mockingly.

Merlin rolled his eyes, “Sir Leon and Sir Lionel, you tie the knots, pal.”

“It still doesn’t prove anything, apart from that you seem to be losing the plot, Love,” Arthur said, trying to mix gentleness and humor.

“Oh, come on! Merlin, Emrys, Ambrosius, Myrddin. How many times have you ever heard the surname Emrys? None! Because it doesn’t exist!” Merlin stressed.

“You showed me your birth certificate,” Arthur said, looking at him seriously. “It was very clear there.”

“And you never questioned how is it that I have absolutely no family? And even then, creating a false birth certificate is easier than it sounds,” said Merlin, remembering the time he faked one to make Lancelot the fake son of a nobleman.

“It said you were born in the eighties, Love,” Arthur tried to reason once more.

“It was a fake certificate, Arthur! Nothing in there is true save for my name!”

“Then when were you born?” asked Leon, confusion exuding from him as much as it did from the others.

“I was born in Camelot,” was all Merlin said.

“So, you’re over a thousand years old,” concluded Arthur.

“Yes,” and Merlin hated how that only made him sound even more insane.

“So, you are what, immortal?” asked Morgana, looking a second away from calling the closest psych ward.

“Yes,” Merlin said in a hard voice. “I didn’t know, of course, but I’ve died before, always coming back, no matter what I did, my magic refused to let me die.”

“Merls,” Gwaine started, before Merlin cut him off.

“You know what, only this will do.”

Merlin raised both hands and with a soft whisper, as his eyes alighted once more, a soft flame came to life in each palm. There were soft gasps as everyone jumped a few feet back. A moment later, the small flame took the shape of a dragon, flapping its wings.

“Do you believe me now?” he asked, shaking his hands, the fire dying with the movement.

“Well, I don’t really know what to say,” said a gaping Gwaine.

“There are artifacts for that, aren’t they?” asked Percival trying to cover his own shock. “For magic tricks and stuff.”

“You saw his eyes glow, didn’t you?” asked Gwen.

“What a freaking hard public are the lot of you,” Merlin sighed in exasperation, bringing a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“And what are we supposed to do with that, Merls?” asked Lancelot. "What's the point in proving any of that?"

“Nothing. Not now at least, when you fall asleep, I’ll take charge of everything else,” Merlin answered.

“What do you mean?” asked Leon, taking a seat, and eyeing him suspiciously.

“I would suggest you all to take a secure seat,” Merlin answered, raising his left arm to look at his watch. In perfect synch, in less than two minutes, as predicted, the sleeping draught he had mixed in the tea took effect—meant to only last about half an hour—, and one by one, all of them started to doze off.

“I’m sorry for doing this without your consent, guys, but everything will make sense when you wake up, I promise,” Merlin said.

Arthur’s questioning and sleepy eyes were the last ones that shut, looking straight at Merlin’s.

Standing in front of them, Merlin called to the deepest parts of himself. Tapping the essence of the so prophesied Emrys, the embodiment of the magic in the world, himself. Drawing into the very energy that gave life to the world, ignoring the panging in his chest, realizing how weak magic had grown as the centuries had unfolded.

He extended his arms, palms open, and recited the incantation. “Bringan stæpe gemynd eald lif,” the ancient language rolling down his tongue like liquid gold.

And he felt it. He felt how the tendrils of magic erupted from his very core. They extended, in golden hues, approaching them like snakes, twisting around the sleeping figures, enveloping them, searching them.

The tendrils tapped their temples, at the same time as it drew the force of Merlin’s magical core, empowering itself and connecting with the world’s last living being from The Old Religion. The magic suddenly penetrated their temples, connecting with their brains.

Merlin didn’t know what was happening, but if he guessed, it was probably like a USB discharging all its data into a new PC. And softly, their sleeping frames jumped in place, Merlin extending a bit of extra magic to keep them all in place and prevent hurting them. 

Once the spell had come to its fruition, the magic flow ceased, coming back to Merlin. And the sleeping faces started to frown, probably as the rush of endless newfound memories started to fall into place, overwhelming their brains that could only process certain amount of new data at a time.

The first one to open his eyes was Lancelot, who looked around agitated and coughing, as a fish out of the water.

“Merlin?” he asked, looking at him as one looked at someone after years apart, probably trying to recognize him back. And there was something new and old in his voice, the same nobility—one not of birthright, but of character—that had once accompanied him, so clear and soft as the day he saved Merlin—a complete stranger at the time—from the Griffin.  

Lancelot's eyes roamed his entire frame, and he shouldn't be surprised by the tenderness in it. From the first day they met, they had taken a special place in each other's hearts. Lancelot and Gwaine had been his best friends, in each of their reincarnations.

“Sir Lancelot,” Merlin greeted him with the respect that The Bravest and Most Noble of Them All deserved, just in time for Gwaine to jump to his feet, his hand reaching for his waist where once upon a time a sword had been his loyal companion.

Confused, the man looked around. “Merlin!” he called out, both in surprise and delight.

“Sir Gwaine,” Merlin greeted, as Lancelot and Gwaine exchanged looks. They were doing two things: sizing each other up and looking at their clothes in confusion.

“You are supposed to be dead,” Gwaine pointed at Lancelot.

“Sorry,” Lancelot said dryly with a shrug. Then he looked at Merlin, probably remembering how Morgana had brought him back from death as a Shade, and how Merlin had been the one to free his soul, as he died once more. 

“Where are we?” came a grungy voice from behind. Percival. “Merlin?” then he looked at the other two, not sure who he was more surprised to see alive. Lancelot had died twice, but Gwaine had died in his arms.

With not much thought, Percival walked up to Gwaine, enveloping him as close as he could. His hands roamed the shorter man's frame, trying to print it in his mind once more and reassure himself that he was alive.

Leon and Elyan woke up at the same time, looking around in confusion, before their eyes landed on their fellow knights. Gwen woke up at the same time as Morgana, both with different reactions.

Gwen looked around confused, before looking at her brother, the one who had died in her arms, she jumped to hug him. Morgana, on the other hand, probably remembering every single thing she had done in her time in Camelot, fell from her chair, crawling back, trying to create distance between herself and them, a hand on her mouth, open in horror.

The moment her noise brought the other’s attention to her, Merlin saw how, in barely a second, their eyes hardened, and their bodies stiffened, remembering all the pain and suffering Morgana had brought to Camelot in her quest to seize the crown.

Those who were once knights stepped up, creating a barrier to separate Morgana from Gwen and Merlin. The warlock noticed with growing concern that only Arthur remained to wake up, and he didn’t seem to be about to do that any time soon.

That was the moment that the spell finally set in place in their minds, and their new memories, the ones created in their current lives come back. And they started to remember their new identities, and their new lives.

Morgana was the one who probably would have the hardest time coming to terms with her current existence and everything she had unleashed in her past life.

She loved Arthur to pieces, probably so much more than how much she had loved him back in Camelot. But back then she had grown to think of herself as nothing but Uther’s ward, and someone close to Arthur, even if they met when she was already eleven. Here and right now, however, Morgana was Arthur’s little sister, and they had grown together as such, loving each other and being the first person in the other’s corner.

To now know that she had been the one responsible for all the suffering of Arthur’s past life, from becoming Prince Regent, to later as King. She now remembered plotting with their enemy while pretending to be on their side, only to finally reveal her real intentions, breaking them all.

Not only that, but Morgana was also responsible for the past deaths of everyone in the room.

It had been she who had torn open the veil between the living and the dead, bringing the Dorocha to Camelot, which resulted in Sir Lancelot sacrificing himself to pay its closure.

It had been she who had kidnapped Gwen, forcing her brother, Sir Elyan to go in her search, resulting in the knight’s death.

It had been she who had captured Sir Gwaine and Sir Percival in the high of the Battle of Camlann, torturing them, before leaving a gravely wounded Gwaine to die in Percival’s arms.

And finally, it had been she who had not only forged a sword for him, but also entrusted Mordred the task of dealing the killing blow to King Arthur, fulfilling the druid boy’s prophecy, only to later be killed herself by Merlin wielding Excalibur, fulfilling both their prophecies.

For her, to now look up to Leon’s face, who had once been Sir Leon, and now was her husband. The man she had tortured, forcing him to see how her soldiers killed the innocent people of Camelot, trying to break his will into serving her. To look at his face and see the naked terror at the memories, all confronting the tender ones they had built in this new life, ever since uni, up till their marriage, no doubt broke a part of her.

She had cornered herself to one wall, her hand still clasped around her mouth, trying to muffle down the sobs wreaking her body. Everyone looked at her with tormented expressions, their feelings flying around their eyes like leaves in the eye of the tempest.

Hurt, rage, sadness, hate, pity, compassion, confusion.

The range, unpredictability, and suddenness in the nature of human emotions had always been something beyond Merlin’s grasp, even after almost two millenniums of life. Even after having sought death on his own.

Unfortunately, no matter how important Morgana was to him, the only thing Merlin couldn’t stop thinking was the fact that Arthur was not waking up.

He walked, moving down to one knee, at Arthur’s level, with a trembling hand on his neck, he confirmed a steady pulse.

“Is he—” asked Leon, who was doing his best not to look for too long at Morgana.

“He is,” Merlin answered, barely above a whisper. “I just don’t understand why he isn’t waking up.”

“You think we should wait longer?” asked Lancelot.

“Percy, can you help me move him to our room?” Merlin asked. Wordlessly, but with a bit of hesitance in leaving Gwaine’s side, the large man walked to them, grabbing Arthur’s body as if it weighed very little.

Merlin walked ahead of them, opening the door for Percival and moving the bed dressings for him to place Arthur. With a nod and not a word, Percival walked out and back to the others, where the tension was so thick, it could probably be cut with a knife.

Trying to ignore the dreading feeling sinking in the pit of his stomach, Merlin moved quickly, and with his adept hands—blessed be the years of serving him as his manservant—, he quickly got his husband out of his shoes and clothes, bringing a more suiting set of sleeping clothes.

He checked once more, and Arthur’s temperature was normal, as it was his heartbeat. There was no visible side effect of either the sleeping draught or the spell. There was no flushing, no sweating, and no breathing issues. Nothing.

He took care and measure in his movements while dressing the man, and after making sure Arthur was comfortably tucked under the covers, Merlin intended to walk back to meet with the others. 

However, he stopped at the door. Through the small gap at the bottom of it, he could clearly see four small shadows, two sets of feet, snooping in hushed whispers. Silently, he unlocked the door, and swung it open, resulting in two loud thuds. Gareth and Elaine in their sleeping clothes, unceremoniously sprawled on the floor.

He crossed his arms over his chest, raising a questioning brow. “I expect you have a very valid explanation?”

In a hurried panic, both children exchanged glances, arguing with just their eyes, their heads gesturing in different directions.

“Yes, we do,” started Elaine, before sending a pointed look at Gareth, prompting her younger brother to speak. “Gareth, tell Papa what we’re doing.”

“We were planning to go down to… drink… some…,” but Gareth’s creativity didn’t supply him much more.

“Tea!” exclaimed Elaine, with a satisfied smile at her sudden excuse.

“Yes! Tea!” Gareth agreed effusively.

“Neither of you likes tea,” deadpanned Merlin, seeing how the children looked at each other, probably damning the other for not thinking that one through.

“Of course, we like tea,” said Elaine, earning a skeptical look from her father.

“We’re British, Papa,” complemented Gareth highly convinced, and feeling far too proud of it.

“You don’t even drink tea for breakfast,” said Merlin, prompting Elaine to open her mouth, but he beat her to it. “You drink milk,” he accused Elaine with a triumphant grin.

“But I—”

“And you only drink Milo,” he looked at Gareth, who simply sighed, accepting his defeat.

“I love Milo,” the boy admitted.

“So, why are the two of you here when I explicitly asked of you to remain in your bedrooms for the night?”

"We heard you arguing downstairs with the others," muttered Gareth.

"We weren't arguing, Love, it was an adult conversation, which is why I asked of you to stay out of it."

"But we didn't understand anything, I swear," prompted Elaine.

"Which is for the best, Darling," said Merlin, looking back at Arthur's sleeping body.

“What happened to Daddy?” Elaine finally asked, following Merlin’s eyes to Arthur on bed. (“Is he drunk?” asked Gareth more excited.)

“Nothing happened, and he’s not drunk, Gareth, we don’t condone that kind of behavior in this household,” he added the last part with a pointed look, prompting Gareth to raise both hands in surrender. “Your father is simply tired and requires rest, Loves.”

Both children looked from one father to the other, before nodding. They probably didn't grasp the gravity of the situation, for which Merlin was thankful. Having their two small children worried about Arthur was completely unnecessary. 

“Can we stay here with him, Papa?” asked Gareth after a beat. 

“We can watch over him before you come to bed later!” added Elaine, and who was Merlin to deny such an honest and compassionate request from his children?

“Fine,” the warlock sighed. “But if anything happens you call for me at once, am I clear?”

“At once, Sire,” said Gareth with a military salute, Elaine copying him; with a seriousness, as if they weren’t two primary-school children. Merlin only chuckled at their antics.

“Okay, Lady Elaine, Sir Gareth, I’ll leave you to it,” Merlin said, and after ruffling their hair, he finally walked to the ground floor, where only questions and confusion awaited him.

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“So, what you said wasn’t a joke,” said Gwaine, head in his hands.

They were all sitting around the dining table, with Morgana trying to make herself as small as possible in her chair.

It had taken a bit of nudging from Merlin to finally convince her to move from where she was pressed against the wall on the floor. Leon, remembering his role as her husband, had made the crucifying effort of swallowing the feelings that the memories of the other Morgana brought up in him, and helped his wife.

“I still don’t understand,” said Leon with a stony face. “Why bring these memories when we had already built lives of our own?” if he felt bad about how Merlin flinched at his steely voice, he made no effort to acknowledge it.

He probably didn’t intend it, but his words sounded more like an accusation, as if Merlin had done it with the intent of hurting.

“When I arrived at Camelot, I met a dragon,” Merlin started. “It was the last dragon on known land, his name is Kilgharrah, The Great Dragon. He was the first one to tell me about destiny. My destiny. Mine and Arthur’s.”

“What do you mean yours and Arthur’s?” asked Gwen.

“The name my mother gave me was Merlin, but I was known as Emrys to the druids who had foretold my destiny centuries before my birth,” he saw how Morgana flinched at the mention of Emrys.

Emrys was the entity Morgana had chased for years, before knowing it was him, eluding her, even in her face.

“Emrys was prophesied as the most powerful wizard to walk the Earth and destined to protect and guide the Once and Future King, the king that would unite all of Albion and bring magic back the land, ending Uther's era of tyranny,” Merlin concluded.

“But that didn’t happen, because Arthur died,” said Gwen in deep thought, and once again Morgana flinched at the memory.

“There were many things that we did, that I did that prevented that from happening. Things that I’ve regretted century after century, but that I cannot change. After the battle, when he was gravely injured, I intended to take Arthur to Avalon, where he could have been saved, had we not been intercepted,” his eyes drifted to Morgana, who once more flinched, “we would’ve done it, but we didn’t, and Arthur died. But Kilgharrah told me then that my destiny hadn’t been failed, that when Albion’s need was greatest, Arthur would rise again.”

“But Albion never came to exist,” said Leon with a frown.

“Albion is also how the UK used to be called in the old times,” offered Morgana in a soft weak voice. Some hummed, others simply looked at her in silence.

“Not only that, with the persecution of magic, it soon started to fade from the threads of the Earth, leaving little to sustain. In my naive happiness, when all of you started to show up in my life, I forgot Kilgharrah’s words.”

"What part of them?" asked Elyan.

“Arthur came back, as we all did,” Percival pointed out, his eyes drifting through their faces.

“But he was supposed to only come back in Albion’s time of need, right? What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Gwaine.

“A few weeks back, Kilgharrah talked to me once more, it had been centuries ever since we had met, but he called to me, and told me that not only you all had come back, but our enemies had come back too."

"Morgause," breathed Leon.

"And Mordred," Merlin pointed out.

"Mordred?" asked Morgana in a gasp.

"That was the reason for all of this to happen,” Merlin gestures his hands around. "For all of you to be back, once more."

“And now what? Are we supposed to go to battle with them?” asked Elyan.

“Kilgharrah didn’t have answers for that, only that time would tell us, but we should be aware of their movements; they weren’t the only ones who came back, he warned me that something far greater than we’ve ever faced is leading them. Which is the reason I had to bring back your memories of Camelot.”

“And what about Arthur?” asked Leon.

“I don’t know. He should’ve woken up long ago, but he seems to be just fine. Only asleep,” Merlin retorted, deeply hoping that nothing had gone wrong, and that Arthur was being nothing but his usual sleepyhead self.

“Shouldn’t you keep watch on him?” asked Gwen.

“The kids took it upon themselves to be his personal nurses,” Merlin said with a light smile. There was something inexplicably warm in his chest, settled by their children’s devotion to Arthur’s condition, even when they didn’t understand.

“They’re such good kids,” sighed Gwen.

“They are,” Merlin’s smile grew. “The best I could’ve asked for.”

The only thing keeping them from losing their minds in the moment was probably the soft smell of the hot chamomile tea in their cups, warming their hands, filling the air, grounding them in the moment.

“Do you want us to—” but Gwaine’s voice was cut off by Gareth’s yelling.

“PAPA! HE’S UP! PAPA!”

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The first thing he felt was a pulsating pain in his brain, as if it was his beating heart after some skirmish with bandits. His ears tried to capture the world around him, but each sound came muffled as if his ears were covered in cotton, not letting him make sense of anything.

There were two small hands, so very small and delicate to the touch, shaking his shoulder, as another voice seemed to be yelling.

His eyelids felt as if they carried rocks that weighed tons, and trying to open them only increased the painful stabbing sensation in the back of his head, the pressure he felt, making him worry about the prospect of his head simply exploding in pieces.

The first thing he saw—with high effort—was a blur, the world around him making little sense—he expected to be lying in the ground in some forest, while in patrol, not in some room—, perhaps they took him back to the castle for recovery? Still, he remembered the Physician's tower much differently.

The weirdest thing was the light coming from the ceiling. He had some big candles to light his bedchamber, but he was most certain none of them were in his ceiling, the same could be said about Gaius' tower.

In the bed, which belonged more to a royal bedchamber than to Gaius' medical chamber.

He could feel someone right next to him in the warmth of the covers. As his blurry vision finally—thanks to the gods—started to come to some resemblance of focus, the world started to come to clarity.

The person next to him was a little person. A child. A little girl, not older than ten winters.

But that wasn’t what left him breathless. He had seen his own reflection in mirrors a fair number of times—at least for a prince—, and this little girl took many of those features as her own.

The sharp angle of her nose bridge, the strong cut of her jaw, and the height of her cheekbones were totally his. Her lips were as pink as his, and her hair was the same golden as his, reflecting the light from the strange ceiling candle, making her look like an angel with the softness of her fair skin.

Her eyes stopped on his, wide-opened in relief. The oceans in them were the same as his, just as crystalline and harmonious and captivating as his own blue eyes, and they were looking at him as one looks at their glorious hero, with a naked adoration and security bare there, for everyone to see.

And as the girl's frame came to clarity in his senses, so did the noise around, finally clear enough to understand. There was a boy’s voice, coming from the door, yelling excited.

“PAPA! HE’S UP! PAPA!”

The little girl’s soft and small hands caressed his cheeks, and there was something prominent there... a beard? Her eyes were a bit glossy in emotion, and her voice soft and the sweetest he’s ever heard.

“Daddy, how do you feel?”

Between the softness and warmth of the bed and its covers, and the gentleness of this little girl, who was definitely younger than ten, Arthur felt a small smile creep up his lips before the words she said sank in.

Daddy? Why would she call him that? He was very sure he had no daughter. And what was that thing on his chin? Was it… a beard? He didn’t remember ever growing a beard as such, it even tickled his own nose.

Suddenly, there was a sinking weight coming to his other side rather violently, and another child, a boy—probably the one yelling before—, came into view.

In stark contrast, the boy had the darkest hair Arthur had seen, large ears, and overall mischievous features, looking down at him with a wide toothy grin, and spoke with a much more serious voice that didn't quite match.

“Papa’s coming, Daddy, don’t fret,” the boy said reassuringly—he was clearly younger than the little girl. The boy was trying to calm him, and if his brain didn't feel so atrophied in its pain, he would've allowed the warm feeling in his chest to show.

He heard the door be opened again and someone walked towards him in quick steps. A man. One who, as Arthur to the little girl, stood in a breathtaking resemblance to the boy. Hair just as inky black, large ears, the same jawline and high cheekbones, and their general demeanor—a combination of mischief and clear intention.

The man too had a beard like Arthur’s, but it looked much shorter.

“Arthur,” the man breathed in relief, a smile growing on his face.

And now Arthur noticed how weird these people’s clothes were. All their clothing had weird designs like colorful people or animals. Nothing like he’s ever seen in Camelot or on his visits to neighboring kingdoms.

There was something about the man, something in his voice, his features, and his very presence that resonated with Arthur, but he couldn’t put his fingers on it. He seemed so familiar, but entirely unique in sight. His presence felt like it belonged there, at his side, but he couldn’t pinpoint from where.

“Who… who are you?” asked Arthur, in a voice not like his own, but much deeper, much older. And as the other man’s face crumbled like a house of cards in wild winds, Arthur’s sight blurred once more, and his head fell back on the padded pillow, and the noise, as the world around him, was conquered by the darkness of unconsciousness.

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

Author's note

Okay, here it is, the first chapter. As I said before, I'm currently working on quite a few fics that take priority over this one, but I'll try my best to update, at the very least, two chapters per month!! Thank you so much to those of you who have commented and left your kudos, hope you guys continue to enjoy the story.

Also, I'm currently participating in the Merlin Bingo 2024 and in the next days I'll be posting one-shots for that one! If you guys are interested in checking them, you can follow me to get a notice.

You can also find me on Tumblr https://www.tumblr.com/jcardonacardona

- 𝐣.𝐟. 𝐜. 🐼💜

Chapter Text

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He was having fun, just like any other day, but who in hell did that bumbling, scrawny boy thought he was? Just because he was throwing some daggers at the target Morris carried, didn’t mean a peasant could just question him about what he does or not.

And calling him ‘friend’? He was most definitely not friends with idiots like that. And why the hell was he using that stupidly ridiculous neckerchief?

“I’d never have a friend who could be such an ass,” the boy had said, before walking away.

How dare he walk away from the prince of Camelot? He clearly needed to be put in his place.

“Nor I one who could be so stupid,” Arthur spat back. “Tell me, Merlin,” —that was the guy’s name— “do you know how to walk on your knees?”

And then, after some taunting, he finally bit the bait. How dare he try and punch him? Those twiggy arms clearly wouldn’t have done the task anyway. The commodities of the cell would teach him a lesson.

Against all odds, his goal wasn’t reached, as the boy was walking the streets the very next day as if nothing. Not even answering his first taunts.

There was something about him, something that called to him, to his presence. Maybe it was how stupidly brave he was, ignoring the fact that he was dealing with the prince of Camelot. He should've been shaking at the sight of Arthur wielding a mace, one he was trained to use to kill since birth, but instead, he chose to mock him.

“And how long have you been training to be a prat?” Merlin asked.

The sheer audacity of his nonchalant and blunt way to insult him was infuriating as much as it was delightful. 

“You can’t address me like that,” said Arthur, being unable to stop his disbelieved airy chuckle.

“Sorry,” said Merlin, not a single bit sorry. “How long have you been training to be a prat, my lord,” he finished, and for the first time in his life, Arthur felt as if the title was more of an insult rather than an honorific.

After twenty minutes of swinging his mace like the showoff he was, things went array. He destroyed part of the market before his mace got stuck on some hooks—something that’s never happened before—, then he hit himself with a box and tripped over a rope that appeared out of nowhere.

All of which gave this Merlin the advantage to throw him on his back, before he got distracted. A fact which Arthur exploited, beating him with a broom. He decided to let him go, because there was something about him, something refreshing, something binding, something he did not quite comprehend at the moment.

And good riddance he let Merlin go, just hours later, at the feast for which Lady Helen of Mora was singing, everyone was enchanted to fall asleep. It was only when the big candelabra of the main hall, that the enchantment fell off, revealing that Helen was in fact a very old sorceress.

The old woman threw a dagger at him, and it felt as if time itself had slowed for him to see in clear focus as his impending doom approached him. And he stood there, completely unable to save himself. And, as the dagger flew, circling in the air, someone grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him away, and the dagger struck the chair, right where his heart had beat.

Merlin, the scrawny guy from the market had saved him, and his father found no worthier reward for such thing, but to make him Arthur’s manservant.

And from the first day, Merlin proved himself to be, by far, the worst manservant the lands of Camelot had ever witnessed. He was clearly not trained for the job, and he wasn’t ashamed to make that part of his personal signature.

Everything reached a boiling point when, in the yearly knighting tournament, Merlin accused Sir Valiant of using an enchanted shield.  Of course, this was with no proof, making Arthur look like a fool in front of the whole royal court when he was unable to prove such a theory.

“We can still expose Valiant,” Merlin stressed, back in Arthur's chambers.

“I no longer require your services,” said Arthur, giving his back to Merlin.

“Are you sacking me?” Merlin’s voice sounded so pained that Arthur had to take a moment to compose himself.

“I need a servant I can trust,” and it somehow pained him, even if it shouldn’t. Merlin was nothing but a servant, and an inefficient one at that, but he was kind of a good company. He made Arthur feel more like a human rather than just a figurehead of royalty.

At the end, it turned out Merlin had been right. Valiant was using an enchanted shield with poisonous snakes at his command. It almost got to him, but Arthur was able to defeat him, finishing the unworthy knight off, and of course, rehiring Merlin as his manservant.

It was days after that an unknown disease fell to the people of the citadel. And if there was something Arthur had never learned to stand, it was to see his people suffering. The plague started in the lower town, and Arthur was more than happy to conduct the raids in search of the sorcerer responsible for their suffering.

The only place where they found evidence of sorcery was Guinevere’s house—her father had fallen ill, but magic had healed him—. Arthur doubted Guinevere was guilty, and if so, he knew nothing bad could come of her, but Uther had sentenced her to die, and even with Morgana’s claims and arguments, the sentence was held.

Merlin, with his stupid bravery and enviable sense of loyalty, had stepped in and accused himself of being the sorcerer. Nothing Arthur wasn’t able to dissuade and shut down.

With Morgana’s help, Merlin convinced him to go to the cavern under the Lower Town where the well that supplied water for it lay. There they encountered a large beast made of earth and water, an Afanc.

Arthur, with a torch in hand, attacked the monster, and thanks to the wind, which very conveniently had increased, he burned the monster, ending the plague.

This time, his eyes didn’t put much resistance against being opened. His head had stopped throbbing, and the stabbing sensation was completely gone. Not only that, but his ears also heard clearly, even amidst the fog of sleep. 

He woke up to the sound of birds chirping happily, and the coldness of the night was already gone, with some sun rays coming from a glassed window.

But the place he was in was nothing short of strange. For one, the bed was bigger than his own, probably meant for a married couple, and even so, it had space to spare. Secondly, it felt of the highest quality, but it didn’t have any posts nor ceiling, which were the most common for royalty.

And the strangeness didn’t stop there. Taking out the warm covers, he found himself in weird clothes. For one, he was wearing some kind of sleeping trousers, but they were extremely short, not reaching his knees, and instead of a tunic, he was wearing something made of a much finer fabric, hugging his body—which he now noticed was much more muscular than he remembered.

He decided to stand up, his bare feet meeting the coldness of the floor. This floor, unlike the stone one from the castle, was made of wood, but it had been somehow polished to be completely smooth to the touch, almost like a crystal.

The room he found himself in was large, almost as big as his own bedchambers, which was unsettling, because he knew for sure, he didn’t stand in a castle.  

In one of the walls, stood a large glass, far larger than the windows found in any castle, from which the sun permeated. The sight of the outside was… weird. Nothing out there made any sense. You either lived in a castle if you were royalty, or in a large state if you were nobility, or you simply lived in moderate houses or huts if you were a peasant.

He didn’t see any kind of house close by, which meant he was in a state, probably, but there was no field with workers to indicate such. And in the far distance, he could see other weirdly towering structures from where people came and went.

There were two large closets in the room and two bedside tables on each side of the bed. One of them had a photo, it was him—or rather an older version of himself—, and another man, the one he remembered from the night before with the children, the one who seemed strangely familiar, but he couldn’t pinpoint from where.

The other bedside table had a few small toys. A dragon, a strange thing with four legs that seemed like a lizard, a fairy, and a bird. He was planning on opening one of them when the door was opened. In came the other man.

“Arthur,” the man greeted him, and his voice sent a spark of something straight to Arthur’s core, singing familiarity to some part of him, out of reach for his awareness.

His hair was as black as Arthur remembered and his expression was guarded. Arthur tried to discern from where he recognized that man, because his features wore an incredible resemblance to someone he knew, but with the beard, he wasn’t sure.

But, if he himself had miraculously grown a beard, then maybe he could see from under the man’s beard. And as he looked at that jawline, and those high cheekbones, with that sharp nose… impossible… could it be…?

“Merlin?” he asked, again, his voice was so much deeper, it surprised him. If he had to take anything from how the man’s face lighted up, he was probably right.

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He came to an abrupt halt, all intentions of embracing Arthur dead on the spot.

There was something in that voice, something that startled him. Even underneath the deepness that his husband’s voice had found with age, a clear affection had always shone through. This time, however, there was, above all, confusion, but also a certain detachment Merlin remembered quite right. The same detachment Arthur—back in Camelot, as a prince—had worked to put between himself and everyone else considered beneath his status, at least in the public eye.

He didn’t speak to him as a husband speaks to his spouse, it was the voice of a lord talking to his servant. And Merlin would be a liar if he claimed that a part of him didn’t break in response, whether his soul, his heart, or the bone-made fort around it, he couldn’t be sure.

“Merlin?” Arthur spoke once more, a note of irritation in his voice. And Merlin stopped to think again.

The spell had worked in two parts. First, they remembered their past incarnation from Camelot, and a while later—minutes, really—they started to remember their current life. If Arthur was speaking to him as he did back in Camelot, then he had remembered that, but he still hadn’t recovered his new life, which was weird, as hours had passed since the spell.

“What do you remember, Arthur?”  he asked cautiously.

“What do I remember? Why don’t you ask me what I understand? Because I have no idea where in hell we are, or what’s going on! And why on Earth do you and I have beards?!”

Merlin had always enjoyed how Arthur was so extremely expressive; especially his face, which would contort in the most hilarious of ways. But right now, he couldn’t even bring himself to smile when Arthur’s voice sounded so demanding, in expectation of servitude. Painfully, no affection lingered in it. 

And it was by mere luck that the floor didn’t break beneath him as he felt it. In that moment, it felt as though his very soul had been chased away from his body, leaving in its place nothing but a cold and empty dreading casket.

Thank the heavens he had taken the children to school, or they might have been able to sense his descent to bitterness.

“We’re home,” was all he was able to grit out. Even after over a thousand years of life, there was a naïve part of him, stupidly willing for Arthur to simply say the punchline and confess this was nothing but a joke of very poor taste.

“Home? Merlin, what are you talking about? Where the hell are we?”

“Arthur, tell me what’s the last thing you remember?” Merlin stressed out.

Arthur seemed to search in his mind for the answer. “I don’t know! There was that thing in the water, and it was causing a plague in the Lower Town, and I burned it or something.”

The Lower Town? As in the one from Camelot? Were Arthur’s memories trapped in his former princeling self? And plague? Was he talking about the Afanc? But that had been back in the very first months after Merlin arrived at Camelot. Were... were his memories coming back in small pieces?

“You’re in the future,” was all Merlin let out, feeling utterly stupid for it. How was he supposed to explain to him how time worked when Arthur thought himself to be in the 5th century?

“The future? Merlin, what are you talking about? And who were those children?"

With a deep sigh that seemed to have rooted in his metaphysical core, Merlin shook his head.

“Stay here, I’ll bring breakfast,” he said, ignoring Arthur’s offended look. He hadn’t been a very obedient manservant; he was even less so as a husband.

Breakfast had been a quick affair that morning. With the questions pouring out of the children, and Merlin not finding it within himself to answer them, he had merely prepared eggs with bacon and toast. Miraculously, the children had accepted that their father was feeling very sick and required much rest without prodding any further.

When he entered the bedroom once more, Arthur was sitting next to one of the bedside tables, with a photo in his hands. It was an old one, back when they started to date, in one of the fountains in Regent’s Park.

“This is us, isn’t it?” Arthur asked, showing him the photo he already had printed in his mind, as did the memory.

“Yeah, Regent’s Park,” Merlin offered, placing the small breakfast tray on the bed. “Eat.”

Without questioning much, Arthur started to eat the breakfast served to him, only asking about things like the bacon and the milked tea.

“So, this is the future, and how the hell did we end up here?” Arthur finally asked, still skeptical about the whole future business.

Merlin moved to take the dark jeans Arthur had been using the night before, and from the back pocket, he took out the man’s wallet, showing him his ID.

“Have you ever heard of reincarnation?”

“Can’t say I have. It's not like I’m a scholar, Merlin,” Arthur rolled his eyes.

“Nor particularly bright,” Merlin muttered under his breath. “You don’t have to convince me of that.”

“Excuse me?” Arthur raised a high brow.

“Doesn’t matter,” prompted Merlin. “Reincarnation refers to the act of a soul to come back from the beyond to inhabit a new body and live a new life.”

“Mm-hmm, and if that’s true, then why do I have the same body, just older? And you?”

“That’s a very good question for which I have no answer. And as for me, I didn’t die,” answered Merlin.

Arthur chuckled a couple of times before noticing Merlin was not following him.

“Wait, you’re being serious?”

“Yep,” Merlin made an emphasis in the p. 

“And you expect me to believe that you’ve lived for what, more than a thousand years?”

“A little over a thousand and five hundred,” Merlin said with a shrug. “Anyway, come, you need to bath.”

“I think I’m the one who gives orders here,” said Arthur, popping out his chest, but still obeying.

He followed close behind. Thankfully they had a private bathroom in their bedroom, one with a large bath and an even larger shower.

“I don’t have time to prepare a bath for you, but the shower will do,” Merlin said, putting the hot water on. “Take off your clothes.”

“Here? Right now?” a small blush crept up Arthur’s cheeks, surpassing his beard.

“Come on, I’ve seen you in your birth suit plenty of times,” urged Merlin.

“What is even this?” Arthur asked while begrudgingly taking off his clothes, watching with eagle eyes his boxer briefs.

“It’s called a shower, you’ll basically bath under a controlled rain, a hot one,” Merlin said, practically throwing Arthur inside. “You move this thing and the water comes, the soap is there. I believe you can sort yourself out for this, yes?”

“I’m not an idiot Merlin,” Arthur said in a tone suspiciously close to a whine.

“No, but you’re a dollop-head, so I worry you know, wouldn’t want to have you hurt your pretty little head thinking too hard,” snickered Merlin, sardonically, walking out. “Dry yourself with the towel!”

While Arthur tried to come up with some interesting insults to throw back at him, Merlin took out some of Arthur’s clothes. And less than twenty minutes later, Arthur walked out with a towel around his waist, and no insult to throw back.

After helping him dress up, because he was just as useless as he was when he was a prince to do it himself, he explained how to use the bathroom and warned him to not leave the house nor do anything stupid.

“And where are you going?” asked Arthur as Merlin dressed himself in a more formal attire.

“I have a meeting at the company,” he answered.

“The company?”

“Yes, not one of warriors. A company is like a market stall but in a gigantic size,” Merlin tried to explain.

“And how did you do it?”

“It’s actually yours. But you didn’t build it, you simply had to be born to have it, which means not much has changed.”

“Then I should go with you!” Arthur said suddenly excited of yet another birthright.

“No, you don’t. You don’t have any idea what this is about and I have to strike that deal in your name,” Merlin said, grabbing his bag and walking towards the door.

“And why would you do that? Didn’t you say manservants no longer exist?” Arthur asked, tilting his head like a confused puppy.

“No, but I’m your husband,” he retorted with a bittersweet smile, and closed the door on Arthur’s face, not waiting for an answer.

He didn’t have it in him to see the probably horrified expression Arhtur would wear in front of that kind of news. His heart was at the brink of breaking, and even in the small commodity and familiarity of the old-time routine of helping him dress and guiding his morning, the pain of not being remembered for what he was didn’t subdue.

No matter how much he tried to rationalize that it was not Arthur’s fault and that he wasn’t doing any of it with the goal of hurting him, his ancient heart didn’t listen to reason. And it pained him, each time his mind tried to force him to approach him, to grab his hand, to kiss him, to nuzzle into his heat, he had to restrain himself.

The first and only time that morning that he tried to initiate some contact, only for Arthur to move his hand as if a white-hot iron had touched him was like a rain of whiplashes in his face, his back, his chest, and his neck, all at the same time, neither more merciful than the last.

Five deep breaths were what he needed. Inhale, slow and deep, feeling as his chest, belly, and lungs filled to the count of four. Retain the air for another four counts, and finally exhaled as slowly as he could, stretching the liberating sensation for as long as he was physically able to. 

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Husband? Definitely either he hadn’t washed his ears properly and was hearing badly, or the word husband had a totally different meaning in this future, or whatever it was.

Because why on Earth would he marry Merlin?

Like, he wasn’t blind, and buried—and probably pretending to be dead—, very much underneath all of his clumsiness, audacity, insolence, lankiness, and extreme lack of coordination and grace, he was kind of cute in an insufferable-infuriating way.

Hell, even Gwen and Morgana had mentioned as much, and Arthur couldn’t bring himself to deny that fact.

But surely that hadn’t been enough for his future (or past) self to have married him! And his father (if it was the same, anyway) had allowed him?!

Each word that escaped Merlin throughout the entire morning had only brought him headaches and bothering thoughts.

The future was very confusing. There was a large box that somehow stored coldness and ice. The thing next to the rain-box, the toilet had Merlin called it? These were some of the craziest things he’d ever seen, it was water where you put your bodily deposits, and it simply vanishes them? The world in the future must have been conquered by sorcerers, ‘cause there was no other explanation for any of that.

Deciding that it was going to be a waste to stay up trying to decipher how those ensorcelled objects worked, he decided to go back to bed. If there was nothing to be done, no battle to be fought, no kingdom to protect, and no throne to worry about being worth for, the better thing to do was sleep. Maybe then that stupid and insistent headache would finally have mercy on him.

With a last mental image of the small children from the night before, he fell asleep, being put in front of a display of images that were as new as they were old and familiar to him and his identity.

One moment the great hall was enjoying a most deserved celebration: the signing of the long-discussed peace treaty between King Uther of Camelot and King Bayar of Mercia to end years of warfare between their kingdoms.

The feast was passing merrily, that was, until Merlin rushed inside accusing KingBayard of poisoning the chalice from which Arthur was to drink.

That kind of accusation caused an uproar in seconds, with his father, demanding Merlin to drink from it to prove, not caring for the risk of Merlin's life.

No matter how much Arthur argued against risking Merlin’s life for that, his manservant, as stupid as he was loyal and dedicated, chose to risk his life in his place.

And for a moment nothing happened, until Merlin started to cough and convulse, falling to the floor, ending with the arrest of King Bayard and all his party. Arthur carried Merlin’s body to Gaius’ chambers, where the physician told him about the flower that could save Merlin’s life, the Mortaeus Flower.

He was decided to get the flower, until his father forbade him to do it, arguing that his life, as the prince, was much more important than Merlin’s, as a servant. Hearing those words felt so wrong and it caused a revolting feeling in the pit of his stomach. How could someone be so cruel as to pay the person who saved his son’s life like that?

Needless to say that Arthur disobeyed, taking a horse and making the journey. He didn’t expect to find a seemingly wounded and distraught woman, before being attacked by a large creature called the Cockatrice, which he killed with no major issue.

Turned out that the woman was actually a sorceress, leaving him at the mercy of gigantic spiders. And in the moment when he was ready to accept his fate and only felt the regret of not being able to save Merlin’s life in return, a floating light came to him.

At first, he thought it to be a light from the beyond, coming to collect his soul, but there was something in the light’s radiance. It called to him, it welcomed him, it soothed him, and at last, once he gave in to his instinctual trust, it guided him to safety.

His father was not very happy, ordering his immediate arrest for disobeying him. but that wasn’t the worst of all. He refused to take the flower back to Gaius, smashing it in his fist, trying to teach him a lesson. But the only thing Arthur learned was the feeling of having his heart kicked mercilessly, by his own father.

With a broken heart, he watched as his father gave him his back and walked away.

It was only by the gods’ mercy that Gwen came and he was able to smuggle the flower with her, saving Merlin’s life at the end.

Maybe Merlin wasn’t the best at being a manservant, but he was by far, the best person Arthur has ever shared a close space with. He always feared having a boring or plodding manservant like George, but Merlin was nothing like that.

Merlin made him feel alive, he made his life so much more interesting, and knowing that he was alive, thanks to him, maybe as a small repayment, made a tingling sensation blossom in his chest, maybe pride, maybe something else. 

It was weeks later that Arthur rescued a girl called Sophia and her father from some bandits. The girl was beautiful and alluring, and some part of Arthur wished to court her, even if he couldn’t tell why.

There was something about the girl he couldn’t quite comprehend, even Morgana seemed skeptical about her intention, although Arthur assumed it was more jealousy than anything else.

His attraction went so far as to have Merlin lie to his father just so he could have some trysts with the girl. He even went as far as to demand a court meeting with his father to be allowed to marry Sophia.

All of it culminated when Merlin confronted him in his chamber, accusing Sophia of enchanting him. there was a part of him that trusted Merlin’s words, but another loud one whispered for him to not do it, to trust and listen only to Sophia.

Turns out he was, in fact, enchanted. She forced him to elope from the castle, and it was only thanks to Merlin that he got back before ruining his own life.  

Peace in Camelot seemed to be quite difficult to come across, and mere weeks after that, a druid man infiltrated Camelot—he was captured and executed—, leaving a boy lost and being searched for in order to be executed.

It was in dilemmas like these ones that Arthur felt the most disconnected from his father. Everyone knew most of, if not all, the druids had magic, but did that mean a barely eight-year-old deserved to be executed, when he had committed no crime? According to his father, the answer was a yes with not a single doubt, but to Arthur, it wasn’t that easy, and it didn’t take away the pain and gripping guilt that heavied his chest.

All became even more difficult when it was discovered that Morgana was the one crossing them, not only had she allowed the boy to stay hidden in her own chambers recovering from a wound, but she also tried to take the kid to escape.

Finding out that Merlin had also been involved only added pain, because it told him one very clear truth: in their eyes, he was no better than his father, and agreed to have an innocent child executed.

Arthur grew up admiring his father and everything he represented as a king, to him, as to almost any child, it was only natural to look at his father in admiration and reverence, but he could not live his entire life trying to only obey.

It was only after talking with Morgana that he came to his senses. He couldn’t just stand and let an innocent child be executed, not even if his father had decided so, not even if his father gloated about that fact. That wasn’t who Arthur was, and if he had the mind of ever becoming the king his people deserved, he needed to think for himself, even if couldn’t always have his way as a mere prince.

And so, with Merlin, they traced the plan to help the boy escape, and they did so, even if Merlin was caught up a bit with the guards, he was able to take the boy, mount his horse, and ride away from the citadel, into the forest, and deliver the boy back to his people.

He woke up with a gasp. Mordred. That was the boy’s name. He told so after Arthur delivered him back to the druids. Why was that name familiar? There was something about it that made the hairs in his nape rise.

With more memories, and more information on Merlin, Arthur was left with nothing more to do but wait.

A few hours later Merlin came to deliver lunch to him, which was packed in some weird boxes, and according to Merlin, it was Italian. How on earth did Merlin get Italian food? Because he explained that Rome was in Italy, and apparently it was no longer an empire, but still, it seemed to be very far away.

Either way, the food was delicious, and Arthur learned he could actually trust his future (or past?) self in his own decisions.

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After centuries of life, dichotomies were not new for Merlin, but it’s been so long feeling centered, that the new dichotomic shades of his life were crashing on him.

He had been able, thanks to centuries of practice, to hide away his own emotions, and go as his day was planned.

He went to the office, not crossing a single one of his friends, he had his meeting with the Android representative, and was able to strike a preliminary deal for their next big set of collaboration.

He drove back home to bring Arthur his lunch and answer some of his questions, ignoring the soaring pain in the bottom of his chest. And now, finally, he was able to retrieve his children from school. And here came his dichotomy.

A part of him was relieved to know that he was going to have his children with him, knowing that their warmth was soon to be at arms’ length. The other part of him dreaded. It dreaded the questions he knew had been bottling up on his children, and it dreaded the way he couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t just dismantle in the spot, victim of the weight of his own apprehensive emotions.

Picking them up from their classrooms has been quick enough. They didn’t make any hustle, in fact, they were extremely silent, as if a part of them understood the state Merlin was in.

The ride back home had passed in silence. Merlin, locked away in his own mind, had forgotten to turn the radio on, and none of the children told him off for it. Which, had he been in a better state of mind, would’ve concerned him, as both children loves music as they loved their food. But maybe some integral part of their childish minds understood that their father was not doing very well.

“How’s Daddy fairing, Papa?” asked Elaine looking up from the last remains of her curry.

“Is he still sick?” added Gareth, his own plate already empty and almost licked-clean.

Merlin set his spoon aside, swallowing. “Yes, I’m sorry, Loves. He’s still sick and you can’t see him, I’ll bring him his supper in a bit.”

He saw how their shoulders shrank at his response, and his own heart crumbled at having to lie to them. They were used to sharing space with Arthur each second they were home, and to be deprived of it was challenging for them all.

The most painful part was definitely knowing that his grief wasn’t individual. Knowing that his children would be constantly aching and that there was nothing he could do to solve the situation or to simply take away their pain was killing him on the inside, making the bile in his stomach want to crawl out.

“Will he be alright?” Elaine’s voice was brittle, and that only brought more cracks to Merlin’s already crumbling heart.

Her fear was understandable. All the times either Arthur or Merlin had been sick, they could always see them and gift their company. Being denied seeing him was slowly raising alarms in their minds.

“Of course, My Love,” he moved his hand to grasp hers and Gareth’s. “Your father is sick and very weak, but it will only take a few days before you see him back, but you will have to make it easier, okay?” both children nodded. “Now go and get ready for bed, I’ll go and read you in a moment.”

After that, the children had their answers, and no matter how upsetting it was, the conversation had ended with that. They ate in silence, and while they got ready for bed, Merlin took Arthur his supper, who also ate in silence, only making small comments about the food.

Thank the lord the children understood how the spirits in the house were and demanded far less attention for their sleeping routines; a short reading and forehead kisses were enough to get them to fall asleep.

“I’m sorry,” was the first thing Arthur said when Merlin opened the door.

“Sorry for what?”

“For the pain that I’m causing you,” he said. Merlin opened his mouth to protest, but he was beaten to it, “you probably don’t want to admit it, but I can see it. In your eyes.”

“It not — it’s not your fault, Arthur,” Merlin sighed, moving to take out some of his sleeping clothes from the wardrobe.

“Still, you — you said we are married, right?” Arthur asked, showing him the ring that now adorned his ring finger.

“You put it on.”

“Yeah, it was in one of those things beside the bed,” Arthur said. “It’s really pretty, I like it, did you choose it?”

“It’s made of golden,” said Merlin, tracing the outline of the band, “this here, is made of rubies,” he traced the red stripe in the middle of the golden. “And here,” he twisted the ring on Arhtur’s finger, “it’s the Pendragon crest,” he said, tracing the dragon carved on the back of the band. "Curious, isn't it? How that's the only thing from Camelot to survive."

“You survived too,” offered Arthur.

“I was born in Ealdor, you, prat,” Merlin chuckled.

“Well, you lived with us, you’re practically of Camelot too. Is your ring the same?”

Merlin raised his hand, showing his own identical ring. “Yeah, we agreed to have them be the exact same.”

Arthur nodded, letting his hand fall, he seemed deep in thought, but after two minutes, Merlin assumed he wasn’t going to say anything, so he walked to the door.

“You—” Arthur suddenly said, making him stop with the handle on his hand. “I mean we, we are married, that much is obvious. But they — the children — are they—”

“They’re ours,” Merlin finished for him, seeing how Arthur’s eyes widened once more. He probably deduced such, but to have the confirmation crystal clear was still a shock.

“Do you— do you think I could see them?”  he asked shyly.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Merlin said, seeing how Arthur’s expression seemed to falter. “They don’t understand what’s happening, they’re already hurting, and I won’t have them taking more than necessary,” Arthur seemed to wince in guilt at Merlin’s words—and to be fair, they did sound like an accusation—, he sighed, defeated. “I’m sorry, I know it’s not your fault, and I don’t blame you for it, but please understand where I’m standing.”

“Goodnight,” was all Merlin could muster after a few minutes of silence. Not giving Arthur the chance to say anything back, he walked out, moving to one of the cold and empty guest rooms for the night.

The room was a standard one. It was of a standard size, much smaller than the main bedroom, it had a standard bed, standard paint on the walls, and it was standardly naked of anything familiar or warming. 

In a quick succession more resembling of a blur than conscious actions, Merlin changed into his sleeping clothes, and by the time he sat on the bed, his heart had lost its strength, and it gave up. As if he had been Atlas all day, the immense weight he had been carrying in the air finally fell on him, crushing him and pinning him to the pits of darkness. A hopeless, heartless, distraught darkness where only despair reigned.

What was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to explain to his children that their father didn’t remember them? How was he supposed to continue living as if his soul didn’t try to claw its way out of him each time he couldn’t touch Arthur, each time he couldn’t kiss him? How was he supposed to sleep when the bed felt so cold without another body, and so still without another bodyweight on it?

By the time he realized how blurry and humid his sight had become, the only thing he could do was lay on one side, letting the cascades flow down, wetting his eyelashes, the skin of his nose, and finally the fabric of the pillow. And if his body trembled in small spasms, that was only between himself and the moon far up in the sky.

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

Merlin had tried to explain, to the best of his capability, how the thing in his hand, which seemed to be an extremely realistic painting, was called a photo, made by a machine called a camera. This one, specifically, was one he couldn’t bring himself to tell Merlin he had found.

In it, both, he and Merlin, were dressed in some strange black clothes, their arms interlocked, with two chalices, drinking over the other. It was a strange pose, but it looked fun, and it pained him to see his other self, because he seemed so happy, connected, connected, and so in love, but none of those emotions lingered in him, even if there was a fluttering sensation in his chest he couldn’t put a name to.

According to Merlin, his memories were supposed to be coming back to him in pieces. At the moment, as he looked at the pristine white ceiling above him, he only remembered knowing Merlin for, at most, five months. And that was enough to have an opinion on the man.

Merlin was the most loyal man he’d ever known. Probably more loyal than most of the men knighted in service of the crown. He was also, beneath his impression of cowardice, extremely brave, only fueled by his unmeasured loyalty. He was willing to lay down his life to save the people he cared about. He had been willing to get himself executed in place of Guinevere, he risked his head to take the druid boy out of Camelot for Morgana, hell, he willingly laid down his life taking the poison meant for Arthur.

Merlin was the kind of man who deserved only the best in return, even when it came to lovers. And it pained him to see the hurt that Merlin tried to shield from him. It pained him to see how desperate he was, but how hopeless he acted.

There had to be something. If he married Merlin, it had to be for a reason. He trusted himself enough to know that he would choose only the best when it came to his spouse, and hell, they even had children. Two beautiful children who were probably crashing down on the weight of uncertainty.

Maybe he wasn’t in love with Merlin at the moment, but who was to say he couldn’t make it work? He already had a life in here, the only thing he needed to do was remember it, and if his memories of Camelot served him right, there was very little Arthur wasn’t able to do with Merlin by his side.

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Author's note

soo, this was long awaited, hope you guys liked it!! 

on the side, for personal reasons, this story won't be updated in likely months, so make sure to be subscribed to be notified when it happens!!! to clarify, the story will not go on hiatus because I'm not writing, it's just that I wont be able to update it!

As always, your comments, votes and follows are always appreciated!!!

Thank you for showing this story so much love!!

- 𝐣.𝐟. 𝐜. 🐼💜