Merlin has waited for Arthur to return. And he has. Many times. Every time Merlin finds him it’s hard to hold himself back from hugging him, holding him close, telling him everything.
Because Arthur never remembers him.
He came back during the reign of William the Conqueror, when Albion was about to be plagued with demons and together they stopped the demons. Merlin thought that was it - Arthur would oust the Conqueror, take his rightful throne, and rule a united Albion, with Merlin at his side bringing back magic. But after the demons were defeated Arthur was thrown from his horse and impaled on a tree branch. Merlin got him to the Lake of Avalon just in time.
the next time Arthur came back was during the black plague. Ironically, it wasn’t to deal with the plague at all. When Merlin found him that time, they were both monks on the island of Iona. They defeated a sect of the church that was trying to use the plague to turn the country into a theocracy under the control of John Wycliffe (they never gathered enough evidence to get rid of him, but they stopped the conspiracy around him)
Merlin thought surely third time’s the charm. That this time perhaps they could simply live their lives in peace at the monastery. They had chickens and pigs and cattle at the monetary, and a garden. It was nearly like they had run away from Camelot to become farmers. Well, farmers who prayed a lot. And Merlin still ended up doing most of the physical labor part, somehow. But Destiny was not done with them. Arthur ran afoul of brigands and, lacking the sword training he had had in previous lives, was slain. Merlin sobbed over his body, cursing the life that was taken from him. He brought Arthur to Avalon once again.
Arthur returned during the Reformation. Merlin could not think of a worse time for Arthur to return and then ran smack into his chest walking out of a tavern. Naturally. He listened to Arthur announce to the town that he was a Witchfinder, summoned because signs of witchcraft had been observed in the town and he would root out this evil. Merlin struggled not to burst out laughing and crying at the same time. Three lifetimes and he still was forced to hide from his best friend. Merlin ingratiated himself to Arthur by “helping” with the witch hunt, determined that no more innocents would die on his watch. Learning that Arthur was only a Witchfinder to please his father and that he struggled with it gave Merlin hope. Together they tightened the need for evidence, investigated every single lead in order to prove the innocence of every person they were set against, saving hundreds of lives. It still never felt like enough.
It worked for them for years until one day Merlin was the one being accused of witchcraft. Arthur, true to centuries of form, deflected the blame away from Merlin onto himself. The only way Arthur could prevent any innocents from dying instead. Merlin tried to stop him, tried to prove it was him and not Arthur, begged him to tell the truth. Arthur only had one request: “protect our people” before he was put on a dunking stool and drowned…in the Lake of Avalon.
The next time Merlin saw Arthur it was in France, 1914 when Arthur was brought into Merlin’s infirmary.
“You never were one to lead from behind, were you?” Merlin mused aloud.
“Do I know you?” Arthur asked. Merlin never responded. He simply did his job; helping his king, tending the wounded. Merlin was tired. If history had taught him anything it was that as soon as things got better, Arthur would die again. Men were dying left right and center around him, what was one more? Maybe if he distanced himself from Arthur - just stayed the medic - he could spare himself the pain.
When he saw Arthur again less than three decades later, Merlin’s first reaction was to shake his new colleague’s hand and then promptly excuse himself to have a panic attack. How, how could Albion be in such grave danger again so soon? They always had centuries between incidents when Albion needed Arthur the most! Yet here he was, young, fresh-faced, new teacher at St. Raphael’s School for Boys. For months Merlin walked like a man condemned. Arthur was charming until they got into debates. Neither of them taught the other’s subject, but they still felt entitled to express opinions about them. Merlin taught maths which he said was the key to unraveling the true magic of the universe. Arthur taught classical literature, which he said was the only way to understand a man’s mind. Merlin thought Arthur’s taste in what should be considered “classical” was highly classicist and snobby and Arthur thought maths had to be the most boring subject ever invented. Numbers aren’t magic, Merlin. Secretly, Merlin loved these debates with Arthur. It was the closest he had felt in centuries to how they used to be. And this time Arthur couldn’t get away with throwing things at him (though he avoided the rugby pitch all the same. Just in case.) But when Arthur brought up Sir Thomas Mallory as a debate topic, Merlin just shut down and left the room.
He hadn’t needed a sudden reminder of Arthur’s return being the herald of some doom to his country. He didn’t speak to Arthur for a few days. Not as any sort of punishment. He just didn’t think he could look his king in his face and discuss his own failures through the lens of someone who wasn’t even there, let alone worry that Arthur’s opinion might stray towards Mallory’s. it wasn’t until Arthur sought him out sitting under a tree that Merlin realized how it might seem to his friend. But Arthur just smiled and held out his hand. When Merlin reached to take it, Arthur slapped his hand and seemingly out of this air produced a red rose. “How’s that for the true magic of the universe?!” he demanded, still smiling.
Merlin suddenly understood that he loved this man. Had always loved this man. Had always desperately wanted to give this man what he had just given him. Magic. Acceptance. Affection. “We all have things we can’t talk about, Merlin. I don’t talk about my father or anything related to him. Please don’t feel you have to hide from me?”
Unfortunately, Merlin also knew what this country did to men like him.
“Of course, Arthur.” he lied.
And then the Second World War broke out. Merlin enlisted right alongside Arthur. Distaste for killing be damned - he was NOT going to let another world war take Arthur from him again. Surprising Merlin not a bit, Arthur quickly rose in the ranks for his skills in combat, his strategic and tactical abilities and his gift for leadership. He always brought Merlin along as his aide. Together they kept the war machine out of England. They stayed alive. And when the war was over, they went home together.
Merlin walked on eggshells. He passed it off as war fatigue, shell shock, whatever they were calling it these days. Everywhere, he looked for what would take Arthur from him this time, now that the danger was passed. Nothing did. They went back to the school together. They bought a house in town together. “Two old war buddies,” people around town called them. “Those bachelors round the corner.” “Former brothers in arms.”
Times changed. The world changed around them. Faster than Merlin had ever seen. They had a little television. They watched Queen at Live Aid, with Freddy Mercury dancing across the stage and Merlin couldn’t help looking at Arthur’s smile. He reached into himself for courage and a language he had not used in a long time.
Arthur looked at him and watched a red rose appear in Merlin’s outstretched hand.
“There was always something about you, Merlin.”
“Something good I hope.” And Merlin told him everything. Starting with Camelot and ending with “I love you.” Naturally he used magic to illustrate his stories. Really, it does help to have evidence on your side.
Arthur confessed that he had loved Merlin since they were first school teachers together. That he had learned that sleight of hand to impress him. That he thought Merlin had known but never said. That he wouldn’t leave him alone again for as long as he could.
They lived long and happy lives together. They saw the turn of the century together. They celebrated their 80th birthdays together. Arthur complained how it wasn’t fair - he was younger than Merlin but he looked ten years Merlin’s senior. Merlin just preened but inwardly he panicked about it as well.
The year Arthur was 98, he took Merlin’s hand.
“I have loved you in this life. I probably loved you in all my previous lives. I will love you again next time. But it’s time. Take me to the lake.”
Merlin picked up Arthur’s frail shell of a body with the strength of a body in his early thirties, rather than the nonagenarian he seemed. He carried Arthur into the water.
“It’s bloody cold you prat. You couldn’t have picked the spring to do this?”
Arthur laughed and smiled a gummy smile. His hands like paper cupped Merlin’s face.
“I’ll see you next time you need me.”
“Next time Albion needs you.”
“You are my Albion. Merlin? Thank you.” Arthur’s eyes closed. Merlin set him gently into the waters of the Lake of Avalon before trudging back along the road.
He didn’t even bother looking at the old ruined tower.
