Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Merlin was staring at the ceiling again.

It was grey and just like him it never changed. It may gain new cracks every so often, but Merlin supposed that was just like him too. He supposed if he was a ceiling, he would be full of cracks and flaking pieces of plaster. He should really get the cracks filled before they get worse, he should be doing a lot of things really, but he found himself with less and less energy to do anything these days. He could use magic to solve this problem, but he had only ever really used it for…

Well, he hadn’t used it in a long time. At least, not unless he’s changing his physical appearance of age.

And that is when his shrill alarm began to beep, informing the immortal man it was time for another monotonous day of work.

Slamming his fist down harshly onto the cursed device, he lies there for another minute. His bed wasn’t the most comfortable – springs sticking out at multiple points – but he still cannot bring himself to leave it easily. He should get up… But he ends up lying there for five more minutes anyway.

When he eventually does gets up, he throws on some dark jeans and a black moth bitten shirt, moves to the bathroom to brush his teeth, and stares at his dark and tired eyes in the mirror. He tries to do something with his messy brown hair that’s gotten longer than normal, and thinks he should really shave the stubbly beard he’s growing, but eventually he just shrugs and leaves the mirror. Merlin skips breakfast before grabbing his trench coat and stepping out into a world far too bright for his liking.

Off to the bar he goes.

He hasn’t begun to day drink, he’s not yet that desperate, but the bar is his place of work. It’s in the exact location in town where the tavern used to be and you can still notice some of the wooden detailing of the old building inside. The front, though, is almost entirely unrecognisable now with its painted walls and new sign with a new name. He supposed this information is true all over town, Camelot long forgotten only to be remembered in the little rundown museum, most believing it to be legend or myth now.

Merlin honestly doesn’t know why he continues to live here. He just… He supposes there’s nowhere else to go.

That’s a lie and you know it. There’s an entire world out there to see and you’ve chosen not to leave this village once in over a thousand years. He’s never coming back, you know.

Merlin ignores this voice in the back of his head. He just needs to get through this day, just this day. And then the next day. And the next. And a week. Then a year. And then the next however long he is going to be forced to stay alive.

How much longer can you keep this up?

“Martin! There you are. You’re three minutes late, boy. Get to work!”

Martin scoffs at the word ‘boy’ before coughing to cover it up. He may be centuries older than his boss, but this man still holds the power to scare all that life experience right out of him.

“Yup, I’ll get right on that.”

The day goes pretty much the same as every other day. Pouring drinks for the usual daytime drunkards, cleaning the bar and glasses, unloading new stock, watch as Arthur walks into the bar—

Wait…

Athur?

No… No, that’s impossible. It can’t be Arthur. Arthur’s dead. Arthur’s been dead for over a thousand years.

This can’t be real… And yet hope pierces Merlin’s heart faster than he can volt the bar top to run to him.

He ignores the shouts he gets from his boss, walking briskly up to the blonde man in the red shirt. His back is turned but Merlin is sure. He looks just like him. It has to be. It’s got to be.

“Arthur?” Merlin speaks, afraid to touch him in case he disappears into the air.

One beat, then two. Then around a thousand more of Merlin’s pounding heart as his breath quickens to the point of hyperventilation. The man begins to turn and then his breathing stops, sucked out of him.

And, finally, Merlin’s water-coloured eyes meet with… Grey ones.

Grey…

That can’t be right.

This isn’t Arthur.

In fact, now Merlin is up close and personal, this fake looks nothing like Arthur. Ignoring the almost colourless looking eyes, his nose and lips are wrong too, his jaw isn’t nearly as strong, his eyebrows are far too preened, and his hair has far too many darker streaks of blonde amongst it. And when he smiles at Merlin, his teeth appear far too straight and far too perfect.

Merlin’s going to vomit.

“Sorry, I… I thought you were someone else. I… I’m sorry.”

He turns away quickly after that, making strides to pick up his coat from behind the bar and performing an even faster exit. His boss is shouting swears at him, he can tell that much, but Merlin’s hearing is muffling increasingly, and he feels like all the air has been vacuumed from his lungs, taken from the imposter he idiotically mistook for Arthur. If he stayed in that depressing bar for one more second, he feared the life would be taken from him entirely.

But then again, would that be so bad?

No. No, no, no. Merlin cannot allow himself to think like this. He has to keep going. He has a destiny to fulfil, a duty to uphold. He is King Arthur’s most loyal servant, and Arthur is the Once and Future King. He shall return. He has to return.

Merlin needs Arthur to return.

That’s when his vision starts to spot, the world begins to spin, and by the time he’s taken one step into his rundown house, he’s already falling to the floor.

~

“Gwaine is dead.”

“What?”

“I… Gwaine is dead. I’m sorry, Merlin.”

Percival looks like he’s going to say more, then he looks like he’s going to cry, and finally he walks off briskly into the crisp summer night.

Merlin has just returned to Camelot, has just informed an inconsolable Gwen about Arthur, found Gaius shuffling without purpose around his quarters and given him the same news, and finally tracked down Percival and Leon at the tavern to inform them as well – though they already seemed to suspect.

Merlin has also just discovered that not only is the man he loved more than anyone gone, but one of his longest and dearest friends too. He wants to vomit.

“Sorry, Merlin. Percival, he… He’s taking Gwaine’s death the hardest. He needs some time.” Leon excuses, sitting back down at the table with a huff.

“Have you burned the body yet?” Merlin questions but his voice does not sound like his own, rather like he’s hearing someone else ask after his beloved friend.

“No, not yet. We’re doing it in the morning, at the Lake of Avalon,” Leon goes to take a sip of his almost still full tankard but then looks awfully queasy, putting it back down instead, “You’ll be there, won’t you?”

Merlin thinks about the lake, thinks about the other man he just put in a boat there and left to drift off never to hear his incessant nagging again. The sorcerer couldn’t even set the bloody thing ablaze because the mere notion felt too final, too conclusive, like if he did so Arthur may never return. And the thought of Arthur’s resurrection is really the only thing keeping him from giving up on his own life entirely.

“I don’t know.” Merlin hates that this is all the answer he can give.

“I understand. I…” Leon sighs, abandoning his drink entirely to stand up and place a firm hand on Merlin’s shoulder, “I’m sorry about Arthur.”

“He was your friend too—”

“But he was more than that to you, wasn’t he?”

“I don’t—” Merlin begins to shake his head but is, once again, cut off.

“You don’t have to explain yourself. You don’t have to tell me anything, Merlin. I just… I want you to know that I’ve known Arthur a very long time, since we were boys, and in all those years I’ve never seen him truly smile and laugh as much as he did with you. And you appeared never more at peace than by Arthur’s side. So, I’m just saying I… I understand. And I’m sorry.”

And as nice as that speech was, as much as it made Merlin want to break down and cry, he couldn’t really believe it. How could Leon possibly understand? Arthur was his friend, yes. They grew up together, of course. It appeared he observed the relationship that grew between Merlin and Arthur for years and drew some pretty accurate conclusions, undeniable. But Leon couldn’t possibly understand even a speck of what Merlin was currently experiencing.

Merlin and Arthur were woven together by destiny, by the cruel hands of fate. They were made for each other, born to meet and born to be as intertwined as two lives could possibly be. They were two sides of the same coin. Arthur was— is the Once and Future King and Merlin is his ever-loyal servant. Merlin would die for Arthur and Arthur for Merlin. Merlin only ever uses his magic for Arthur, to protect him and make sure he is always satisfied. Arthur means… Arthur is everything to Merlin and more. He struggles to put into adequate words all that Arthur is to him.

So how could Leon possibly understand when Merlin barely understands it himself?

Merlin remains on the fence about Gwaine’s funeral. Even as the cold morning comes after a very sleepless night for the grieving man, he remains unsure about his attendance. When Gaius comes to inform him that he’s preparing for the departure, when Leon comes to check up on him after last night, when Gwen comes to inform him of their leaving and briefly squeezes his hand, Merlin remains undecided.

He cannot return to that cursed lake. He said goodbye to Freya there, to Lancelot, to Elyan, and just last night to his purpose for being on this forsaken planet. He cannot say goodbye to yet another person he loves. He can’t do it. He can’t keep doing this!

And yet…

He has to, doesn’t he? Because this isn’t about Merlin. It isn’t even about Gaius, or Leon, or Percival, or Gwen. This is about Gwaine. Merlin’s dear friend Gwaine.

Gwaine was there for Merlin in times he didn’t even know he needed someone. He came hurtling into Merlin’s life a drunken mess and yet made him laugh more than he had in a very long time, lit up his life with his bombastic personality and became as true a friend as Lancelot or Arthur. Gwaine was always there for Merlin no matter their personal moods or the matter of Merlin’s mission. He was always there.

And now Gwaine was gone.

So, now, it was time for Merlin to be there for Gwaine.

Better late than never…

He burst forth from his quarters and ran as quickly as he could through the stone hallways, slamming open every door in his path as though they were what was holding him back before. He runs faster than he thinks he’s ever run and, luckily, makes it to the courtyard just in time for the party to begin leaving.

“Merlin!” Gaius calls in confused delight as he sees the dishevelled sorcerer make his appearance.

“Glad you decided to join us.” Leon smiles.

“Gwaine… Gwaine would be happy you’re coming.” Percival admits sadly.

“Come on, Merlin. You can ride with me. I could use a friend today.” Gwen speaks from her carriage, opening the door for Merlin to hop in.

He wouldn’t usually accept an offer like this but… Well, Merlin could use a friend today too. And when Gwen holds his hand throughout the entire ordeal, he knows he’s made the right decision.

As they approach the lake, as they lower Gwaine’s body into the boat, as they push off and watch it float away, as each and every one of them begin to cry, as Leon finally orders the archers to release their flaming arrows… Gwen continues to hold Merlin’s hand. And he continues to squeeze back just as tightly as she had in his room. Gwen was ever so kind, ever so beautiful, and Merlin knew he had found new purpose in that moment.

As Merlin watched the smoke rise from the boat, as they all watched right up until the end when it finally sunk, he began to form his new destiny. Merlin would watch over Gwen for the rest of her days, for as long as she’d let him, and he knew Arthur would be glad for it.

Though he wasn’t doing this for Arthur. Not really.

Merlin was doing this for Gwen… And for himself. He needed a friend today, and for the coming days, too.

~

Merlin comes to with a throbbing headache and tears beginning to dry on his cheeks. All these things considered that was the best sleep he’s had in centuries.

It’d been a long time since Merlin had dreamed of Gwaine and this fact made him feel guilty. He didn’t like to think of those times and so he did his best to keep his mind off them entirely, which meant that his dreams were often… Well, dreamless. Merlin didn’t really dream of anything anymore. Dreaming would give him too many fantasies, too much hope. But he also felt this was an insult on Gwaine’s memory, like his own was trying to purge the very thought of him, and that made Merlin hate himself that little bit more.

It just hurt far too much. And this is why he decided it best not to dwell on such memories at all.

His door is still open, anyone could have marched right in and robbed him blind, but it doesn’t appear as though they have. This is most likely because Merlin doesn’t have anything of value worth stealing anyway and if a thief walked in, they’d take one look at his home – if you can even call it that – and walk right out again.

The woozy man stands slowly and decides to close the door as night has fallen and moths could get in, never mind the cold that has crept into every corner of his dank abode.

He’s used to this by now. The cold has been creeping into his bones ever since Arthur left him.

Arthur. The man at the bar.

Merlin had never felt so stupid in his entire life – and he’d been alive an awfully long time, led many lives. Merlin had grown old, then become young, become the son and grandson and great-grandson of his former selves, and started the cycle that way every time. A different yet similar life every single time, but one that always took place in this village because Merlin could never bring himself to leave, because he was a naïve fool who still believed Arthur would return, because he was an idiot who thought that man in the bar could possibly be…

Merlin wanted to knock himself out again.

He did the next best thing. He went to bed.

His night was restless and filled with the maddening racing of his thoughts.

~

Martin grovelled for his boss the next day, apologising profusely and begging to keep his job. His boss swore only one more chance and Merlin grasped at it gratefully. Jobs, especially in a small village, were hard to come by these days.

The day went by the same as every other blasted day.

He watched a movie that came out some years ago that felt a lot like his life recently, where a man was cursed to relive one day until he got it right. The same day, over and over and over… But at least he was keeping his mind off his embarrassment yesterday.

Just keep your mind on the work. Pour the drinks, clean the glasses, smile at the patrons, smile at Arthur… Oh for fuck’s sake!

“Hi there. I believe we met yesterday… Only you ran out before I could catch your name.” Arthur— not Arthur smiles.

His voice at least sounds slightly similar to that which used to order him around all those centuries ago.

“Oh, yeah… Uh… Sorry about that. I thought you were someone else.” Merlin replies awkwardly, keeping his eyes focused desperately on the glass he was polishing.

“Right, um… Arthur, was it? He a good friend of yours?”

“He was.”

“Not anymore?”

Merlin finally raises his eyes to give this man an exasperated sort of look. He doesn’t talk about his life at the best of times, never mind talk about something as personal as this. This oaf is asking far too many questions for a man that is decidedly not Arthur.

“Right, apologies, I haven’t even asked your name yet. I’m Artie! Artie Pendrell.”

Okay, this was just getting ridiculous now. Artie Pendrell? You have got to be—

“And you are?”

Merlin sighs, places the glass back where it belongs, and turns back around to tell the idiot to piss off.

“Martin Emerson.”

What is wrong with you?

“Martin,” So-called-Artie grins, “So have you worked here long?”

“Five years, give or take.”

“Oh wow. Lived here long then?”

“My entire life.”

“Amazing… And you’ve never thought of living anywhere else?”

“Are you writing a novel on my life or investigating me for a murder you suspect I’ve committed?” Merlin asks in annoyance, feeling more tired than ever.

“I’m just curious, that’s all.”

“Why? Why the hell are you curious? You don’t even know me!”

“That’s the point! I’m trying to get to know you.”

“Don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Just…”

Merlin lets out a sort of groaning sound that sounds a little more on the pirate side. He looks to the clock and realises it’s a minute past when he was supposed to finish up, so the sorcerer takes his leave as quickly as he possibly can. Artie, though, follows him right out the door.

You think the idiot would take a hint by now. But Merlin supposes he is, in fact, an idiot who needs large neon signs in order to see something.

“Why are you now following me?” Merlin shoves his hands in his trench coat pockets with vigour, trying to make the sign more colourful for the fool to see.

“We hadn’t finished our conversation. You haven’t answered my last question.”

“I wonder why that could be!” Merlin announces sarcastically, adding a flashing light to his growing sign.

“What is your problem with me?”

“You’re bothering me! That’s what my problem is!” Best to scrap the sign altogether for this type and outright scream it in his face.

Merlin begins to feel a speckle of rain.

“Why? Why do I bother you so much? You don’t even know me!”

“And I don’t want to know you!”

The rain is beginning to get heavy, to spatter.

“Well, I’ve just moved to this bloody town and I was only trying to make a friend!”

“You can do that with literally anyone else! Why are you insisting on it being me?”

Merlin hears some thunder as the rain comes on heavier and heavier.

“Because! Because… I…” The oaf seems confused himself.

Honestly, what a total… I mean, what an absolute…

“You know what you are, my friend? You are an absolute dollophead!”

“Well that’s rich coming from you, Merlin!”

The thunder roars loudly and yet the world has never felt quieter. 

“What… What did you call me?”

“What d’you mean? I called you your name!”

“Yes, and what is my name?”

“For God’s… Martin! It is Martin, isn’t it? Or are you an amnesiac as well as a rude arse?”

“A rude arse? Well that’s just—”

And that’s when the lightning strikes.

~

It was a blossoming Spring when Gwen died.

She outlived all of them. Percival was the first to go after Gwaine, fighting recklessly in a war declared by another kingdom and… It was bound to happen eventually. Then it was Gaius, perishing from time as all but Merlin would. Then, finally, it was Leon who contracted a serious illness which took over his brain and which Merlin could not cure no matter how much he tried. At least in those final years Leon gained the happiness Merlin always thought he deserved, marrying Gwen and fathering a beautiful daughter.

Merlin loved little Ellie with all his heart, so named after Gwen’s brother. And Gwen loved her even more… It was a shame when old age crept in and tore the two apart.

Merlin and Gwen were all each other had left of their former lives as the years progressed and everyone eventually faded. Gwen learned of his magic after the battle with Morgana and she became his constant confidant in their last years, even getting Leon in on it to push forward rights for those with magic.

Merlin was devastated when her time finally came but Gwen, ever kind and beautiful, just took his hand in hers as she did so often and said:

“You will live a long time yet, Merlin. I’m sad I will not be around to be there for you… But you must continue on,” She had to take a large, struggling breath and Merlin knew it was about to happen but she insisted on continuing, “I love you, Merlin. My dearest friend… Thank you for all you’ve done for Camelot… For me. Promise you won’t forget me.”

When the tears started to come, Gwen began to fade. Just like everyone else.

Merlin only had Ellie for a few more years after that before the same affliction that got her father took her from Merlin too.

He never forgot Gwen’s words; he swore to keep the promise she asked of him. He lived so many lives, continued on for so many years, just playing these words in his head. He believed, he trusted, he hoped, he prayed, he begged…

But that’s the dangerous thing about powers such as optimism. They often cloud your reality and warp them into something entirely impossible. It makes you delusional.

When Merlin took on his fourth identity, he stopped thinking about Gwen’s words. He stopped thinking of Camelot entirely. He broke his promise.

But if Merlin thought he had given up entirely on the notion of Arthur’s return, he truly had become entirely delusional.

Chapter Text

Everything felt tingly.

Merlin felt like his body was on fire, like every part of him had been pricked by nettles and his teeth were chattering so hard he feared they would chip. He had to get up, he had to get on with eternity, he had to check on…

Artie. He had called him Merlin… And he had sounded so much like Arthur when he did. 

The disgruntled sorcerer cracks his eyes open to find piercing luminescent lights blinding his vision, unable to see very much at all through it at first. Eventually, his eyes adjust and he’s met with an even more sickly white all around the room.

A hospital. Of course.

He looked around the room but he was met with no one. If Artie was in the same hospital, he was going to be in a different room. Merlin just hoped it was one near him so he could question the oaf.

A nurse comes in, her name is Mary. She asks him how he’s feeling, he says fine. She asks him questions like his name, date of birth, and the year to make sure his brain isn’t fried, to which Merlin replies to all perfectly. She remarks on how amazed she is with just how great he really seems, observing that not many who are struck by lightning are so respondent this soon after, and Merlin just jokes about being ‘immortal’. The girl laughs, not knowing just how true this joke is.

Merlin asks after Artie, how he is and what room he’s in. Mary informs him that his lightning buddy is just next door and that, as long as Merlin was able to stand and walk without pain, he was free to go see him. Apparently, he wasn’t up yet, his results having come back a little worse than Merlin’s (in what way, Mary won’t tell him) but he was still free to go for a little while.

Artie looks… Pale. Pale and a little burnt at points on his neck and arms. He smells a little burnt too and Merlin can’t help but wince with the sight and smell combined. Blondie was only a mere mortal, after all, so of course he was worse off than Merlin. He couldn’t help but feel a little bad for pushing him away, calling him so many names.

But, then again, what was he to Merlin really? He hadn’t gotten close to anyone since Camelot, and he intended to keep his record. Now wasn’t the time to start worrying after a mortal who is only going to end up dead and leave Merlin alone just like everyone else.

This mortal called you 'Merlin'. Doesn’t that mean anything? Doesn’t that show there’s something different, something strange, going on with this one?

Merlin ignores this voice in his head, as he has been doing for a long time. And just as he does, Artie begins to stir.

“Merlin…” He groans and…

God, he said it again. He said Merlin again! Who the hell is this guy?

“Artie?” Merlin nudges the man’s shoulder, sitting on the bed to face him, “Artie!”

And then he wakes up.

“Martin? Where—” The man winces, clutching at his head as he tries to sit up, “Where are we?”

“Don’t try to sit up,” Merlin gently pushes at his chest to get him to lie back, “We’re in hospital. Struck by lightning, remember?”

“I vaguely recall my body feeling like fried chicken, yes.” Artie jokes.

Merlin can’t help but let out an airy chuckle.

“I wish you were fried chicken. I’d find you far more useful then.”

Then Artie laughs, wincing and clutching his side as he does.

“Prat.” He wheezes.

“Ass.” Merlin replies.

The sorcerer tries to ignore just how familiar this back-and-forth feels. He tries even harder to ignore that more and more every minute Artie is beginning to look a little more like Arthur.

“How are you feeling?” Merlin inquires, trying not to sound like he cares too much.

“Like shit… But I suppose that’s to be expected. You look just fine though. You a wizard or something?”

Merlin lets out an amused scoff, “You have no idea.”

Artie, of course, thinks this is a joke and grins, “You must be the one who sent me those weird dreams then.”

“Weird dreams? What do you mean?”

“Honestly, I couldn’t make heads or tails of them myself, so I doubt you’ll understand. One minute I was in a sword fight with someone, the next riding a horse towards this huge castle, then you were there only you were in this funny outfit, and you were putting me in some sort of… Boat? I don’t know, I was staring at the sky next I know and feeling like I was floating… Then sinking... Then nothing. I woke up to find you looking over me, just like in my dream.”

Merlin’s mouth goes dry, his heart sinks, and he feels like he’s been zapped with lightning all over again.

“Pretty strange, isn’t it? Lightning did funny things to my brain, I suppose.”

Merlin forces out a wheezy laugh that sounds more like air has been forcibly squeezed from his lungs. His mouth flaps open and closed, attempting to form something but instead just making him look like a fish out of water trying to breathe… Though, he supposed, he did feel a bit like one of those right now.

“Martin? Are you alright?”

“Yes—” Merlin’s voice finally comes out… In a squeak, causing him to clear his throat, “Yeah, I’m fine. That is funny… I’ll uh, I’ll see you around.”

He stands quickly and, as he seems to be doing a lot lately, runs away.

He tries to block out the sound of Artie calling after him, sounding more like Arthur than ever.

~

Merlin’s been avoiding Artie for a week now.

After he was dismissed from the hospital, which didn’t take long considering his surprisingly spectacular condition, Merlin went straight home and has not left since. Not like he’d want to go outside right now anyway… It hadn’t stopped raining since the lightning struck.

His boss had to give him the week off after Merlin sent him a copy of his medical records. He’s been using all this extra free time he’s suddenly finding himself with to attempt to sleep and failing, read but getting distracted, eat something and then feeling too sick for more, and do everything in his power not to think about Artie whom he abandoned in the hospital.

And who called him Merlin.

And who discussed a dream that sounded an awful lot like Arthur’s memories.

But Merlin wasn’t thinking about that. He couldn’t think about that. He was tired of his hopes being raised only to be smashed, stomped on, and set ablaze. Merlin can’t do that again.

But hey, at least the rain was finally letting up. Merlin decided this was a good time for a walk.

The sorcerer didn’t quite know where he was walking to, but he thought trusting his legs while his brain remained distracted from reality was better than nothing. He needed some fresh air, that cesspit he likes to call 'home' was zapping all the life from him. And this village was still pretty nice to walk around, even if it was no Ca—

Merlin wasn’t going to think about that.

The houses and streets were mostly cobble, there was a nice fountain in the square, you could still see hills surrounding the remote town, and there was a beautiful forest that had stood against the quick and cruel hand of time. The castle was also still visible up on the hill, but it had been abandoned long ago, growing in disarray and looking increasingly more derelict as the years went by. It was once a hotspot for tours, people paying to see an old English castle brimming with history, but people had stopped coming long ago with it being too out of the way and there just wasn’t enough money to keep it pristine.

Merlin hadn’t set foot near the castle since Ellie passed. But, once again, he really shouldn’t be thinking about this.

And yet, like a sick prank formed by his own subconscious, he’s been betrayed by his body and led straight to the source of his lifetime of bad memories. The Lake of-fucking-Avalon… Only it really was a lake, and the sight made Merlin’s heart sink faster than all the boats of his friends before him.

Avalon hadn’t been a lake in a very long time. It dried up more and more every year after the death of Arthur, water disappearing from memory and sand replacing the tides. Eventually, lush green grass began to grow, and Merlin scarcely allowed himself to hope for life anew in its wake… It just wasn’t the life he truly prayed for. And yet now, stretching vast in front of him – right up to the shores of the little island with the ruined tower – is a lake once more. The rain must have flooded it, though Merlin felt he shouldn’t be too surprised with how heavy it was and how long it was here for.

But for all this to appear in just one week? It was—

“Amazing, isn’t it?” A voice appears from next to Merlin, causing him to jump in his distracted state, “Just last week it was a field, and now…”

Artie. Of course he chose to appear from nowhere at this moment.

“You’re out of hospital?”

“Clearly. You must have transferred some of your quick healing magic to me. I’m only slightly crispy now.”

“Not fried chicken anymore then? Pity.”

“I know how much you preferred me when I was. Suppose that’s also why you chose not to visit once.” He sounds bitter. Merlin still wonders why he cares.

“Sorry… But we really don’t know each other well enough for me to visit you, do we?”

“We were both struck by lightning together—”

“Yes, but—”

“And I don’t really know anyone here so it would have nice to at least have a visitor. Ever heard of a little human thing called common decency?” He’s definitely bitter. Merlin is beginning to feel guilty.

“Not really, no. Though I suppose that really is only for humans, isn’t it?” Once again, Merlin hides the truth behind a joke… Always hiding.

“And you’re saying you aren’t human? Suppose that would explain why lightning barely left a graze on you. What are you then?”

“Like you said in hospital; a wizard.”

“Can’t you magic up some manners for yourself then?”

“Oh I could, but I’d much rather magic up some brain cells for you.”

“A-ha! And here comes the snide remarks. Honestly Martin, how would you know I’m stupid? ‘You don’t even know me’.” Artie quotes Merlin from before and he can’t help but laugh at it, relishing in the familiarity of conversations like these.

And then, slowly, growing sad at the feeling.

“There you go again. Have you noticed every time you start to slightly enjoy yourself, the next minute you begin to look all gloomy?”

“I wouldn’t know. Can’t really look at myself without a mirror.”

“I’m serious, Martin. You look better when you smile!” Gosh that sounds awfully familiar, doesn’t it? “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“Other than wishing you’d leave me alone?”

“Very funny. Now tell me honestly.”

“I think that’s about it really.”

“Honestly Martin—”

“Honestly Arthur—”

“So that’s it. It’s because I remind you of that Arthur friend of yours, isn’t it? What happened between the two of you?”

Merlin didn’t realise he had slipped up, not until Artie pointed it out. And now that he had realised, he also realised just how much he did not want to talk about this.

“Nothing happened.”

“Something must have happened. If you really dislike me that much just because I remind you of him, something must have happened between you.”

“Nothing happened between us—”

“I don’t believe that—”

“He was a friend from a long time ago! That’s all—”

“That cannot be all!”

“Well, it is—”

“For God’s sake, Martin! Just—”

“He’s dead! Is that what you want to hear? He was the most important person to me in the world and now he’s dead!”

In the midst of their argument, Merlin had failed to realise a lot of the things occurring around him. The wind picking up, the trees and bushes rustling, and the lake splashing up in waves only beginning to calm when he does eventually take notice. He’s lucky Artie appears such an oblivious fool that he does not take note of these oddities.

He really is just like Arthur.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried.”

Merlin sighs, looking to the lake, before taking a seat on the ground. Artie joins him soon after.

“It’s alright. It was a long time ago.”

“That doesn’t mean that you ever stop caring about losing someone you considered most important.”

“But I should be feeling better about it by now. And yet the more time that passes, the worse I feel.”

“Maybe something is holding you back from leaving it in the past. Can you think of anything?”

Perhaps Merlin is imagining all the things that make Artie similar to Arthur. Perhaps he imagined when he said his name, perhaps he did put that dream in his head by accident with magic, perhaps he’s actually very dissimilar to Arthur after all. Merlin is beginning to doubt all these things with just this moment of sheer emotional intelligence Artie is displaying.

Arthur never was very emotionally intelligent.

“I suppose I always thought he’d come back.”

Artie looks incredibly confused then.

“Come back? Like from the dead?”

Merlin nods.

“Well there’s your problem, Martin. People can’t come back from the dead.”

“That’s what you think—”

“That’s a fact—”

“What about Jesus? Everyone believes Jesus came back from the dead.”

“Christians believe Jesus was resurrected, yes. Doesn’t mean it happened.”

“Non-believer, Artie? Shame on you.”

“Seriously, Martin. Did you really believe Arthur would come back?”

Merlin sighs and begins to pick at the grass, unable to meet Artie’s confused and slightly judgemental gaze.

“I suppose I did… I suppose that was silly of me.”

“Very silly. Honestly Merlin, I don’t know how you’ve survived up until now with a brain as stupid as yours.”

Then Merlin’s heart sinks again.

“What did you say?”

“Hm?” Artie hums in question, looking at Merlin with his golden hair flowing in the breeze.

It’s looking awfully blonder than it once did… Perhaps the sun bleached it, if there was any sun around to do so. Perhaps the lightning did something to its pigment.

“You called me Merlin again. And stupid.”

“I… I didn’t say that.”

“You did.”

“No, I…” Artie is looking increasingly confused, increasingly worried by his own brain, “Did I? I didn’t say that.”

“Why do you keep calling me Merlin, Artie?”

“I… If I did, I’m not sure. I suppose you look a bit like one.”

“Do I? Well, you look like an Arthur.”

“Artie is short for Arthur.”

“So Arthur is your name?”

“No, it’s… My name is Artie. That’s all anyone has ever called me. It’s Artie… Isn’t it?”

Artie is beginning to look panicked now. Merlin often sees this sort of panic in older people who are increasingly losing their memory, but it is peculiar to see it in a man of Artie’s age. Merlin knows something strange is happening here, something is confusing Artie and making him say things he cannot control and does not understand. It’s not just the sorcerer’s imagination; Artie really is saying these things and Merlin is not the cause.

Merlin has to get to the bottom of this.

Hope is beginning to climb higher and higher.

A dangerous thing.

“Where did you come from, Artie?”

The man furrows his brow, shakes his head. His eyes bore into the new depths of the lake as if it would hold any answers to whatever question he’s screaming in his mind, and his shoulders visibly tense at whatever he hears back. Eventually, eyes that appear to be shimmering in a newly painted blue bore into Merlin’s own, wide and afraid.

“I don’t know. I… I don’t know.”

~

Merlin decided to walk Artie home.

They didn’t get to discuss much after Merlin’s question, didn’t get to the bottom of how Artie knows the things he knows or why his memory is so… Confused. Merlin wanted to ask more about his past, try and make Artie remember things, discover why it is he resembles Arthur so much in one moment and then not at all in the next, how he knows Merlin’s true name and how he has some of his old friend’s memories. But he couldn’t.

It was clear after Merlin asked where Artie came from that the man was distraught and that he wouldn’t be able to convey much else. Every other question Merlin came up with was met with the phrase ‘I don’t know’ or a shocked and silent mess who could only shake his head. Artie was getting more and more confused as time went on, more and more unsure of himself and the life he’s led up to now, so Merlin eventually decided the best thing for him would be to take him home to get some rest. And home, as it turns out, was a small B&B that the man had apparently shacked up in after moving to the village not a few weeks prior. He was a very recent resident.

Merlin supposed this explained some previous statements. It did not explain, however, why Artie could not convey where he came from. Surely the man would know where he had moved from so recently… Apparently not.

Merlin left him there with only the promise he’d be back tomorrow. And that when he did return, they should take a trip to the rundown museum.

He began to make a list of things he would like to achieve with this trip on his way there the next day:

1. Help take Artie’s mind off some of the stress he seemed to feel yesterday by Merlin’s questions
2. Hopefully resolve some of his own hang-up’s with avoiding all relics from his past like the plague
3. See if any of said relics spark any sort of memories for Artie and finally put to rest his suspicions about the idiot being Arthur reincarnate
4. Figure out what the hell to do if memories do spark and it turns out Artie is Arthur
5. If this is true, probably freak out
6. If this is not true… Try not to be too disappointed
7. Probably be very disappointed and consider his options that perhaps being in the world isn’t something he wants anymore
8. Probably go to therapy for that last number

Merlin knew that not all things on this list would be matters to resolve for today, but it was always good to plan ahead. It was especially always good to plan for the worst.

“You’re late.” Artie says as Merlin walks up to him outside the front of the museum.

“By, like, two minutes.”

“Hey, you’re the one who set the time.”

“And it was only by two minutes.”

“Two minutes can feel like a long time.”

“If you’re an impatient prat, maybe.”

“Oh! So that’s how it is?” Artie tries to sound offended but begins to grin.

Merlin just begins to walk inside with nothing but the faintest smile and the shake of his head.

Once they begin to walk around, however, the sorcerer makes sure to be the one following Artie around so he can keep an eye on what the man chooses to linger on and how his expression changes. He needs to see Artie’s face so he can fully determine if he makes looks that at all resemble Arthur or if anything important seems to come forward. And, surprisingly, these observations don’t take long to arise at all.

Artie stops to linger on artefacts of the past more than once, his brows furrowing and eyes swimming with confused familiarity as his mouth opens as if to call out to it and say ‘hello, old friend’ when his brain betrays him and prevents him from doing so. It’s fascinating to watch, and yet so very painful.

Most of the pieces on display here are actually real, with Merlin feeling he has no reason to cling to memories like these that will only cause him pain. He couldn’t hoard everything from his past forever and so, only keeping some personal and more painful items, he left the rest up for finding.

Artie stares at paintings of dragons, lost kings, magicless staffs and peculiar fossils, armour on stands (which he lingers particularly long on), books preserved, and then finally there is the replica of Excalibur. Artie lingers on that one the longest.

Unlike everything else, this one isn’t the real sword, but it is an extreme likeness. Merlin would know, he made it himself and made sure it was almost exact. He never took the real one out of the lake and it was lost to time, a time in which Merlin couldn’t let go of no matter how hard he tried, so he had to create something to remind himself. A something for Leon to congratulate his new position as King. A something which just happened to end up in a museum for the world to ogle later. Just like everything else.

Merlin feels as though they stare at the weapon in the glass casing for an eternity. It’s one of the main artefacts on display, something the owners are most proud of, and so it sits almost exactly in the middle of the main room (with only one other room of exhibits) on a pedestal. The place is practically empty, so they are allowed to relive whatever it is they need to in peace.

The silence drags on and on and on. Merlin gets lost in the beginning and end of his life.

And then, finally, Artie’s voice cuts through the air of heavy silence and echoes into a room full of dust and lives forgotten.

“This feels so familiar to me, and yet I haven’t stepped foot in here since I arrived. I don’t know why but… But just the thought of coming here, it…” Artie sighs heavily, crossing his arms, “It filled me with this indescribable dread. And yet everything here, all of the items… It feels like I’ve seen them all before. Except this one… This one is strange.”

Merlin’s throat is dry when he goes to speak, causing an even drier swallow to follow before a croak of a question.

“Why is the sword strange?”

“Because it’s not… Right. Something about it isn’t right. It looks so familiar and yet... Yet so unfamiliar. Something about it is off.”

Artie is, once again, beginning to look distressed. Only this time there is an object for this shift in mood and not the mere confusion of a possible memory or lack thereof. Artie believes something about Excalibur is wrong. And if that isn’t enough of an answer for Merlin, he doesn’t know what will be.

“Can you try and describe what you think is off about it?”

“That’s the problem… I don’t know. Like I said, reasonably I should never have seen this sword before in my life. It’s just that when I look at it, it’s like— it sounds strange, you’ll think me insane—”

“No, I won’t. Just describe it to me.”

Artie looks to Merlin, slight shock and yet relief in his eyes. He lets out a large sigh and then continues to speak.

“It’s like when I look at the sword I can feel the hilt in my hand, the weight of it as I move to strike, how it shifts, the sound it makes on impact. It causes so many feelings and memories to arise in me and yet I do not know from where. And still somehow… Somehow something about it is wrong. Like I should know all these things and yet it does not feel like the sword I’m describing at all.”

Please, Merlin begs to himself and to no one, please, please, please…

“I think I may have a solution to the confusion you’re feeling.”

“You do?” Artie whips fully around to him then, “What is it?”

Merlin takes him back to the lake.

The sorcerer knows he should not have promised something he’s not even sure he can deliver, but the man is desperate. He needs Artie to remember. He has to be Arthur. Merlin has to do something. He’s desperate… So he is going to use his magic. For the first time since Arthur’s demise (other than to change his age) Merlin is going to use magic, only he truly believes he will still be doing this for Arthur.

Merlin uses his magic to scan the lakebed.

“Martin! Your eyes…”

Merlin ignores him.

“What are you doing?”

Merlin continues to scan…

There is so much to scan.

“Are you alright? What’s going on with you?”

Merlin continues to… There!

Merlin begins to wade into the water.

“Martin! Where are you going?”

“I’ll be right back, just… Just wait there!” Merlin calls back as he wades further and further, eventually breaking into a swim.

As Merlin cuts through the fresh rainwater, he allows himself to remember as he scarcely had before.

He had sent Freya off into this lake, a woman he once loved dearer than any other, and since then he had felt her presence in all natural bodies of water he had let himself gaze long enough into.

He had sent Lancelot off into the lake, a man he swore he had also loved once, who had become a dear friend who believed in Merlin no matter how dire things seemed and who had endlessly fought to keep his secret.

He had sent Elyan off into this lake, a man who was always there for those he loved no matter how trying times got and who was a brother to more than just Gwen.

He had sent Gwaine off into this lake, a man who never failed to brighten a room and make everyone in it roar with laughter, whom Merlin considered his closest friend and confidant longer than he can remember.

He had sent Percival off into this lake, a knight who could crush a man in one arm and yet was the gentlest and kindest of anyone Merlin knew.

He had sent Gaius off into this lake, his beloved uncle and more than that a man he loved as though he were his own father, who took him in when he didn’t have to.

He had sent Leon off into this lake, a man who was always true to himself and endlessly loyal to his friends in a way Merlin often could not understand.

He had sent Gwen off into this lake, a woman who had been there for him no matter what since day one and who had comforted him in a way no one else had even come close to mustering.

He had sent Arthur off into this lake…

But he had sung his King’s praises long enough. Now came the time to drag Arthur back out.

Merlin dove. He reached into the softened ground at the bottom of the lake. His hand wrapped around the hilt of the familiar weapon.

And that’s when everything went dark.