Fanfic - This Dark Road Will Lead Us Where We Want to Be (11/11)
Title: This Dark Road Will Lead Us Where We Want to Be
Author: Mel (accordingtomel)
Pairings: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers/Warnings: Everything up to and including 2x13
Word Count: 90,521
Disclaimer: Sadly, they are not mine and I do not own them, much as I might like to.
Art Link: Right here. But please note: THERE ARE SPOILERS FOR THE FIC IN THE ART!
Author’s Note: See part one.
Part Ten
Two Years Later...
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Arthur awoke to the feel of fingers running through his hair, gentle and languid. The air was warm, sun shining brightly through the windows of the barn, casting its rays over the straw where they lay. Arthur reluctantly pried his head from its resting spot on Merlin’s chest and tilted his chin up to capture Merlin’s mouth in a kiss. Merlin kissed back eagerly, tugging at Arthur’s bare bicep in an attempt to pull him closer. They continued exploration of mouths that each knew backwards and forwards, never tiring of the feelings and sensations kissing elicited in them, but not moving towards any particular goal.
After a few satisfying minutes, Merlin finally broke the kiss, and Arthur settled back against his chest, hand lazily trailing down Merlin’s body, fingers ghosting lightly across his soft skin with no real intent. They lay like that for several minutes, and Arthur took this opportunity to simply listen to Merlin’s heart. Over the past two years they had grown incredibly close, and their bond had strengthened tenfold. They had long since reached the point where they could feel each other’s emotions and sense thoughts by merely ‘listening’ to one another. At first it had taken getting accustomed to, but now Arthur couldn’t imagine his life being any other way.
There was something weighing on Merlin’s mind this morning. Arthur could delve deeper to find the thought, but they’d mutually decided long ago that they would respect each other’s privacy unless permission was granted first.
“Are you all right?” Arthur asked, shifting so he could glance up at Merlin, shooting him a questioning look.
“I’m fine,” he said with a soft smile.
Arthur’s brows furrowed. “Then why do I sense a heaviness in your heart today?”
He sighed, gaze darting over Arthur’s head for a moment. “It’s time,” Merlin said, and Arthur frowned at him.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean it’s time to go back to Camelot,” he said, tone even and composed.
Arthur pushed himself off of Merlin entirely, sitting up and looking down at him. “How do you know? Where is this coming from?”
Merlin shrugged, propping himself up on his elbows. “I don’t know for sure. I just have this sense that we need to get back to Camelot, that we need to get going as soon as possible.”
The serious tone, coupled with the actual words he’d uttered, sent a tiny jolt of fear down Arthur’s spine. “Is Camelot in trouble? Or, did something... did something happen to my father? Is he still alive, or...?”
A hand was immediately on his shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. Arthur turned worried eyes to Merlin, who now sat opposite him. “Your father’s still alive.” He bit his lip. “At least as far as I can sense. But, um, I think... I think he might not have much time left.”
Arthur blinked, not quite sure how to take that news, or exactly what it meant. “You mean he’s dying? Or did you mean something else?” There was a careful edge to his voice, a hesitancy to actually learn the truth, while at the same time needing to know nothing else.
“No,” Merlin said, shaking his head forlornly, free hand reaching down to rest on Arthur’s thigh. The compassion in his eyes told Arthur the answer before the words ever left his mouth. “I’m not entirely sure, but I think... I think he’s dying, Arthur. I’m so sorry.”
It felt like a punch to the gut. Arthur may not have seen eye to eye with his father on most things, and had been estranged from Utherfor almost two years now. But the fact still remained that he was Arthur’s father, and in spite of everything, Arthur still loved him, stupid and weak as that may have made him. Arthur closed his eyes, focusing on Merlin until he could feel the same pull, drawing from Merlin’s inner strength and emotional resources, which he now had full access to, and the knowledge tugged at his heart, compelling him into action.
He nodded, feeling certain. “We should leave at once.”
*****
They stopped approximately five miles away from Camelot, both dreading what they were about to do, but knowing it was a necessary evil all the same. They hadn’t stayed away from Camelot for the past two years, only to saunter back in and have Merlin detained and beheaded so close to the time when he would finally be safe once more.
Arthur dismounted his horse and came over to stand beside Merlin’s as he waited for him to do the same.
“Look, Merlin, let’s not make a big show of this, all right?” he suggested once Merlin had dismounted, before he had the chance to say anything. “It’s just going to be for a short period of time. No more than a week, at most. We’ve spent almost every single day for the last two years together; we’ll be all right. Everything will be just fine.”
Merlin’s lips seemed to pull in different directions, and Arthur couldn’t figure out if he was trying not to laugh or trying not to frown. “You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself as much as you’re trying to convince me,” he said.
Of course, there was no way Arthur was about to admit that, even if Merlin had a valid point. “Don’t be ridiculous, Merlin. I am a tough, manly warrior who doesn’t get upset about leaving his... companion behind for a few days,” he insisted. But it lacked the bite and conviction he was hoping for, instead coming across as lukewarm at best.
Merlin eyed him with an air of suspicion, not even flinching at the fact that Arthur had just called him his ‘companion’, a word Merlin wasn’t particularly fond of. “You may think you’re some big, vicious creature, Arthur, but I know that deep down you’re nothing more than a playful little kitten.”
Arthur gasped in mock horror at the charge. “I am not!” he defended himself, eyes going comically wide. The sight made Merlin chuckle, and Arthur realised that as pathetic as it was, he really would miss the man immensely.
Still, he was not about to melt into a puddle of sorrow over the fact that they wouldn’t see one another for a few days. Arthur had a reputation to maintain, after all. Even if the only person he was trying to impress these days was Merlin himself, it would do no one any good if Camelot’s future king returned acting like a dependent child. Besides, Arthur reasoned to himself, while working on developing their bond further, Arthur and Merlin had gone for extended periods of time in the past without the other, in order to prepare in case of any future unintended separation. They’d survived then and would do so now.
“Look, just be careful and take care of yourself and the horse all right? I’ll contact you again when I know it’s safe.”
Arthur reached out to clap Merlin on the shoulder, with every intention of walking away. But then a pair of hands were fisting in his tunic, and pulling him close. At first Arthur struggled a bit, not because he didn’t enjoy being in Merlin’s embrace, but because he still had it in his head that appearances needed to be maintained. But when it became obvious that Merlin wasn’t going to let go, Arthur reluctantly permitted himself to wrap one arm around Merlin’s waist and another across his back, pressing into the embrace in spite of himself.
“I love you,” Merlin whispered in his ear, voice warm and affectionate and sad, all at once.
And Arthur, for all his protests of not making a big scene, pulled Merlin tighter against his chest, pressing his face into the side Merlin’s head and inhaling his scent, savouring everything about it. “I love you, too,” he said, pressing a soft kiss to Merlin’s neck just below his jaw line.
After a moment, Arthur pulled back reluctantly, still holding onto Merlin’s arms. “It’ll be fine. I’ll go and see my father and do whatever needs to be done. You just need to promise me that you won’t come anywhere near Camelot, under any circumstances. I can’t risk it, all right?”
Typical of Merlin, even though they’d already discussed this several times while on route, he still looked unimpressed, as if this were the first time he’d heard such a suggestion. “But what if something happens to you? Or something goes wrong?”
“Then I’ll call you using our connection--”
“And what if you can’t, for some reason?”
“I’m only going to be away from you for a few days, Merlin.”
“That’s still enough time to get into trouble.”
Arthur tried not to roll his eyes at Merlin. “Believe it or not, I did manage to survive for twenty years without you by my side every second of every day.”
“I know. But ever since I arrived, all that’s changed.”
“Then perhaps I have a better shot at actually staying safe if you’re not around,” he pointed out.
Merlin stopped for a moment, and seemed to consider this, either not noticing he’d just been insulted, or not caring. “Seriously, though, Arthur, what if you can’t call me?”
“Then I’ll send Gaius out to find you.”
“And what if you can’t tell--“
This time Arthur reached out and clamped a hand down on Merlin’s mouth, silencing him, even if only for a few precious moments.
“That’s enough out of you. Stop worrying. I’ll see you soon.”
He removed his hand from Merlin’s mouth after a few seconds and mounted his horse once more. With one final toss over his shoulder, just to ensure Merlin wasn’t secretly following in spite of being told not to, Arthur headed for Camelot -- to a castle and a father he hadn’t seen in two years, wondering how it was going to feel to be home again.
Arthur’s arrival in Camelot brought with it far less fanfare and attention than he expected, though in the end he was grateful for that fact. Slipping into the city boundaries was simple enough, an oversized brown cloak covering his head, but not attempting to mask his identity. The odd person glanced over at him, some with blank stares and others eyeing him with a vague expression of recognition, but not a single individual approached him.
A rush of emotions flooded Arthur in steady waves as the sights, sounds and smells of Camelot assaulted his senses. It felt very much like every other city and town they’d visited over the course of the past two years, and at the same time was entirely different. There was something entirely unique about Camelot that Arthur couldn’t put his finger on. It was as if nothing and everything had changed since he’d last set foot in the city, and while a part of Arthur felt relief at being back, it didn’t exactly feel like home any longer either. He hadn’t had a place to officially call his own over the past couple of years and yet he never felt as if he didn’t belong. The concept of ‘home’ was changing for Arthur. It could be a barn in Ealdor, an inn at a remote village, or even a cave in the forest, provided Merlin was there with him. The sentimentality of the thought was not lost on Arthur, though he’d long since abandoned any pretences about just how much Merlin meant to him, after nearly losing him.
Still, memories from his childhood, as well as some of the more recent tragedies drifted to mind, and Arthur struggled with reconciling all of this with his changing philosophies on life. And for the first time, Arthur was starting to realise that maybe he had changed a great deal over the past couple of years.
Arthur both anticipated and dreaded the moment when he would have to face the castle guards, and for a moment he was struck with the idea that it was entirely possible to encounter guards that didn’t even know who he was. He had been away for two years, which was more than enough time for new knights to begin moving up the ranks. For that matter, it was entirely possible that none of his former knights remained in Uther’s service at all.
Shaking his head to clear them of such ridiculous thoughts -- it was highly unlikely, but even if it did happen, he would deal with it like he’d dealt with every other struggle that cropped up in his life -- Arthur braced himself for the impending confrontation, as the castle walls grew with each step forward.
It was with no small amount of relief, that Arthur was greeted by the sight of Hector and Bedivere upon entering the courtyard. Both looked well. Hector was slightly taller, build bulkier than before, and he appeared more comfortable in his own skin, having aged well from the youth Arthur remember him to be. Bedivere was still an imposing sight, large and burly, but he looked leaner than Arthur remembered.
Recognition lit in both pairs of eyes before Arthur even had time to remove the hood of his cloak to properly reveal his face.
Bedivere spoke first, voice loud and boisterous. “Arthur! Sire! You’ve... you’ve returned.” He looked as if he was seeing a ghost. Hector merely stared at Arthur full of wide-eyed shock, apparently stunned into silence.
The knight’s outburst began to draw some attention, as a few people turned to stare, and Arthur quickly pulled up the hood of his cloak, shielding his face from onlookers. At this very moment he preferred to see his father before making any sort of official announcement that he was back in Camelot.
“Yes,” he confirmed, just in case they needed the auditory evidence as well.
“Where have you been, sire? We thought... well, we thought you’d gone missing.” Bedivere’s confusion was apparent, and Arthur felt a twinge of guilt at the fact that he’d vanished without ever being able to reassure anyone that he was all right.
“I know,” Arthur said, dropping his voice and leaning in closely. “I apologise for allowing you to believe so, and I promise to explain everything later, but right now I would appreciate if we kept it quiet that I’m back in Camelot. I need to see my father. I hear that he’s... sick?”
The two knights exchanged a brief glance before Bedivere turned his attention back to Arthur, a sympathetic expression on his face. “Yes, I’m afraid that he is,” he confirmed. The heaviness in the pit of Arthur’s stomach grew just slightly. “We don’t know the details, but he’s been sick for a couple of weeks now.”
“I need to see him,” Arthur said.
Hector nodded, and seemed to finally find his voice. “I can take you to Gaius.”
*****
Hector led Arthur down the familiar path to Gaius’ chambers, stopping just outside the doors.
He knocked on the door and pushed it open before waiting for permission. “Gaius?” Hector called out, making his way into the room, and Arthur followed a few steps behind him.
Gaius turned around from the table he worked at in the middle of the room, and Arthur was immediately filled with affection upon seeing his old friend again. He looked older than Arthur remembered, wrinkle lines creasing his face, more pronounced hunch to his shoulders, and he looked weary and exhausted. But upon sighting Arthur, he broke into a wide grin, and suddenly it seemed like Gaius was the same person he’d always known.
“Sire!” Gaius’ exclamation resounded heavily in the room, eyes round as saucers upon his entrance. He didn’t appear surprised to see that he was alive, simply surprised that he was there.
Gaius abandoned the vials he was holding in favour of rushing over to Arthur, stopping a few feet short of the man, looking as if he was uncertain whether to slap or hug him.
“Gaius. It’s good to see you again,” Arthur told him with a smile, slightly hesitant but sincere all the same.
He eyed Arthur for a moment, then reached out to clasp his proffered hand, shaking it with vigour. Arthur returned the gesture, his left hand coming up to clasp Gaius’ forearm as well.
“When did you arrive?” he asked, craning his neck suddenly, as if trying to catch a glimpse of something behind Arthur’s shoulder. It took a moment for it to register that he was probably looking to see if Merlin had joined him. Hector must have slipped out at some point during this exchange, for which Arthur was grateful. He didn’t want to talk about Merlin in front of anyone else just yet, save for Gaius.
He loosened his grip on Gaius’ arm, allowing his hands to fall back to his side. “I just got in today,” he shared. “Well, about thirty minutes ago, to be precise.”
Gaius nodded in his direction before gesturing towards his workbench. Arthur followed him wordlessly, taking a seat at the far end of the bench while Gaius returned to the foot of the table, picking up the vials once more. He looked like he had a million questions running through his brain, and wasn’t able to pick out which one to ask first. So Arthur took it upon himself to try and make things easier on his old friend.
“I’ve no doubt you probably have a hundred questions for me, Gaius, and I swear that I will answer all of them in good time. But for now I think it would probably be in our best interest if I just give you the brief summary.” Gaius nodded encouragingly, and Arthur carried on. “Two years ago, Merlin and I found the high priestess in her tower. We endured and passed the trials, and were offered the ability to have our bond severed.”
Arthur paused for a fraction of a second, but it seemed to be enough time to give Gaius an opening. “What happened when you broke the soul bond?”
Arthur leaned against the table, resting an arm on its rough surface. “We didn’t,” he admitted. “By mutual decision.”
If Gaius thought there was anything suspicious or off about the statement, he didn’t let it show. Reaching for a large flask, he placed it on top of the newly lit burner and began to pour various coloured liquids into the jar as he spoke. “Does that mean that Merlin is in Camelot now then, sire?”
“He damn well better not be,” Arthur said with vehemence, almost involuntarily, and Gaius arched an eyebrow. “I mean, no. I told him that he needed to stay away for his own safety; a couple of days at most,” he hastily amended.
The brow hiked even higher up his forehead. “And you expect Merlin to obey, sire?”
“Not usually. But I think he will in this situation, as I can call on him at any point in time. Besides, he has this ability to sense when I’m distressed or in danger, so he’ll know one way or the other.”
One of the jars started to boil over, and Gaius quickly removed it from the heat, placing it down on the surface of the table. “How is Merlin?” he asked, voice seeping with affection.
Arthur smiled fondly. “He’s well. His typical clumsy, head-strong self. He’s even put on a bit of weight, if you can believe that.”
The relieved smile Arthur received in return momentarily distracted Arthur from why he was here. “I’m glad to hear of it, sire. You’ve been together these past two years then?” Gaius queried, and Arthur nodded in confirmation. He hesitated for a second before continuing on to ask, “Where did you go?”
It was somewhat of a complicated answer. Arthur and Merlin had gone many places, deciding it would be safer if they didn’t stay stationary for more than a week at a time. They’d traveled all around the region, always remaining within the kingdom, but taking special care to hide their tracks. It’d been a transient life, but it only took a few weeks for Arthur to adjust to living in a world without the luxuries he’d grown accustomed to. And at least twice a year, they’d gone to Ealdor to stay with Hunith, which was always pleasant. All the while, Merlin practiced his magic and Arthur kept in shape by sparring with creatures that Merlin conjured.
“All over the place,” Arthur said vaguely. “We can tell you all about it some other time.”
Gaius nodded, and his face fell, expression turning solemn quite quickly. “Sire, I can only assume that you’ve returned because you heard about the king...” he started, giving Arthur such a pained expression that he felt it reach down and grab at his heart.
“I know, Gaius. My father is sick, possibly dying, which is why I’m here.”
“Then you know what happened to him.” It was a statement, not a question, and Arthur shook his head in response, tapping a finger gently against the table.
“I’m afraid I don’t have that piece of information yet. All I knew was that I needed to return as soon as possible.”
Gaius removed the flask from the burner and set it down, off to the side. “You have good timing, sire. It doesn’t appear that he has much time left; I figure a few days at best. I can take you to see him right now, if you’d like.”
The offer took him a little off guard, having hoped to be able to bathe and change following several days of travel, but he was here to see his father, and that was his main focus at the moment.
“Please do,” he said, and after pouring the strange mixture -- not so unlike the one he’d made Arthur drink years ago, even though it suddenly felt like only yesterday -- Gaius led him to Uther’s chambers.
*****
“He’s been in and out of consciousness for the last couple of days,” Gaius informed Arthur, speaking in hushed tones, as they walked down the corridor that led to his father’s chambers.
“And there is truly nothing you can do for him?” Arthur questioned.
Gaius shook his head sadly, looking worn and tired, as if he’d aged far more than two years since Arthur had last seen him. “I’m afraid not, sire. But even if I could, I fear it’d already be too late anyway; his illness has already progressed into the final stages, from what I’ve witnessed.”
They continued in silence once more until the familiar route led them to the end of the hall that housed the king’s chambers.
Arthur stopped just outside the door, suddenly filled with a great sense of worry and trepidation as it crossed his mind that this could all just be a huge mistake. The last time he’d seen his father, they had fought bitterly. Who was to say that Uther would even want to see Arthur again? It might only remind him of his own failings as a father, to see a son who abandoned the throne for the love of a sorcerer, his sworn enemy. It was with this thought that Arthur also found himself desperately wishing Merlin was here, though he prevented himself from contacting Merlin through their mental connection.
Gaius, noting his hesitation, turned to face Arthur. “Sire?”
“What if he doesn’t want to see me? I left two years ago; why would he want to see me again? Gaius, I wonder if perhaps I made a mistake in coming here,” he said, surprised at his frank honesty, but feeling better for simply putting the thoughts out there.
But Gaius shook his head, giving Arthur a meaningful stare as fingers curled around his arm. “I can assure you, sire, that that is not the case. Uther has missed you terribly since you went missing.”
Arthur frowned, finding that hard to believe. “Is that why he never bothered to look for me then?” It wasn’t that he’d wanted to be hunted by his father and in fact, it was the last thing either he or Merlin desired; but there’d always been a part of Arthur, infinitesimal but pervading all the same, that believed that Uther’s lack of effort in trying to track down his one and only son spoke volumes of his true feelings for Arthur, in spite of numerous evidences to the contrary.
“No, I’m afraid you’re mistaken, sire,” Gaius said, leaning in closer to Arthur even though there was no one wandering these halls at the moment. “Uther chose not to look for you because he knew you’d left of your own accord, and that you would not return to Camelot unless you desired to return. He recognised that no amount of searching for you would change matters and so he decided not to pursue it.”
Guilt bubbled up in Arthur’s stomach, unbidden and uncomfortable at this knowledge, as it very much clashed with the reality he’d created for himself all these years. He wasn’t entirely sure if he believed Gaius’ words or not, but he knew he would likely soon find out either way.
Arthur nodded, not knowing what to say to Gaius, how to respond to that information. Instead he said, “Let me see him.”
*****
The first thing Arthur noticed about the room as he entered was the fact that it was warm and well lit, though far warmer than it’d been in the rest of the castle, and Arthur wondered if it was kept that way purposely, due to his sickness. Doing a brief scan of the room, Arthur took in his surroundings, noting that it still looked the same; felt the same.
Uther lay in the bed, eyes closed, blankets tucked around his body. His face was ashen, colour drained away to leave an almost white complexion in its wake. Eyes were sunken in dark sockets, wrinkles creasing his forehead and at the corners of his eyelids. He was thin and ragged, like a limp doll instead of the strong man he’d once been. Uther looked to be years beyond his actual age, and seemed every bit the frail and dying man Gaius claimed him to be. Arthur bit back the regret and the sorrow that was threatening to grab him in a chokehold.
Instead, he shook his head to clear them of those thoughts and approached his father’s bed hesitantly, nerves coiling in his gut. He walked right up to the edge of the bed and stopped, watching and waiting for Uther’s response. His breathing was steady, but laboured at the same time, eyes closed. A stool rested on the ground just in front of him, and Arthur sat down on it, simply watching his father breathe for a few minutes.
“Father,” Arthur said, voice quiet. He reached out a tentative hand, wanting to touch him but not sure if he should, or if it would even be welcome.
Uther’s eyelids fluttered, as if responding to the sound, but they remained closed, Arthur’s hand still hovering aimlessly in the air.
Arthur swallowed, and lowered his hand, pressing a fist into his thigh instead. “Father, it’s me, Arthur,” he said, not sure if Uther could hear him but knowing he had some things to say either way.
“I just... I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. For the way things turned out between us. I never meant for any of this to happen.” He took a deep breath, watching and waiting for any sort of response, but none arrived. So he carried on. “I want you to know that I didn’t return to Camelot because I couldn’t; not because I didn’t want to. You need to understand you made it that way. I don’t agree with your stance on magic, and I never will. I wish you could see that it’s not the magic that’s good or evil, but the person who’s using it. But in spite of everything, that doesn’t mean that I don’t love you, or that I ever stopped loving you. I wish it could have been different; I wish I could have been here, at home, for the past two years. I couldn’t.”
Arthur closed his eyes, continued to fight back the various emotions coursing through his veins, but he reached out once more and this time, took his father’s hand. Perhaps they’d never get a chance to reconcile, and maybe that was how it was meant to be. But he didn’t regret returning home to have a chance to say good-bye.
“But I’m here now, for what it’s worth,” he said finally, squeezing Uther’s hand. Tears pricked at his eyes unexpectedly, but Arthur fought them back, still instinctively fighting to hide his weaknesses from his father, even while he himself was so utterly weak.
Arthur sat there for quite a while, watching the gentle rise and fall of his father’s chest while he waited for something he couldn’t even identify. It hurt, more than Arthur expected, to see his father, the once great King Uther, looking so frail and weak. And it hurt even more that they’d been ripped apart by the very thing which had brought them together in the first place. Arthur still loved his father, but he knew without a shadow of a doubt that things would change when he ascended to the throne, and that the people of Camelot would never fear sorcery in the same way they had for the past two decades.
After some time had passed, with no indication that Uther could hear him, Arthur thought that perhaps it would be best to take his leave and try again tomorrow. He leaned forward to stand, but all of a sudden Uther’s eyes opened, and Arthur froze in place, neither sitting nor fully standing.
“Father?” he asked cautiously, staring disbelievingly at the king. Uther’s eyes seemed hazy and unfocussed, but they found Arthur’s face eventually, trained steadily on his features.
“Can you hear me?” Arthur tried again.
Uther remained silent, but Arthur felt his hand twitch, and he cast his gaze down to see his father’s fingers curling lightly around his own.
Uther sucked in a shaky breath and opened his mouth to speak. Leaning forward and putting his ear to his father’s lips. He said only one word, but it was very clear to Arthur: “Son.”
In spite of his physical state, the single word held so much significance. It was not filled with anger or hatred or disappointment, but instead with hope, and affection, and for the first time in a very long time, Arthur felt love radiating from his father. He smiled at his father, tears welling up once more, but before he could speak again, Uther’s eyes fell shut once more, and did not open again.
It would be the last time Uther opened his eyes or spoke. They hadn’t reconciled, or at least not in the way that Arthur had hoped. But it was something. It was enough, and Arthur was eternally grateful that he’d made it back home to see his father one last time.
Merlin showed up in Arthur’s old chambers that same evening.
“I know you told me to wait, but I have a good reason for being here,” Merlin said immediately upon being sighted, hands raised in surrender.
But Arthur didn’t care what excuses he had for why he’d disobeyed a direct order, or for how he’d managed to make it all the way into the castle undetected. For once Merlin had made a decision that probably was the correct one, remiss as Arthur was to admit that he may have been wrong about coming here alone. There was no risk to Merlin; he knew that now. Arthur had been absolutely miserable the rest of the day, wanting nothing more than to not be alone, especially as word hadn’t yet spread that he’d returned, and suddenly Arthur’s wish had been granted. Maybe Arthur would have to start rethinking his belief that he was always correct, and grant Merlin that on occasion, he may not be wrong after all.
“I don’t care,” Arthur said, as he strode purposely over to Merlin, and before he could try and explain, Arthur wrapped him in a warm embrace, silencing any comments he may have had. “I’m glad you’re here.”
*****
Later on, Merlin decided that Arthur needed to have a bath, that it would be good for him. And when Arthur protested that he didn’t want to call a servant to bring him water, Merlin waved his hand, uttering a few words, and the water appeared in his tub, steam rising from the liquid instantly.
“How did you do that?” Arthur couldn’t help but ask, mind drifting back to the time when Camelot had been entirely without water. This would have been a good spell to know back then, he mused to himself.
“I didn’t conjure it from thin air, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Merlin said with a smile, as he helped Arthur undress. It’d been two years since Merlin had behaved in a servant-like manner, especially when it came to dressing and undressing him, and it felt both familiar and strange at the same time. In fact, for the past two years, Arthur and Merlin had behaved as equals in all respects. He wondered how that arrangement would play out now that they were back, but pushed the thought away as being irrelevant at present. They’d have lots of time to figure out those details later.
“Then what did you do?” Arthur inquired, sinking as low as he could into the tub. The heat immediately suffused into his muscles, and he felt some of the tension slip away into oblivion.
“I just transferred water from the well to your bath tub, heating it in the process,” he stated, as if it were the simplest task in the world.
“Of course,” Arthur said dryly, and Merlin smirked at him, a mischievous glint in his eye.
Arthur bathed in relative silence, and when he was done, insisted that Merlin use the water as well. He remained wrapped in his towels for the duration of Merlin’s quick bath, finding his mind drifting off into his own thoughts on several instances, in spite of Merlin’s occasional chattering.
Merlin dried himself off quickly, but instead of dressing, he tossed the towel to the floor, climbing into Arthur’s bed.
“Come here,” Merlin ordered, leaning back against the headboard, pillows stacked behind his back.
Arthur glanced at him for a moment before removing his own towel and standing to pad over to Merlin. He climbed into the bed, settling between Merlin’s legs, and leaned back against his chest. Merlin’s left arm curled around Arthur’s chest, his right coming to rest on Arthur’s thigh.
They lay together like that for several minutes, Merlin’s fingers tracing light patterns into Arthur’s skin with both hands. Arthur rested his head against the top of Merlin’s shoulder, and soft lips pressed gentle kisses to his jaw and neck. They didn’t speak; there was no need. Arthur was hurting, and Merlin knew what to do to comfort him.
Eventually, the hand on Arthur’s thigh moved to trail down Arthur’s abdomen, following the line of hair leading to his nearly hard erection. Merlin’s fingers danced through the coarse hair, continuing to move south, but he didn’t touch Arthur there. Instead, he cupped Arthur’s balls, rolling them languidly between his fingers, and Arthur let out a little whimper in response.
When he finished playing with Arthur’s balls, he trailed fingers up the hard length of Arthur’s cock, coming to rest at his head. Merlin’s thumb swiped over the head of Arthur’s cock, leaking pre-come, and he continued to massage the area. Arthur’s breathing quickened, but he resisted the urge to arch up into Merlin’s touch, as much as he desired to do so. Finally, after several long moments of teasing, Merlin wrapped his hand fully around Arthur’s erection, squeezing firmly at the base.
Arthur groaned, and with his right hand, reached around to grab hold of Merlin’s thigh as he spread his legs further apart.
Merlin’s strokes were slow at first, teasing, with the intent of building up his climax, and Arthur couldn’t help but thrust his hips instinctively anyway. With his other hand, Merlin teased Arthur’s nipples, running fingers over their pebbled surface and squeezing to elicit a moan from Arthur.
He continued to stroke Arthur, increasing his speed and flicking his wrist in just the right way -- the way that he knew made Arthur come apart -- but Arthur could already feel Merlin’s magic thrumming through him. They often used magic when having sex, sometimes to hold off their release, or to make it more intense, or even to heighten all other physical sensation. This time Merlin was doing all three, and it made Arthur harder than he’d been in a very long time.
“Merlin, please,” he begged, desperate to find release, as he felt Merlin sucking and biting gently at the skin just below his ear.
Merlin grinned into his neck and suddenly he picked up the pace with alarming intensity, Arthur’s own hips thrusting into Merlin’s firm strokes. Behind him he could feel Merlin’s own hardness pressing into his back and that turned him on even more.
Merlin continued this frantic pace for a few more moments, and then Arthur was coming with a cry, screaming Merlin’s name with such enthusiastic vigour that it was likely the entire castle heard him. Merlin pumped him through the aftershocks, only stopping when Arthur finally collapsed back against his chest, sweaty and panting desperately. For several moments Arthur could barely breathe, let alone move, and Merlin seemed content to hold him tightly in his arms.
“Merlin... thank you,” Arthur whispered, when he’d finally caught his breath. As if in response to his comment, he suddenly felt Merlin’s cock twitch at his back, and he sat up slowly, turning to look behind him.
“Let me,” he said, gesturing towards Merlin’s own neglected erection.
But Merlin shook his head. “No, it’s fine, Arthur. This is about you, not me,” Merlin said, and tried to pull Arthur back down to his chest.
However, Arthur wasn’t about to allow that to happen. Pulling away from Merlin, he moved onto his knees, positioning himself between Merlin’s thighs. And before Merlin could protest, he’d taken his cock into his mouth. Merlin immediately thrust up into Arthur, and he sucked him down easily. All it took was a few thrusts and then Merlin was coming too, groaning Arthur’s name as he did, and Arthur swallowed every last drop, swiping at his mouth when he pulled away.
“I’m so sorry for everything,” Merlin told him, pulling Arthur up for a kiss, which he gladly dove into.
“I know,” Arthur said, when they pulled apart a few moments later.
And because neither had the energy or the drive to get up and clean themselves, Merlin used magic to bring a wet neckerchief over to the bed. They fell asleep in each other’s arms, and that night, Arthur slept well.
Two days following Arthur’s arrival into Camelot, Uther Pendragon passed away.
A public ceremony was held for the deceased king the following day, to honour his life and death. And in spite of his endless years of persecution and prejudice, Arthur was amazed to see the outpouring of love and support from Camelot’s citizens for their king nonetheless. There was something reassuring in the knowledge that he was not despised by all, and it made Arthur feel better knowing that he hadn’t been the only person on earth to still love his father in spite of all his many flaws. Uther had, after all, brought peace and prosperity to the land, as he claimed he would, even if Arthur hadn’t agreed with his methods.
The coronation ceremony was held a day later.
As Merlin helped Arthur dress that day in the ceremonial robes, silence filled the space between them. Arthur was distracted, nerves frayed. He was still grieving for his father, didn’t quite feel he was ready to ascend to the throne, and yet he knew what he had to do anyway. Merlin’s deft fingers flying across his chest, back, shoulders, smoothing and patting and rearranging fabric helped soothe the anxiety coiling in his gut, but only barely.
Merlin finished with him long before he noticed that the hands had retreated, still buried in his own world, filled with questions and doubts and insecurities.
“Arthur,” Merlin said, voice entreating and warm, with the barest hint of concern. He’d said a great deal with that single word, and it was enough to draw Arthur’s attention to the calm and familiar face standing before him.
But when their eyes met, Merlin remained quiet, just stared at Arthur, waiting... silently encouraging him. He could sense Arthur carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, and it was Merlin’s way of asking him to share without forcing Arthur’s hand.
A few moments passed, while Arthur waged an internal debate, before he finally allowed the question that’d been plaguing his mind to slip past hesitant lips. “Merlin, do you think I have what it takes to become King?”
Merlin’s face broke into a grin instantly. “You’re going to be the best king Camelot has ever known,” he said, so sincere and with such strong conviction, that some of the tightness in Arthur’s chest unfurled. Even if he’d doubted Merlin’s confidence, Arthur could feel it in Merlin’s heart, swelling and nearly ready to burst free, and it warmed him in ways he couldn’t put words to.
He opened his mouth to respond, but then there was a soft knock at the door.
“Enter,” Arthur called out as both he and Merlin turned to see who was there.
Gaius pushed the door open and stepped through the threshold, shutting it behind him. “Sire, I just came to let you know that they’re ready to begin the ceremony in the next ten minutes.”
Arthur nodded, feeling his gut clench again in spite of himself, and before he could even make to move for the door, Merlin’s hands were on him once more, pressing against the fabric on his chest. Arthur wasn’t sure if Merlin was actually fixing something, or sensed that he needed calming again, but he suddenly had to hold back a smirk.
“Merlin, stop fussing,” Arthur chided, batting at his hands, but instead of letting go, Merlin tugged Arthur closer, pressing his soft lips to Arthur’s own.
He froze for a moment, the vague notion that Gaius was still in the room dancing around at the back of his mind, but he tossed aside the worry when Merlin nipped at his bottom lip, and responded in full to his gesture, one hand coming up to rest against the side of Merlin’s face. It was short and sweet, but full of both love and compassion, not inappropriate yet deep enough to make it obvious that this was not their first time.
When Merlin pulled away, he shot an encouraging smile at Arthur. “You’re going to be great,” he said, fingers uncurling and smoothing down the rich fabric he’d just wrinkled.
From over by the door, Gaius coughed, somewhat uncomfortable, and Merlin had the good graces to shoot him an appropriately sheepish smile. Arthur merely smirked to himself, ignoring the heat pricking at the back of his own neck.
“I suppose we should go,” he announced a moment later, pulling his shoulders back and standing tall.
Gaius nodded, reaching to open the doors for his soon-to-be king.
With a deep breath, Arthur reached for Merlin’s hand, squeezing gently with a thousand promises and assurances waiting to burst forth from the tip of his tongue. But Merlin didn’t need to hear them, because he already knew them all, could feel it with every fibre of his being. So, entwining their fingers, Arthur smiled at Merlin before following Gaius through his chamber doors, and together they walked to the coronation ceremony, hand in hand.
THE END
Author: Mel (accordingtomel)
Pairings: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers/Warnings: Everything up to and including 2x13
Word Count: 90,521
Disclaimer: Sadly, they are not mine and I do not own them, much as I might like to.
Art Link: Right here. But please note: THERE ARE SPOILERS FOR THE FIC IN THE ART!
Author’s Note: See part one.
Part Ten
Two Years Later...
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Arthur awoke to the feel of fingers running through his hair, gentle and languid. The air was warm, sun shining brightly through the windows of the barn, casting its rays over the straw where they lay. Arthur reluctantly pried his head from its resting spot on Merlin’s chest and tilted his chin up to capture Merlin’s mouth in a kiss. Merlin kissed back eagerly, tugging at Arthur’s bare bicep in an attempt to pull him closer. They continued exploration of mouths that each knew backwards and forwards, never tiring of the feelings and sensations kissing elicited in them, but not moving towards any particular goal.
After a few satisfying minutes, Merlin finally broke the kiss, and Arthur settled back against his chest, hand lazily trailing down Merlin’s body, fingers ghosting lightly across his soft skin with no real intent. They lay like that for several minutes, and Arthur took this opportunity to simply listen to Merlin’s heart. Over the past two years they had grown incredibly close, and their bond had strengthened tenfold. They had long since reached the point where they could feel each other’s emotions and sense thoughts by merely ‘listening’ to one another. At first it had taken getting accustomed to, but now Arthur couldn’t imagine his life being any other way.
There was something weighing on Merlin’s mind this morning. Arthur could delve deeper to find the thought, but they’d mutually decided long ago that they would respect each other’s privacy unless permission was granted first.
“Are you all right?” Arthur asked, shifting so he could glance up at Merlin, shooting him a questioning look.
“I’m fine,” he said with a soft smile.
Arthur’s brows furrowed. “Then why do I sense a heaviness in your heart today?”
He sighed, gaze darting over Arthur’s head for a moment. “It’s time,” Merlin said, and Arthur frowned at him.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean it’s time to go back to Camelot,” he said, tone even and composed.
Arthur pushed himself off of Merlin entirely, sitting up and looking down at him. “How do you know? Where is this coming from?”
Merlin shrugged, propping himself up on his elbows. “I don’t know for sure. I just have this sense that we need to get back to Camelot, that we need to get going as soon as possible.”
The serious tone, coupled with the actual words he’d uttered, sent a tiny jolt of fear down Arthur’s spine. “Is Camelot in trouble? Or, did something... did something happen to my father? Is he still alive, or...?”
A hand was immediately on his shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. Arthur turned worried eyes to Merlin, who now sat opposite him. “Your father’s still alive.” He bit his lip. “At least as far as I can sense. But, um, I think... I think he might not have much time left.”
Arthur blinked, not quite sure how to take that news, or exactly what it meant. “You mean he’s dying? Or did you mean something else?” There was a careful edge to his voice, a hesitancy to actually learn the truth, while at the same time needing to know nothing else.
“No,” Merlin said, shaking his head forlornly, free hand reaching down to rest on Arthur’s thigh. The compassion in his eyes told Arthur the answer before the words ever left his mouth. “I’m not entirely sure, but I think... I think he’s dying, Arthur. I’m so sorry.”
It felt like a punch to the gut. Arthur may not have seen eye to eye with his father on most things, and had been estranged from Utherfor almost two years now. But the fact still remained that he was Arthur’s father, and in spite of everything, Arthur still loved him, stupid and weak as that may have made him. Arthur closed his eyes, focusing on Merlin until he could feel the same pull, drawing from Merlin’s inner strength and emotional resources, which he now had full access to, and the knowledge tugged at his heart, compelling him into action.
He nodded, feeling certain. “We should leave at once.”
*****
They stopped approximately five miles away from Camelot, both dreading what they were about to do, but knowing it was a necessary evil all the same. They hadn’t stayed away from Camelot for the past two years, only to saunter back in and have Merlin detained and beheaded so close to the time when he would finally be safe once more.
Arthur dismounted his horse and came over to stand beside Merlin’s as he waited for him to do the same.
“Look, Merlin, let’s not make a big show of this, all right?” he suggested once Merlin had dismounted, before he had the chance to say anything. “It’s just going to be for a short period of time. No more than a week, at most. We’ve spent almost every single day for the last two years together; we’ll be all right. Everything will be just fine.”
Merlin’s lips seemed to pull in different directions, and Arthur couldn’t figure out if he was trying not to laugh or trying not to frown. “You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself as much as you’re trying to convince me,” he said.
Of course, there was no way Arthur was about to admit that, even if Merlin had a valid point. “Don’t be ridiculous, Merlin. I am a tough, manly warrior who doesn’t get upset about leaving his... companion behind for a few days,” he insisted. But it lacked the bite and conviction he was hoping for, instead coming across as lukewarm at best.
Merlin eyed him with an air of suspicion, not even flinching at the fact that Arthur had just called him his ‘companion’, a word Merlin wasn’t particularly fond of. “You may think you’re some big, vicious creature, Arthur, but I know that deep down you’re nothing more than a playful little kitten.”
Arthur gasped in mock horror at the charge. “I am not!” he defended himself, eyes going comically wide. The sight made Merlin chuckle, and Arthur realised that as pathetic as it was, he really would miss the man immensely.
Still, he was not about to melt into a puddle of sorrow over the fact that they wouldn’t see one another for a few days. Arthur had a reputation to maintain, after all. Even if the only person he was trying to impress these days was Merlin himself, it would do no one any good if Camelot’s future king returned acting like a dependent child. Besides, Arthur reasoned to himself, while working on developing their bond further, Arthur and Merlin had gone for extended periods of time in the past without the other, in order to prepare in case of any future unintended separation. They’d survived then and would do so now.
“Look, just be careful and take care of yourself and the horse all right? I’ll contact you again when I know it’s safe.”
Arthur reached out to clap Merlin on the shoulder, with every intention of walking away. But then a pair of hands were fisting in his tunic, and pulling him close. At first Arthur struggled a bit, not because he didn’t enjoy being in Merlin’s embrace, but because he still had it in his head that appearances needed to be maintained. But when it became obvious that Merlin wasn’t going to let go, Arthur reluctantly permitted himself to wrap one arm around Merlin’s waist and another across his back, pressing into the embrace in spite of himself.
“I love you,” Merlin whispered in his ear, voice warm and affectionate and sad, all at once.
And Arthur, for all his protests of not making a big scene, pulled Merlin tighter against his chest, pressing his face into the side Merlin’s head and inhaling his scent, savouring everything about it. “I love you, too,” he said, pressing a soft kiss to Merlin’s neck just below his jaw line.
After a moment, Arthur pulled back reluctantly, still holding onto Merlin’s arms. “It’ll be fine. I’ll go and see my father and do whatever needs to be done. You just need to promise me that you won’t come anywhere near Camelot, under any circumstances. I can’t risk it, all right?”
Typical of Merlin, even though they’d already discussed this several times while on route, he still looked unimpressed, as if this were the first time he’d heard such a suggestion. “But what if something happens to you? Or something goes wrong?”
“Then I’ll call you using our connection--”
“And what if you can’t, for some reason?”
“I’m only going to be away from you for a few days, Merlin.”
“That’s still enough time to get into trouble.”
Arthur tried not to roll his eyes at Merlin. “Believe it or not, I did manage to survive for twenty years without you by my side every second of every day.”
“I know. But ever since I arrived, all that’s changed.”
“Then perhaps I have a better shot at actually staying safe if you’re not around,” he pointed out.
Merlin stopped for a moment, and seemed to consider this, either not noticing he’d just been insulted, or not caring. “Seriously, though, Arthur, what if you can’t call me?”
“Then I’ll send Gaius out to find you.”
“And what if you can’t tell--“
This time Arthur reached out and clamped a hand down on Merlin’s mouth, silencing him, even if only for a few precious moments.
“That’s enough out of you. Stop worrying. I’ll see you soon.”
He removed his hand from Merlin’s mouth after a few seconds and mounted his horse once more. With one final toss over his shoulder, just to ensure Merlin wasn’t secretly following in spite of being told not to, Arthur headed for Camelot -- to a castle and a father he hadn’t seen in two years, wondering how it was going to feel to be home again.
Arthur’s arrival in Camelot brought with it far less fanfare and attention than he expected, though in the end he was grateful for that fact. Slipping into the city boundaries was simple enough, an oversized brown cloak covering his head, but not attempting to mask his identity. The odd person glanced over at him, some with blank stares and others eyeing him with a vague expression of recognition, but not a single individual approached him.
A rush of emotions flooded Arthur in steady waves as the sights, sounds and smells of Camelot assaulted his senses. It felt very much like every other city and town they’d visited over the course of the past two years, and at the same time was entirely different. There was something entirely unique about Camelot that Arthur couldn’t put his finger on. It was as if nothing and everything had changed since he’d last set foot in the city, and while a part of Arthur felt relief at being back, it didn’t exactly feel like home any longer either. He hadn’t had a place to officially call his own over the past couple of years and yet he never felt as if he didn’t belong. The concept of ‘home’ was changing for Arthur. It could be a barn in Ealdor, an inn at a remote village, or even a cave in the forest, provided Merlin was there with him. The sentimentality of the thought was not lost on Arthur, though he’d long since abandoned any pretences about just how much Merlin meant to him, after nearly losing him.
Still, memories from his childhood, as well as some of the more recent tragedies drifted to mind, and Arthur struggled with reconciling all of this with his changing philosophies on life. And for the first time, Arthur was starting to realise that maybe he had changed a great deal over the past couple of years.
Arthur both anticipated and dreaded the moment when he would have to face the castle guards, and for a moment he was struck with the idea that it was entirely possible to encounter guards that didn’t even know who he was. He had been away for two years, which was more than enough time for new knights to begin moving up the ranks. For that matter, it was entirely possible that none of his former knights remained in Uther’s service at all.
Shaking his head to clear them of such ridiculous thoughts -- it was highly unlikely, but even if it did happen, he would deal with it like he’d dealt with every other struggle that cropped up in his life -- Arthur braced himself for the impending confrontation, as the castle walls grew with each step forward.
It was with no small amount of relief, that Arthur was greeted by the sight of Hector and Bedivere upon entering the courtyard. Both looked well. Hector was slightly taller, build bulkier than before, and he appeared more comfortable in his own skin, having aged well from the youth Arthur remember him to be. Bedivere was still an imposing sight, large and burly, but he looked leaner than Arthur remembered.
Recognition lit in both pairs of eyes before Arthur even had time to remove the hood of his cloak to properly reveal his face.
Bedivere spoke first, voice loud and boisterous. “Arthur! Sire! You’ve... you’ve returned.” He looked as if he was seeing a ghost. Hector merely stared at Arthur full of wide-eyed shock, apparently stunned into silence.
The knight’s outburst began to draw some attention, as a few people turned to stare, and Arthur quickly pulled up the hood of his cloak, shielding his face from onlookers. At this very moment he preferred to see his father before making any sort of official announcement that he was back in Camelot.
“Yes,” he confirmed, just in case they needed the auditory evidence as well.
“Where have you been, sire? We thought... well, we thought you’d gone missing.” Bedivere’s confusion was apparent, and Arthur felt a twinge of guilt at the fact that he’d vanished without ever being able to reassure anyone that he was all right.
“I know,” Arthur said, dropping his voice and leaning in closely. “I apologise for allowing you to believe so, and I promise to explain everything later, but right now I would appreciate if we kept it quiet that I’m back in Camelot. I need to see my father. I hear that he’s... sick?”
The two knights exchanged a brief glance before Bedivere turned his attention back to Arthur, a sympathetic expression on his face. “Yes, I’m afraid that he is,” he confirmed. The heaviness in the pit of Arthur’s stomach grew just slightly. “We don’t know the details, but he’s been sick for a couple of weeks now.”
“I need to see him,” Arthur said.
Hector nodded, and seemed to finally find his voice. “I can take you to Gaius.”
*****
Hector led Arthur down the familiar path to Gaius’ chambers, stopping just outside the doors.
He knocked on the door and pushed it open before waiting for permission. “Gaius?” Hector called out, making his way into the room, and Arthur followed a few steps behind him.
Gaius turned around from the table he worked at in the middle of the room, and Arthur was immediately filled with affection upon seeing his old friend again. He looked older than Arthur remembered, wrinkle lines creasing his face, more pronounced hunch to his shoulders, and he looked weary and exhausted. But upon sighting Arthur, he broke into a wide grin, and suddenly it seemed like Gaius was the same person he’d always known.
“Sire!” Gaius’ exclamation resounded heavily in the room, eyes round as saucers upon his entrance. He didn’t appear surprised to see that he was alive, simply surprised that he was there.
Gaius abandoned the vials he was holding in favour of rushing over to Arthur, stopping a few feet short of the man, looking as if he was uncertain whether to slap or hug him.
“Gaius. It’s good to see you again,” Arthur told him with a smile, slightly hesitant but sincere all the same.
He eyed Arthur for a moment, then reached out to clasp his proffered hand, shaking it with vigour. Arthur returned the gesture, his left hand coming up to clasp Gaius’ forearm as well.
“When did you arrive?” he asked, craning his neck suddenly, as if trying to catch a glimpse of something behind Arthur’s shoulder. It took a moment for it to register that he was probably looking to see if Merlin had joined him. Hector must have slipped out at some point during this exchange, for which Arthur was grateful. He didn’t want to talk about Merlin in front of anyone else just yet, save for Gaius.
He loosened his grip on Gaius’ arm, allowing his hands to fall back to his side. “I just got in today,” he shared. “Well, about thirty minutes ago, to be precise.”
Gaius nodded in his direction before gesturing towards his workbench. Arthur followed him wordlessly, taking a seat at the far end of the bench while Gaius returned to the foot of the table, picking up the vials once more. He looked like he had a million questions running through his brain, and wasn’t able to pick out which one to ask first. So Arthur took it upon himself to try and make things easier on his old friend.
“I’ve no doubt you probably have a hundred questions for me, Gaius, and I swear that I will answer all of them in good time. But for now I think it would probably be in our best interest if I just give you the brief summary.” Gaius nodded encouragingly, and Arthur carried on. “Two years ago, Merlin and I found the high priestess in her tower. We endured and passed the trials, and were offered the ability to have our bond severed.”
Arthur paused for a fraction of a second, but it seemed to be enough time to give Gaius an opening. “What happened when you broke the soul bond?”
Arthur leaned against the table, resting an arm on its rough surface. “We didn’t,” he admitted. “By mutual decision.”
If Gaius thought there was anything suspicious or off about the statement, he didn’t let it show. Reaching for a large flask, he placed it on top of the newly lit burner and began to pour various coloured liquids into the jar as he spoke. “Does that mean that Merlin is in Camelot now then, sire?”
“He damn well better not be,” Arthur said with vehemence, almost involuntarily, and Gaius arched an eyebrow. “I mean, no. I told him that he needed to stay away for his own safety; a couple of days at most,” he hastily amended.
The brow hiked even higher up his forehead. “And you expect Merlin to obey, sire?”
“Not usually. But I think he will in this situation, as I can call on him at any point in time. Besides, he has this ability to sense when I’m distressed or in danger, so he’ll know one way or the other.”
One of the jars started to boil over, and Gaius quickly removed it from the heat, placing it down on the surface of the table. “How is Merlin?” he asked, voice seeping with affection.
Arthur smiled fondly. “He’s well. His typical clumsy, head-strong self. He’s even put on a bit of weight, if you can believe that.”
The relieved smile Arthur received in return momentarily distracted Arthur from why he was here. “I’m glad to hear of it, sire. You’ve been together these past two years then?” Gaius queried, and Arthur nodded in confirmation. He hesitated for a second before continuing on to ask, “Where did you go?”
It was somewhat of a complicated answer. Arthur and Merlin had gone many places, deciding it would be safer if they didn’t stay stationary for more than a week at a time. They’d traveled all around the region, always remaining within the kingdom, but taking special care to hide their tracks. It’d been a transient life, but it only took a few weeks for Arthur to adjust to living in a world without the luxuries he’d grown accustomed to. And at least twice a year, they’d gone to Ealdor to stay with Hunith, which was always pleasant. All the while, Merlin practiced his magic and Arthur kept in shape by sparring with creatures that Merlin conjured.
“All over the place,” Arthur said vaguely. “We can tell you all about it some other time.”
Gaius nodded, and his face fell, expression turning solemn quite quickly. “Sire, I can only assume that you’ve returned because you heard about the king...” he started, giving Arthur such a pained expression that he felt it reach down and grab at his heart.
“I know, Gaius. My father is sick, possibly dying, which is why I’m here.”
“Then you know what happened to him.” It was a statement, not a question, and Arthur shook his head in response, tapping a finger gently against the table.
“I’m afraid I don’t have that piece of information yet. All I knew was that I needed to return as soon as possible.”
Gaius removed the flask from the burner and set it down, off to the side. “You have good timing, sire. It doesn’t appear that he has much time left; I figure a few days at best. I can take you to see him right now, if you’d like.”
The offer took him a little off guard, having hoped to be able to bathe and change following several days of travel, but he was here to see his father, and that was his main focus at the moment.
“Please do,” he said, and after pouring the strange mixture -- not so unlike the one he’d made Arthur drink years ago, even though it suddenly felt like only yesterday -- Gaius led him to Uther’s chambers.
*****
“He’s been in and out of consciousness for the last couple of days,” Gaius informed Arthur, speaking in hushed tones, as they walked down the corridor that led to his father’s chambers.
“And there is truly nothing you can do for him?” Arthur questioned.
Gaius shook his head sadly, looking worn and tired, as if he’d aged far more than two years since Arthur had last seen him. “I’m afraid not, sire. But even if I could, I fear it’d already be too late anyway; his illness has already progressed into the final stages, from what I’ve witnessed.”
They continued in silence once more until the familiar route led them to the end of the hall that housed the king’s chambers.
Arthur stopped just outside the door, suddenly filled with a great sense of worry and trepidation as it crossed his mind that this could all just be a huge mistake. The last time he’d seen his father, they had fought bitterly. Who was to say that Uther would even want to see Arthur again? It might only remind him of his own failings as a father, to see a son who abandoned the throne for the love of a sorcerer, his sworn enemy. It was with this thought that Arthur also found himself desperately wishing Merlin was here, though he prevented himself from contacting Merlin through their mental connection.
Gaius, noting his hesitation, turned to face Arthur. “Sire?”
“What if he doesn’t want to see me? I left two years ago; why would he want to see me again? Gaius, I wonder if perhaps I made a mistake in coming here,” he said, surprised at his frank honesty, but feeling better for simply putting the thoughts out there.
But Gaius shook his head, giving Arthur a meaningful stare as fingers curled around his arm. “I can assure you, sire, that that is not the case. Uther has missed you terribly since you went missing.”
Arthur frowned, finding that hard to believe. “Is that why he never bothered to look for me then?” It wasn’t that he’d wanted to be hunted by his father and in fact, it was the last thing either he or Merlin desired; but there’d always been a part of Arthur, infinitesimal but pervading all the same, that believed that Uther’s lack of effort in trying to track down his one and only son spoke volumes of his true feelings for Arthur, in spite of numerous evidences to the contrary.
“No, I’m afraid you’re mistaken, sire,” Gaius said, leaning in closer to Arthur even though there was no one wandering these halls at the moment. “Uther chose not to look for you because he knew you’d left of your own accord, and that you would not return to Camelot unless you desired to return. He recognised that no amount of searching for you would change matters and so he decided not to pursue it.”
Guilt bubbled up in Arthur’s stomach, unbidden and uncomfortable at this knowledge, as it very much clashed with the reality he’d created for himself all these years. He wasn’t entirely sure if he believed Gaius’ words or not, but he knew he would likely soon find out either way.
Arthur nodded, not knowing what to say to Gaius, how to respond to that information. Instead he said, “Let me see him.”
*****
The first thing Arthur noticed about the room as he entered was the fact that it was warm and well lit, though far warmer than it’d been in the rest of the castle, and Arthur wondered if it was kept that way purposely, due to his sickness. Doing a brief scan of the room, Arthur took in his surroundings, noting that it still looked the same; felt the same.
Uther lay in the bed, eyes closed, blankets tucked around his body. His face was ashen, colour drained away to leave an almost white complexion in its wake. Eyes were sunken in dark sockets, wrinkles creasing his forehead and at the corners of his eyelids. He was thin and ragged, like a limp doll instead of the strong man he’d once been. Uther looked to be years beyond his actual age, and seemed every bit the frail and dying man Gaius claimed him to be. Arthur bit back the regret and the sorrow that was threatening to grab him in a chokehold.
Instead, he shook his head to clear them of those thoughts and approached his father’s bed hesitantly, nerves coiling in his gut. He walked right up to the edge of the bed and stopped, watching and waiting for Uther’s response. His breathing was steady, but laboured at the same time, eyes closed. A stool rested on the ground just in front of him, and Arthur sat down on it, simply watching his father breathe for a few minutes.
“Father,” Arthur said, voice quiet. He reached out a tentative hand, wanting to touch him but not sure if he should, or if it would even be welcome.
Uther’s eyelids fluttered, as if responding to the sound, but they remained closed, Arthur’s hand still hovering aimlessly in the air.
Arthur swallowed, and lowered his hand, pressing a fist into his thigh instead. “Father, it’s me, Arthur,” he said, not sure if Uther could hear him but knowing he had some things to say either way.
“I just... I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. For the way things turned out between us. I never meant for any of this to happen.” He took a deep breath, watching and waiting for any sort of response, but none arrived. So he carried on. “I want you to know that I didn’t return to Camelot because I couldn’t; not because I didn’t want to. You need to understand you made it that way. I don’t agree with your stance on magic, and I never will. I wish you could see that it’s not the magic that’s good or evil, but the person who’s using it. But in spite of everything, that doesn’t mean that I don’t love you, or that I ever stopped loving you. I wish it could have been different; I wish I could have been here, at home, for the past two years. I couldn’t.”
Arthur closed his eyes, continued to fight back the various emotions coursing through his veins, but he reached out once more and this time, took his father’s hand. Perhaps they’d never get a chance to reconcile, and maybe that was how it was meant to be. But he didn’t regret returning home to have a chance to say good-bye.
“But I’m here now, for what it’s worth,” he said finally, squeezing Uther’s hand. Tears pricked at his eyes unexpectedly, but Arthur fought them back, still instinctively fighting to hide his weaknesses from his father, even while he himself was so utterly weak.
Arthur sat there for quite a while, watching the gentle rise and fall of his father’s chest while he waited for something he couldn’t even identify. It hurt, more than Arthur expected, to see his father, the once great King Uther, looking so frail and weak. And it hurt even more that they’d been ripped apart by the very thing which had brought them together in the first place. Arthur still loved his father, but he knew without a shadow of a doubt that things would change when he ascended to the throne, and that the people of Camelot would never fear sorcery in the same way they had for the past two decades.
After some time had passed, with no indication that Uther could hear him, Arthur thought that perhaps it would be best to take his leave and try again tomorrow. He leaned forward to stand, but all of a sudden Uther’s eyes opened, and Arthur froze in place, neither sitting nor fully standing.
“Father?” he asked cautiously, staring disbelievingly at the king. Uther’s eyes seemed hazy and unfocussed, but they found Arthur’s face eventually, trained steadily on his features.
“Can you hear me?” Arthur tried again.
Uther remained silent, but Arthur felt his hand twitch, and he cast his gaze down to see his father’s fingers curling lightly around his own.
Uther sucked in a shaky breath and opened his mouth to speak. Leaning forward and putting his ear to his father’s lips. He said only one word, but it was very clear to Arthur: “Son.”
In spite of his physical state, the single word held so much significance. It was not filled with anger or hatred or disappointment, but instead with hope, and affection, and for the first time in a very long time, Arthur felt love radiating from his father. He smiled at his father, tears welling up once more, but before he could speak again, Uther’s eyes fell shut once more, and did not open again.
It would be the last time Uther opened his eyes or spoke. They hadn’t reconciled, or at least not in the way that Arthur had hoped. But it was something. It was enough, and Arthur was eternally grateful that he’d made it back home to see his father one last time.
Merlin showed up in Arthur’s old chambers that same evening.
“I know you told me to wait, but I have a good reason for being here,” Merlin said immediately upon being sighted, hands raised in surrender.
But Arthur didn’t care what excuses he had for why he’d disobeyed a direct order, or for how he’d managed to make it all the way into the castle undetected. For once Merlin had made a decision that probably was the correct one, remiss as Arthur was to admit that he may have been wrong about coming here alone. There was no risk to Merlin; he knew that now. Arthur had been absolutely miserable the rest of the day, wanting nothing more than to not be alone, especially as word hadn’t yet spread that he’d returned, and suddenly Arthur’s wish had been granted. Maybe Arthur would have to start rethinking his belief that he was always correct, and grant Merlin that on occasion, he may not be wrong after all.
“I don’t care,” Arthur said, as he strode purposely over to Merlin, and before he could try and explain, Arthur wrapped him in a warm embrace, silencing any comments he may have had. “I’m glad you’re here.”
*****
Later on, Merlin decided that Arthur needed to have a bath, that it would be good for him. And when Arthur protested that he didn’t want to call a servant to bring him water, Merlin waved his hand, uttering a few words, and the water appeared in his tub, steam rising from the liquid instantly.
“How did you do that?” Arthur couldn’t help but ask, mind drifting back to the time when Camelot had been entirely without water. This would have been a good spell to know back then, he mused to himself.
“I didn’t conjure it from thin air, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Merlin said with a smile, as he helped Arthur undress. It’d been two years since Merlin had behaved in a servant-like manner, especially when it came to dressing and undressing him, and it felt both familiar and strange at the same time. In fact, for the past two years, Arthur and Merlin had behaved as equals in all respects. He wondered how that arrangement would play out now that they were back, but pushed the thought away as being irrelevant at present. They’d have lots of time to figure out those details later.
“Then what did you do?” Arthur inquired, sinking as low as he could into the tub. The heat immediately suffused into his muscles, and he felt some of the tension slip away into oblivion.
“I just transferred water from the well to your bath tub, heating it in the process,” he stated, as if it were the simplest task in the world.
“Of course,” Arthur said dryly, and Merlin smirked at him, a mischievous glint in his eye.
Arthur bathed in relative silence, and when he was done, insisted that Merlin use the water as well. He remained wrapped in his towels for the duration of Merlin’s quick bath, finding his mind drifting off into his own thoughts on several instances, in spite of Merlin’s occasional chattering.
Merlin dried himself off quickly, but instead of dressing, he tossed the towel to the floor, climbing into Arthur’s bed.
“Come here,” Merlin ordered, leaning back against the headboard, pillows stacked behind his back.
Arthur glanced at him for a moment before removing his own towel and standing to pad over to Merlin. He climbed into the bed, settling between Merlin’s legs, and leaned back against his chest. Merlin’s left arm curled around Arthur’s chest, his right coming to rest on Arthur’s thigh.
They lay together like that for several minutes, Merlin’s fingers tracing light patterns into Arthur’s skin with both hands. Arthur rested his head against the top of Merlin’s shoulder, and soft lips pressed gentle kisses to his jaw and neck. They didn’t speak; there was no need. Arthur was hurting, and Merlin knew what to do to comfort him.
Eventually, the hand on Arthur’s thigh moved to trail down Arthur’s abdomen, following the line of hair leading to his nearly hard erection. Merlin’s fingers danced through the coarse hair, continuing to move south, but he didn’t touch Arthur there. Instead, he cupped Arthur’s balls, rolling them languidly between his fingers, and Arthur let out a little whimper in response.
When he finished playing with Arthur’s balls, he trailed fingers up the hard length of Arthur’s cock, coming to rest at his head. Merlin’s thumb swiped over the head of Arthur’s cock, leaking pre-come, and he continued to massage the area. Arthur’s breathing quickened, but he resisted the urge to arch up into Merlin’s touch, as much as he desired to do so. Finally, after several long moments of teasing, Merlin wrapped his hand fully around Arthur’s erection, squeezing firmly at the base.
Arthur groaned, and with his right hand, reached around to grab hold of Merlin’s thigh as he spread his legs further apart.
Merlin’s strokes were slow at first, teasing, with the intent of building up his climax, and Arthur couldn’t help but thrust his hips instinctively anyway. With his other hand, Merlin teased Arthur’s nipples, running fingers over their pebbled surface and squeezing to elicit a moan from Arthur.
He continued to stroke Arthur, increasing his speed and flicking his wrist in just the right way -- the way that he knew made Arthur come apart -- but Arthur could already feel Merlin’s magic thrumming through him. They often used magic when having sex, sometimes to hold off their release, or to make it more intense, or even to heighten all other physical sensation. This time Merlin was doing all three, and it made Arthur harder than he’d been in a very long time.
“Merlin, please,” he begged, desperate to find release, as he felt Merlin sucking and biting gently at the skin just below his ear.
Merlin grinned into his neck and suddenly he picked up the pace with alarming intensity, Arthur’s own hips thrusting into Merlin’s firm strokes. Behind him he could feel Merlin’s own hardness pressing into his back and that turned him on even more.
Merlin continued this frantic pace for a few more moments, and then Arthur was coming with a cry, screaming Merlin’s name with such enthusiastic vigour that it was likely the entire castle heard him. Merlin pumped him through the aftershocks, only stopping when Arthur finally collapsed back against his chest, sweaty and panting desperately. For several moments Arthur could barely breathe, let alone move, and Merlin seemed content to hold him tightly in his arms.
“Merlin... thank you,” Arthur whispered, when he’d finally caught his breath. As if in response to his comment, he suddenly felt Merlin’s cock twitch at his back, and he sat up slowly, turning to look behind him.
“Let me,” he said, gesturing towards Merlin’s own neglected erection.
But Merlin shook his head. “No, it’s fine, Arthur. This is about you, not me,” Merlin said, and tried to pull Arthur back down to his chest.
However, Arthur wasn’t about to allow that to happen. Pulling away from Merlin, he moved onto his knees, positioning himself between Merlin’s thighs. And before Merlin could protest, he’d taken his cock into his mouth. Merlin immediately thrust up into Arthur, and he sucked him down easily. All it took was a few thrusts and then Merlin was coming too, groaning Arthur’s name as he did, and Arthur swallowed every last drop, swiping at his mouth when he pulled away.
“I’m so sorry for everything,” Merlin told him, pulling Arthur up for a kiss, which he gladly dove into.
“I know,” Arthur said, when they pulled apart a few moments later.
And because neither had the energy or the drive to get up and clean themselves, Merlin used magic to bring a wet neckerchief over to the bed. They fell asleep in each other’s arms, and that night, Arthur slept well.
Two days following Arthur’s arrival into Camelot, Uther Pendragon passed away.
A public ceremony was held for the deceased king the following day, to honour his life and death. And in spite of his endless years of persecution and prejudice, Arthur was amazed to see the outpouring of love and support from Camelot’s citizens for their king nonetheless. There was something reassuring in the knowledge that he was not despised by all, and it made Arthur feel better knowing that he hadn’t been the only person on earth to still love his father in spite of all his many flaws. Uther had, after all, brought peace and prosperity to the land, as he claimed he would, even if Arthur hadn’t agreed with his methods.
The coronation ceremony was held a day later.
As Merlin helped Arthur dress that day in the ceremonial robes, silence filled the space between them. Arthur was distracted, nerves frayed. He was still grieving for his father, didn’t quite feel he was ready to ascend to the throne, and yet he knew what he had to do anyway. Merlin’s deft fingers flying across his chest, back, shoulders, smoothing and patting and rearranging fabric helped soothe the anxiety coiling in his gut, but only barely.
Merlin finished with him long before he noticed that the hands had retreated, still buried in his own world, filled with questions and doubts and insecurities.
“Arthur,” Merlin said, voice entreating and warm, with the barest hint of concern. He’d said a great deal with that single word, and it was enough to draw Arthur’s attention to the calm and familiar face standing before him.
But when their eyes met, Merlin remained quiet, just stared at Arthur, waiting... silently encouraging him. He could sense Arthur carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, and it was Merlin’s way of asking him to share without forcing Arthur’s hand.
A few moments passed, while Arthur waged an internal debate, before he finally allowed the question that’d been plaguing his mind to slip past hesitant lips. “Merlin, do you think I have what it takes to become King?”
Merlin’s face broke into a grin instantly. “You’re going to be the best king Camelot has ever known,” he said, so sincere and with such strong conviction, that some of the tightness in Arthur’s chest unfurled. Even if he’d doubted Merlin’s confidence, Arthur could feel it in Merlin’s heart, swelling and nearly ready to burst free, and it warmed him in ways he couldn’t put words to.
He opened his mouth to respond, but then there was a soft knock at the door.
“Enter,” Arthur called out as both he and Merlin turned to see who was there.
Gaius pushed the door open and stepped through the threshold, shutting it behind him. “Sire, I just came to let you know that they’re ready to begin the ceremony in the next ten minutes.”
Arthur nodded, feeling his gut clench again in spite of himself, and before he could even make to move for the door, Merlin’s hands were on him once more, pressing against the fabric on his chest. Arthur wasn’t sure if Merlin was actually fixing something, or sensed that he needed calming again, but he suddenly had to hold back a smirk.
“Merlin, stop fussing,” Arthur chided, batting at his hands, but instead of letting go, Merlin tugged Arthur closer, pressing his soft lips to Arthur’s own.
He froze for a moment, the vague notion that Gaius was still in the room dancing around at the back of his mind, but he tossed aside the worry when Merlin nipped at his bottom lip, and responded in full to his gesture, one hand coming up to rest against the side of Merlin’s face. It was short and sweet, but full of both love and compassion, not inappropriate yet deep enough to make it obvious that this was not their first time.
When Merlin pulled away, he shot an encouraging smile at Arthur. “You’re going to be great,” he said, fingers uncurling and smoothing down the rich fabric he’d just wrinkled.
From over by the door, Gaius coughed, somewhat uncomfortable, and Merlin had the good graces to shoot him an appropriately sheepish smile. Arthur merely smirked to himself, ignoring the heat pricking at the back of his own neck.
“I suppose we should go,” he announced a moment later, pulling his shoulders back and standing tall.
Gaius nodded, reaching to open the doors for his soon-to-be king.
With a deep breath, Arthur reached for Merlin’s hand, squeezing gently with a thousand promises and assurances waiting to burst forth from the tip of his tongue. But Merlin didn’t need to hear them, because he already knew them all, could feel it with every fibre of his being. So, entwining their fingers, Arthur smiled at Merlin before following Gaius through his chamber doors, and together they walked to the coronation ceremony, hand in hand.
THE END