Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I love you.

That's the last thing that came out of Arthur's mouth. Not goodbye. Not thank you.

I love you.

And then he was gone.

He looked like he was merely asleep as he lay upon the plain boat. And for a long time, that's what Merlin believed: that Arthur slept. That’s what the prophecy foretold, anyway; that the king would awaken again someday. That his king would awaken again someday.

Day to day, week to week, winter to insufferable winter, the years passed by too slowly yet too fast.

The people he loved perished, empires rose and fell in the hands of men starving for temporary power, illnesses claimed millions before becoming nothing more than a nursery rhyme.

And yet, the lake still dominated the plains outside the darkling woods, the tower on the island still standing tall centuries after the fall of Camelot.

Merlin wanted to set it ablaze.

It stood as a reminder of his failures, as a reminder of his losses. He had sent away in its waters more friends than he had defeated foe, he had cried more tears facing its shore than he had faced victory.

Still, Merlin found himself creeping into old habits very often, sitting at that spot on the shore and staring at the ancient stones as if his gaze alone could make the once and future king come back to life. 

More often so, he'd speak to Freya, the first he'd loved yet couldn't save.

Sometimes, he could swear he'd heard her answer.

He wasn't sure if that used to be her actual voice anymore.

After Camelot had long since become a memory, and her king a myth of men, Merlin built a house close to the lake, small in appearance but keeping safe under its floors fragments of history and treasures far too valuable to trust in the hands of anyone other than himself.

He'd now take care of things the normal way, things that he would have gotten done with a wave of his hand back in the old days. It was a way to pass the time, and a way to remember who he was and what he was waiting for, roaming on this earth still.

What Gaius had taught him then, he still practised today, selling potions – now called alternative medicine by most – to somehow justify living comfortably despite rarely going anywhere further than walking distance from the lake, never mind actually working.

Barely any children of the old religion existed today, and the ones that did didn't hold a fraction of the power that was evident in the days of Camelot.

Now, magic consisted of spells and rituals closer to what one would see in a magic household trying to be discreet under Uther's reign; good-luck charms, offerings to the spirits, curses not even remotely as gruesome or cruel as the ones cast by the creatures of the old religion. 

The scar from that foul creature Morgana had planted in the back of his neck was still there.

In a way, he was happy that magic couldn't be used for one's malicious plans anymore. Not that humans hadn't found a way to cause destruction and pain great enough as any curse without magic.

There were so many instances when Merlin thought it was time for Arthur's return, only to be left confused and hurt and even more worried for the fate of Albion when it didn't happen. Billions of people had died while Merlin waited; others from famine, others from war, others from genocide. Just what was necessary to happen for Arthur to come back?

His armour sat polished in the basement, propped on a display stand. His sword, too. Both itching to be used by their owner once more.

The joints of the old man he’d let himself grow into once again popped painfully as he sat once more under the shade of the pavilion he had built where he'd sent Arthur away. He would sit there every day now, watching the intricate patterns of the water for hours on end as he waited.

And that's all he did, wasn't it? Waiting. And the tower waited along with him. The damn thing just couldn't seem to deteriorate, no matter how much time passed. Sometimes, when his grief and his anger and his fear got too great, he would sit there and imagine blowing the cursed tower to pieces, setting the whole island on fire and watching it burn the way he had so many friends. Dear goddess, how good it felt, and how easy it was to do; just a move of his hand, and a few words. Just a flash of gold light from his eyes, and the whole thing would crumble -

"- Merlin. Master Merlin!"

Blue eyes stared at him worryingly.

"You were getting lost again."

The girl gave him a small smile as he calmed down.

“What did I do this time?” he croaked.

“There were leaves moving around you,” she said naturally; she had experienced this enough times to grow accustomed. “Your eyes were gold, too, and your hands are still shaking. Are you alright?”

“I'm fine, Clodagh.” 

Merlin didn’t elaborate further. He never did.

“Perhaps go inside, lie down a bit. The lake’s not going anywhere.”

Way to rub it in.

Clodagh was a young girl who had reached out to him months ago, searching for a potion that could help her sleep. She had said that weird dreams would plague her slumber every night, leaving her restless and confused each morning. Dreams that would then become true in some way.

Visions.

Merlin had decided to help her. He wouldn't repeat his mistakes. Not after everything that had happened.

"I'm truly fine, girl. I'm just feeling a bit uneasy lately."

It wasn't a lie. Every time he'd let his body grow so old, it took both a physical and a mental toll on him, like the years he had lived were finally catching up with him. Although this time around, it felt different somehow. Like magic that wasn’t his own was affecting him.

“How can such a caring man be so stubborn when it comes to his own good?”

“Oh, leave me be, Clodagh,” Merlin waved a dismissing hand at her. “Perhaps I've let my body grow too old again.”

“Perhaps? How old are you supposed to be now? Like, a hundred or so?”

“I'm ninety-eight, thank you very much.”

The young woman just scoffed fondly before sitting down next to him on the stone bench. She stared at the open distance ahead of them for minutes in silence.

“So, this is truly where King Arthur is resting,” she said at last.

“It is.”

Clodagh was the first person to hear about those days from him in many years. Hundreds of years.

Her visions had for ages involved the lake, but the past few months, they had been the only ones she’d have. Flashes of a red cloak floating to the shore, a woman reflected in the water, the tower crumbling into pieces. She only contacted Merlin because of those visions, after figuring out the location of the lake, in hope of finding enlightenment in a fellow sorcerer.

“Have you stayed here all these years?”

“No, not really. I travelled a lot in my younger years, actually. I was just never gone for long.”

“So, you stayed here almost all these years.”

He could never win with this girl.

“Yes, I stayed here,” he trailed off. “I couldn’t leave him alone.”

Her kind eyes stared at him, their blue hue so similar to Morgana’s it sometimes scared him.

With a swift movement, he got up, the momentum causing him to stumble on his aching knees.

“Let’s go inside, my lady. There’s reading for you to do.”

Studying the pattern of Clodagh’s visions and interpreting them had consumed most of Merlin’s time the past few months, and he was grateful to have found both something to focus his attention on and someone to talk about magic with.

“So, no druids exist anymore?” She closed the book in front of her and stared at him over her glasses.

“Nothing in nature ever ceases to exist. It just changes.” He answered as he chopped a capsicum on the cutting board. “It evolves into something better fitting its surroundings. The druids are still a religious group; they just don’t hold the power they once did.”

“What about seers, then?”

“They still exist, too. Most of them just don’t have visions as persistent as yours, or they just think of their dreams as mere coincidence or some sort of deja vu.”

Clodagh just hummed in response, hands supporting her chin as she waited for Merlin to finish preparing the salad.

After two months of visits and as Clodagh’s dreams grew more frequent and vivid, they had agreed it’d be best if she stayed at Merlin’s house as they worked their way through knotty visions and lessons on magic. Clodagh worked mostly through Zoom, anyway, and Merlin had nowhere else to be as a supposed retired elder.

He honestly felt comforted to have the company of someone else in his living space after so many years. Throughout his time on this earth, the only constant presence in his life had been Kilgharrah. Now, his house felt lively and lived in for the first time in decades.

Early in the morning the next day, Merlin found Clodagh’s bed empty. Another dream, then. It was common for her to go for a walk after waking up from a vision.

He got started on a batch of sleeping draught when he saw the girl running from the lake towards the house from the window. He went outside.

“Master Merlin! Master Merlin!”

Merlin folded his arms.

“How many times have I told you not to call me master-”

“The cloak,” she choked out, hands on her knees as she tried to catch her breath. “on the shore. I just saw it, the cloak is there!”

Chapter Text

The crimson fabric swayed across the rippling water. Merlin swayed on his feet.

What did it mean? Why did the cloak appear alone? Was this a sign that Arthur wouldn’t return after all?

“This is the beginning, then.” Clodagh breathed beside him.

“It is,” but of what, that was beyond Merlin and her both.

They stared motionless at the water.

“What are we supposed to do now?”

“I don’t know.”

They fell silent, standing side by side on the shore. Merlin bent down and gathered the cloak stained with the blood-red colour of Camelot in his arms. When he spoke, his voice felt like shards of glass scraping his throat as it escaped.

“Clodagh, go inside, and I’ll follow later.”

“But, we still need to figure out what-”

“Clodagh, leave me be, please.”

Maybe it was the severe tone, or maybe the crack in his voice that made the young woman obey without another word. Merlin didn't care either way. 

He brought the dripping fabric to his face and cried for the first time in months.

It had been so easy before; his version of easy, at least. With Camelot as he knew it and its king gone for so long, it’d been easy to numb the pain. To forget how he had felt that day.

Like his soul was being torn from his body and plunged into the water along with his king.

He stood on the shore for a long time, arthritic fingers clinging to wet fabric clinging to his chest. It was because of Clodagh that he didn’t go unfed until the afternoon.

Once the sun started hiding behind the trees and the moon reached a high point in the sky, Merlin called out to the great dragon for the first time in centuries in hope of learning something, anything that could help him make sense of all this.

He saw Kilgharrah soaring through the sky. The creature landed in front of him, in a small opening next to the lake.

“Long time no see, young warlock.”

Some habits die hard.

“Still set on calling me young, I see.”

The dragon seemed to enjoy the half-hearted banter. “You have to remember I have still lived a thousand years more than you, Emrys.”

“Yeah, sure. That’s not the point right now. Why is Arthur coming back?”

“Do you not want him to? I was sure you would be happy to see him again.”

Too old to yell at the big lizard. Entirely too old to yell at the big lizard.

“I am, but Arthur coming back means Albion will face its greatest danger yet.”

“And you will face it with the once and future king by your side, as you always have.” The dragon simply said. “I'm afraid that this time, I know no more than you do, young warlock. The only help I can offer is to fight alongside you and the king if things come down to it.”

That's all Kilgharrah said before marching up to the sky once more. After some time, Clodagh approached from behind him.

“Is the dragon gone?”

“He is. Insightful as ever, the old cabbage-head.” 

The light of the sun was now completely gone, giving its place to the stars and the darkness of the night sky. The forest surrounding the lake was bursting with life, nocturnal birds and insects singing their evening songs accompanied by the soft summer breeze, and the moon painted intricate patterns on the water as it caressed the tower with its gentle light. It was such a peaceful night. Such a perfect night, and yet…

“Why do you spend so much time here? Being so close to the damn tower certainly doesn't do you much good.”

Why did he, really? It wasn't like he could make his loved ones come back by glaring at the lake. But it brought him comfort, no matter how bizarre it sounded, to be close to them.

“I lost both people I've loved here.” He kept staring at the forest ahead. “Don’t you visit a loved one’s grave, if you lose them?”

A long pause.

“I do.”

“That’s what I'm doing. Paying my respects to those I lost here. First Freya, then Arthur…” He could feel a knot starting to form high into his throat.  “Lancelot, too.”

Merlin felt a hand land on his shoulder. He let himself believe for a second that it was Arthur's, no matter how much smaller and softer it was compared to the king's, before blinking away the humidity from his eyes and turning his back to the tower.

“Let’s go inside. Tomorrow will be a long day.”

All their research the next day was done on the gazebo, the open laptop in front of them depicting the latest news, surrounded by piles of books about seers, magical creatures, and history.

“Why are we even checking out the history books?” 

“Because men are predictable, and they ultimately repeat their ancestors’ mistakes.” Merlin sighed, rubbing an old knuckle over his eye. “If there’s one way we can find out why Arthur may be coming back, it’s by looking for repeating patterns in history, magical incidents included.”

“But, what if this isn't something we can figure out through history? Maybe this is, I don't know, an attack planned by a sorcerer for the entirety of the United Kingdom. That hasn't happened before… has it?”

Merlin thought for a moment. “Not to that extent, no. Magical attacks were usually targeted to a specific area, like the citadel or a few villages. It would take more than a few sorcerers to manage a successful attack to an area that large without their magic consuming them, or driving them mad.”

“Why would that happen, though? Why would their own magic drive them mad?”

“Magic doesn’t belong to anyone, Clodagh. We coexist, but it’s not ours. We’re merely its vessels. Τhink of a hearth,” he said as he raised his palm to create the illusion of a flame, “the fire is contained and used to keep us warm, but it’s not part of the hearth. It’s a force of nature, has a mind of its own. It could burn you alive just as quickly as it can warm you up if you underestimate it.” He made the small light grow, spreading on his sleeve and earning him a terrified look from the girl before going out with a puff. “Magic works the same way.”

The young woman simply nodded, seemingly processing a new thought.

“What about dragons? Is Kilgharrah the only live dragon left?”

It took some time for Merlin to speak, and when he did, his voice was something barely above a whisper.

“No… There is Aithusa as well.”

“Aithusa?”

“The dragon who forged the blade that killed Arthur. I found her an egg, named her. She sided with Morgana later. Perhaps she saw in her the scared girl I failed to help, back then.”

Clodagh carefully took hold of his hand and squeezed gently. “I understand that you might feel like you made mistakes while trying to keep King Arthur safe.” Trying. “It’s only natural that you would; you were a single man against countless enemies, and a single man just can’t save everyone by himself no matter how hard he tries. Don’t beat yourself up for doing what was best with the limited help and resources you had.” 

Merlin smiled despite himself. He had found in the young woman a precious friend he hadn't hoped to find again after Gwen's death. His abilities had since then been a part of himself he'd had to hide away for the most part until now.

“Thank you, Clodagh.”

A comfortable silence settled between them then, only the sough of the trees and the splashing water audible under the comforting warmth of the sun. They spent the whole first half of the day there, researching and talking about the prophecies that came with Arthur’s name. It was after the sun had started descending that they decided to wrap things up for the day.

As they were walking towards the house, Clodagh tagged at his arm.

“Master Merlin.”

The girl's voice was nothing more than a whisper. She had stopped walking, instead staring at the water ahead, eyes wide and face frozen as if the tower had grown legs. Merlin followed her trail of vision, and his breath turned sharp. The silhouette of a man contrasted the teal waters of the lake, metal armour glittering under the afternoon sun as he yelled out a familiar name in a language long dead. 

“The king is back.”

Chapter Text

The king was back. 

Arthur was back.

He was there, standing inside the lake where Merlin had said goodbye so long ago, looking ready for battle, angry and soaking wet and yelling and alive.

For the first time since his joints began to rebel against him, the warlock ran.

The ringing in his ears only intensified as he rushed, knees on fire and heart racing toward his lord, his love, his other half. Arthur then spotted him and for a moment stared at the old man confused, and dear goddess, how long he had waited to see those eyes again, those eyes that couldn't seem to hold any hate for the warlock even after the king learnt he had been lied to for years. 

Merlin yelled out the man’s name as he got closer, and saw surprise and then recognition paint his features. Yes, he thought, I'm still here, still waiting for you, only for you. 

His feet crushed against the water as he stepped inside the lake, arms reaching towards the man as he threw himself at him, not giving a damn about his clothes getting wet, and he felt Arthur's arms wrap around him, truly this time. For a long time he sat there, feeling the king's chest rise and fall, feeling his heart beat against it and oh dear , how long he had waited to feel that heartbeat again-

“Merlin.”

His voice, oh, how much he had missed hearing that voice. His head shot up faster at the word than ever before.

The king's eyes pierced through him, searching for something that left him smiling faintly as he seemingly found it.

“Your eyes are still the same.”

That’s all that came out of Arthur's mouth.

The moment the tears broke down the dam keeping Merlin's eyes dry, there was no holding them back.

“Arthur-”

The king shushed him. “Didn't I tell you that no man is worth your tears?” 

“No man but you. Gods, Arthur, you're- ah-” 

“I’m back, Merlin. Come on, calm down.” Arthur rubbed the space between his shoulders, the next words coming out a disbelieving sigh. “I’m back.”

A sudden laugh bubbled up from the warlock’s chest in between his sobs. Arthur looked bewildered.

“What’s so funny?”

“In all my years, I never found a single person who could say my name quite like you.” Merlin smiled, blinking away the droplets from his eyes, and pulled back to take one more look at his lord’s face without letting go completely. He heard Arthur’s feet move inside the water. “We should get out, right? Wouldn’t want your royal toes to get pruney.”

“Of course.” Arthur pressed his lips together in a way that reminded Merlin of the time he enchanted the king into a simple-minded peasant. “Old men go first.”

For all his mirth, when the king let go off Merlin he staggered. The warlock took a hold of him by the forearms.

“What’s wrong?”

“Stop being such a girl, Merlin, I’m fine. I suppose coming back from the dead isn’t easy on the body.”

Did he ought to be worried about the casualness with which Arthur mentioned he just came back to life? Definitely, but now wasn’t the time for that. Merlin placed the king’s arm around his shoulders, wrapping his own around his back to support him. As they started walking, the warlock realised that he had once again overestimated his strength as his knees started feeling too weak under him. He really did need to change again.

He called Clodagh for help.

“Who’s Clodagh? I can’t remember her.”

Remember her from where? 

“My student. Far stronger than me in this state. If a strong wind picks up it’ll probably blow us both over.”

When Clodagh reached them, she placed herself on Arthur’s left side, mimicking the way her mentor was supporting the king. Arthur then threw both of them a confused look, probably having just registered Merlin's attire.

“What on earth are you wearing?”

If the girl was surprised at the sudden exclamation in Brythonic she didn’t show it.

“Clothes?”

“Ridiculous ones.”

“Arthur, now isn’t the time to criticise our clothes. Rest first, and then you can make fun of them all you want.”

“I’m not making fun of them.” The king’s expression seemed more tired than anything now, though Merlin was sure it was meant to convey annoyance. “They’re just… different, from what I’m used to.”

He definitely ought to be worried.

The rest of the short trip to the warlock’s house was filled with little comments such as is that torch emitting light without a flame? as they passed by a street lamp or a war horn! as a passing lorry's horn sounded.

“What was that sound outside?”

“Which one?” 

“Oh, I don't know, Merlin. Perhaps,” the king grimaced, “the war horn?” 

“It wasn't a war horn. It was just a lorry.”

The confused look didn’t leave Arthur’s face as they passed through the front door. Of course it didn’t, because Arthur doesn't know what a lorry is, you idiot.

“Like a really big carriage. It makes that sound to inform other people on the road that it's approaching.”

“Well, that’s just ridiculous.” Arthur sighed as the warlock and his – apparently – student sat him down on a bed. “Why does it need to inform people with that monstrous sound if it’s so big? They’ll see it anyway.”

“I don’t know, Arthur.” Merlin answered the way he would to a toddler, noticing the way the king was scanning the room. His hands moved to remove his armour as if it had been days ago when he had last done it.

“Of course you don’t.” Arthur instinctively raised his arm so that Merlin could unclasp his pauldron. “Are we in the physician’s chambers?”

“Yes and no.” Another impatient look. “It’s a copy of the physician’s chambers. I wanted a way to remember… after everything.”

He continued removing Arthur’s armour through the silence that followed his statement. Clodagh apparently sensed the tense atmosphere, and left the room with the excuse of preparing clean sheets for the king’s bed. Arthur took hold of his hand, then.

“I never… I never thanked you, for everything you’ve done. I judged you for what I’ve known magic to be, not what it can be in the right hands, and that’s a mistake I cannot forgive myself for. You are the person most loyal to me, Merlin, the closest I’ve had to a friend. Even when I learnt about your magic, I never thought you could be evil, never thought to treat you like a criminal. In fact, I think I reacted the way I did more because I felt… hurt you didn’t trust me enough to tell me sooner than because of your magic itself.”

“Arthur…”

“I’m sorry, for how I treated you then.”

The warlock gave a dry laugh. “If you are sorry, then what should I be? I failed to protect Camelot, I failed to protect you. The reason my magic exists is you, and yet everything I did to change your fate led straight to it in the end.”

“You didn’t fail to protect me. There are just some things men cannot meddle with no matter how hard they try, Merlin, and the will of the gods is one of them.”

“You’re certainly taking this better than me.” Merlin smiled, a sad little thing that didn’t make his eyes wrinkle, brows scrunched together as the warlock tried to understand why his king was so calm. 

“I’ve had time to mull it all over.”

“Why do you keep saying things like that?” Worry could be heard in his voice now. “Outside, too. You talked about coming back from the dead as if it's something you do daily. What happened in that lake?”

“Nothing worth worrying about, mother. I promise I will tell you everything, but I need to get some sleep first.”

“ Mother-”

“Sleep, Merlin. I want to sleep.”

The warlock sighed. Still as much of a royal prat as the day I met you, he murmured, but the grin that spread on his face in that moment hinted at the joy he felt hearing Arthur’s demanding tone once more. He slowly got up and made his way to his room.

Upon entering, he was met with Clodagh sitting on the edge of the bed and staring into space. He cleared his throat.

“Hah- Yes, master.”

“Clodagh, stop calling me master, please. Makes me feel older than I already am.”

“Is that really possible, though?” She raised an eyebrow at him. He raised one back, mimicking Gaius’ disapproving stare.

“Okay, bad joke.” She smiled. “The bed’s ready.”

With that, she walked out of the room. Arthur walked in.

“This is your room.”

“Yes.”

“Why am I sleeping in your room?”

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I don’t want your royal backside to get sore from the floor on your first day back.”

The king crossed his arms. “Will you sleep on the floor then? If you do, I’m not sure you’ll be able to get back up.”

“Who told you I can sleep after today?” Merlin retorted. “I have some potions to make, clothes to fetch you from the basement, news to check for any clues as to why you’re back. My plants need tending to as well. Don’t worry, I have enough to keep me busy through the night. What would you do, anyway? Sleep on the floor for me?”

Silence followed the question.

“Are you serious?”

“I’m tired, Merlin.”

“His Majesty is willing to sleep on the floor for me, a mere servant?”

“I’m tired, Merlin.” Arthur sat on the bed. It took him a few seconds to speak again. “You’re not a mere servant and you know it well by now.”

Too much for one day. Entirely too much for one day.

“Goodnight, sire.”

It took him a bit too long to turn around. Even more so to reach for the handle.

“You can stay.”

He turned around faster than he’d like to admit. “What?”

“You can stay. The plants you want to take care of are here, aren’t they?”

He couldn’t possibly believe that. The few pots the warlock had in his room couldn’t begin to compare to the dozens in the sitting room-made-potion lab, which Arthur had certainly examined earlier. Merlin couldn’t suppress the grin that took over his face.

“Of course, sire.”