fic: So It Seems I'm Someone I've Never Met
Title: So It Seems I'm Someone I've Never Met
Rating: R/M
Length: 6101 words
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me.
Prompt: Merlin has been alive for centuries, and now lives in a kind of house that all the village kids would joke is a witch’s house. On Halloween (or whenever), reincarnated!Arthur gets dared by his friends to sneak in and see if it really is haunted.
Author's Note: For eltea, my love. Hope you enjoy reading it, cause I sure had fun writing it. :)
There is a house at the end of Malvern Street, in the village of Albelot. Many avoided the house, though no one can say why. Maybe it was because of its overgrown hedges; perhaps it was because of the overgrown garden that peered out over the hedges. Or maybe, because of the animals that flew in and out; birds chirping, rabbits, squirrels and snakes. Lucy Hinging swore she once saw a bear staring at her over the hedge, but Lucy had also said that Elton John was her boyfriend, so no one really believed her. Maybe it was because of the whispered murmur passed down through centuries, that there was either a witch or a wizard living in that house. Adults often scoffed when they heard this, having had the strain of the world shatter their beliefs, but the children and teenagers of the small village knew better.
There was a muted voice, genderless through barriers, that often howled, yelled and chanted gibberish in the garden at certain times of the day, if you pressed your ear at the right spot of the hedge. And there was the fact that magic happened behind those barriers. When nice Katie Parker accidently threw her worn, patched up ball over the hedge, it bounced back shiny and nearly brand new, traces of previous stitching still present, proving it was hers. When helpful Joe Brown’s bicycle had broken down outside the house, he left it there overnight, resting against the hedge. The next morning it was repaired and sparkling in the sun.
However, when local bully Piers Cowell chucked his broken Frisbee over the hedge, it came right back and smacked him across his face, breaking into even more pieces. So obviously it wasn’t a bad witch or wizard, the other children reasoned, but still one that was to be avoided. Though it would have been nice to throw Piers over the wall and have him come back as a toad or something.
So the house stood alone, peace disturbed only by the milling children of the village who often spent their idyllic days sprawled on the grass opposite the house, staring at it in fascination, hoping that something interesting would occur.
It was this house that Arthur Pembley was staring at. His mates stood a meter away from him, shouting encouragement. ‘Funny,’ he mused, ’21 is apparently too old to go Trick-or-Treating tonight, but not too old for dares.’ Oh well, at least he wouldn’t be called a coward. No one had ever entered the house (Emrys house, as the carefully carved inscription on the looming gate proclaimed), and it wasn’t really a possibility that others would in the future. Once everyone’s parents would hear of tonight, the kids of the village would be lucky if they were allowed to go to their friends’ houses, let alone this one.
Bracing himself and bouncing on the spot in an attempt to quell his nervousness, Arthur sunk one hand into the foliage of the hedge, and clawed his way up and over, his friends’ hollering suddenly cut off as he landed in the garden. Arthur frowned at the lack of noise from outside, wondering if the hedges had magical properties. Well, he supposed, if you had cawing children outside all day, it would be sensible to put up a sound barrier.
He made his way up the rambling path, head twisting this way and that as he took in what other children could only imagine was occurring in the garden. There was laundry hanging out, if you could call rows of what looked like neckerchiefs, laundry. Arthur swore he saw a beach chair and what seemed to be a tub of sunscreen hop away round the corner, and he stopped to rub his eyes to make sure he was not hallucinating. A rabbit peered down at him from a tree, (a rabbit in a tree?!) and tiny things fluttered past his face at top speed, in what Arthur would swear sounded like a flurry of giggles.
He stopped in front of the main door, looking up at the darkened windows, house looming above him. 5 chimneys spouted from odd position on the roof, (why on earth would someone need 5 chimneys?) and there! A window was open! Arthur jogged up to it, looking around nervously before hoisting himself up to the sill. Halfway, he paused, and thought about what exactly he was doing. It could get him into loads of trouble with father, but then again, that’s all that it would get him into. Mind made up, he swung himself in, trying to ignore sounds of tittering laughter all around him, sure that the stress was getting to him.
He padded into the dark room, and ran his hands over the wall. The room seemed to be empty, save for a few books, a roughly drawn, glowing circle in the middle of the room, and a scorch mark right next to it. Wiping his sweaty palms against denim, Arthur approached the door, flinching as it creaked open.
A staircase seemed to appear in front of him, and Arthur swore it wasn’t there a minute ago. He glanced around nervously, and gripped the banister in an effort to stop his hands from trembling. He froze when he heard a breathy chuckle next to his ear, and turned slowly to find the source.
That’s when the rug underneath him threw him up into the air.
Arthur barely had time to scream (a manly scream, mind you), when he found himself hanging upside down from a chandelier. Before he had the time to catch his breath, the damn thing began swinging from side to side, first unnoticeable, then in violent motions that forced all his blood to rush to his head. He soared up into an arc, fingers scrabbling at thin air as his legs kicked, and he landed with an “oof!” on the staircase, while laughter roared around him.
He heard the rumbling before he felt it, and suddenly he was being bucked up and off, gripping onto the banister at the very last moment as he screamed and screamed as the staircase galloped around the room. Fighting down the bile, Arthur struggled not to cry in sheer terror, as for the third time in two minutes he was catapulted into the air, this time landing on something solid and blessedly unmoving.
It took him a minute to realise that that the “something” was a pair of arms that encircled his waist. He stilled as hot air blew across his ear.
“Hello, little boy.”
Arthur positively shrieked, lunging towards the door in front of him, not caring that it opened by itself, and that the garden path suddenly underneath him began moving him towards the front gate at breakneck speed. As he was manually kicked out by a pair of animate garden gnomes, Arthur cast back one last terrified look, to catch a glimpse of a man who looked no more than 25, whose mouth went from laughing to an “o” of surprise. And then the garden gate whacked him solidly on the arse as it shut itself firmly, and Arthur found himself in the arms of his friends, all who looked from him to the gate, with terrified expressions.
*
After he had finished regaling the disbelieving pub with his tale, Arthur sat back comfortably in the chair as his friends called for another round. Owen elbowed Matthew in the ribs, and the latter giggled drunkenly and slid under the table. Peter was currently sticking crisps up his nose and snorting at the exasperated barmaids, while Luke stared dazedly into the distance. Arthur surveyed the drunken mess the others were, and sighed as he looked at his untouched glass.
It wasn’t that he wasn’t in the mood to get piss drunk, it was just… he couldn’t get the image of the man out of his head. It was like it was seared into his eyelids, and every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was that rose-pink mouth, long lashes and eyes that had flashed gold for a mere second.
Arthur knew that he was gay, had known for years, and well. So did everyone else in the village. But he had never found himself this attracted to someone he had never known. It just wasn’t how it worked. Everyone had expected that Arthur would marry Morgana, and when they had discovered that he was gay, everyone had thought he would go for Luke. Because Arthur Pembley was never unpredictable - he was the son of Udolf Pembley, and there was nothing his father disliked more than spontaneity, with the sole exception of Arthur’s coming out, because he never wanted to alienate his son.
And you know what they said. Like father, like son. Arthur had never fallen for anyone who was a stranger, anyone who he didn’t know inside out. Strange, but it made him the strong, reliable person he was.
But there wasn’t something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, the sudden urge to take the man into his arms, the familiarity of him. And the snatches of conversations that filtered through his mind, even though he could swear that he had never seen him in his life. A trickle of “-walk on your knees” drifted into his ear, and he blushed red, wonderingly how the fuck he knew what the man’s shoulder felt like under his palm, and the feel of his lips.
Arthur grunted and let his head fall to the table with a “thunk”, while Luke drunkenly asked him what was wrong.
*
“I am the Walrus,” intoned 6 year old Tristan, studying Arthur’s hand very seriously. Arthur gave him a suspicious look and edged away from him slightly. Of all the kids he looked after, (“baby-sitting” was a term for sissies, alright?) Tristan weirded him out the most. And that was saying something, seeing as he also looked after that Gavin boy, who always thought everyone had some kind of ailment and needed “curing”.
Tristan? He took the cake. And Arthur could never shake the feeling that something was wrong about the relationship he shared with the boy, that they were supposed to be… closer, as silly as that sounded. That they should have been sharing a greater connection than “Baby-sitter” and “sittee”.
“Do you have dreams?”
Arthur was startled out of his musings to see Tristan staring at him intently. “I mean not normal dreams. But dreams others never have. Like… castles, maybe?”
Arthur frowned and was about to ask him exactly how the former knew what Arthur dreamt of nearly every night, when a voice from behind him spoke up first.
“Ooooh, I have dreams of castles!” proclaimed Luke, throwing his leg over one of the arms of the sofa. “I’m all in armour, and ladies keep on telling me that I have a lot of lance, if you get my drift,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows at Arthur. The latter rolled his eyes and nudged him to shut up.
Tristan seemed startled by Luke’s proclamation, and studied him with growing interest while Arthur and Luke exchanged confused looks. After a few moments, Tristan patted Arthur’s knee.
“It’ll all be clear once you meet him.” Arthur raised his eyebrows. “You’ll understand everything then. Now come on, it’s my bedtime, and you know how Mummy gets when you let me stay up this late.”
*
Arthur and Morgana had been friends since Year 2, when he had walked into the classroom, face freshly scrubbed and ready for a new year and asked her why she was dancing, to which she had viciously spat, “I am not dancing you arse, I am SHAKING WITH PAIN.” Horrified and intrigued by the foul words spilling out of her mouth, Arthur had taken to following her around and provoking her with all the glee of a 7 year old, hoping that she would swear again. They’d been best friends ever since.
And yeah, it was true that if Arthur had been straight, he would have most probably gone for Morgana. She was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. He had told her that once, to which she had replied that yes, it was true, but that the same face got boring after the first few times. Confused, Arthur had never brought it up again.
For awhile, Arthur could have sworn that Morgana and Luke would have made a beautiful couple. But he saw Morgana a week after they had started dating, crying in her sleep, fingers clawing in the air as she called for a “Gwen”. And Luke sitting next to her, watching her with a face that said he shared her sorrow, but did not comprehend why he himself, understood. They had mutually parted ways the next day.
These little facts made up Morgana, and it was like you learnt something new about her everyday. Like how she always knew what you were thinking. Or she could tell that you were about to do something stupid even before you thought about it. Ok, he wasn’t REALLY planning to hire a stripper for her birthday; there was no need to bite his head off.
“Arthur, stop daydreaming.”
Blearily, Arthur lifted his head up to look at Morgana. She scowled impressively, multiple ear piercings shining in the sun. Before she could start lecturing him about whatever was bothering her about him, someone cleared their throat.
Both of them turned to look at Will Blanchet standing with a sleazy grin on his face. “Is this seat empty?”
“Yes, and this one will be too, if you sit down,” snapped Morgana, not waiting to see Will slink away before turning back to Arthur. “Why are you sitting at Starbucks and doing nothing?”
“Hey,” mumbled Arthur, into the crook of his elbow, “it may look like nothing, but actually my cells have been really busy.”
He heard Morgana try to hide her laughter with a huff. “Arthur. I haven’t seen you since last week, and Luke told me that you haven’t been sleeping properly lately.”
Arthur raised his head to glare at her in annoyance. “What the fuck? Is Luke sitting outside my window a-la Edward Cullen?” He ducked as she swatted him.
“He bloody cares for you, you heathen. He can probably tell from the way you look like you haven’t slept in a year. Arthur, it’s like you were beaten with an ugly stick.”
Arthur paused for a minute, and then flashed a smile and then winked at a passing girl, smugly watching her walk into a pole while she avidly stared at him. “Nope, still got it.”
Usually by this point Morgana would launch into a rant. Confused by the absence of a tirade, Arthur looked around to see Morgana gaping open mouthed at him.
“Morg, what’s -“
“Oh my sweet heavens!” screeched Morgana, Arthur ducking his head in embarrassment as people began turning around to see what the fuss was about. For fuck’s sake, you think she would learn to exclaim like a normal person instead of someone’s 60 -year old grandma.
“Arthur,” hissed Morgana, “why didn’t you tell me you saw him? This is a Big. Deal. Did you think it would be funny to keep this from me? Both of you are numbskulls, I mean, we haven’t even awakened Lance from his state, and here are both of you, frolicking in your big gay love, and -“
“Morgana!” Arthur interrupted, holding her flailing hands in his grip, “What on Earth are you talking about?”
She seemed ready to rip a new one in him, until she noticed his look of confusion. Her hands grew slack in his, and her mouth stayed open. “Oh. You don’t know.”
“Know what?” When she didn’t respond, he shook her hands. Suddenly, she sprang into action, and with a, “I’ll have to talk to him!” and a kiss on his cheek, Arthur was left in the wake of her whirlwind of departure. He sat still for a moment, before giving up on trying to figure it out, and sank back into a slouch, images of neckerchiefs and crowns dancing behind his lids.
*
“Dude, yo mamma so old, she got the signed copy of the Bible!”
“Luke my mother’s dead,” stated Arthur as he stirred the spaghetti sauce and then wiped his hands on his apron. “And your accent isn’t doing much for your ghetto cred.”
“First of all,” the other said, waggling a finger under Arthur’s nose, “you saying “ghetto cred” in the very same accent isn’t really convincing. And secondly, where’s my food, bitch?”
“Up your arse. By the way, wasn’t Morgana supposed to be coming for dinner?”
Luke shrugged as he hopped up on the counter. “I dunno, man. She said she had to go talk to someone important, and that spending the evening with him was more important than “gallivanting with Neanderthals”, according to her. Do you think she’s tupping Blanchet on the side?”
Arthur scoffed as he ladled the food onto the plates. “As if she would go near Blanchet with a ten foot pole. But seriously, she ran out on me too, the other day. Right after talking about someone’s “big gay love”, and a guy called Lance who wasn’t awake or some shit. Maybe he needs to be “awakened” Sleeping Beauty style, eh?”
Luke usually laughed at stupid jokes like these, so when he didn’t get a reaction, Arthur turned to look at him. Luke was staring pensively at the table. “Dude?”
Luke gave him a startled look, before sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s just - you know the other day when I was joking with that Tristan kid? I kind of wasn’t.”
Arthur stilled and carefully watched the other’s face. “I mean, I have been having dreams. Since like, forever. There’s a white castle. And we’re all at a round table, and sometimes I’m fighting, and sometimes -” Luke hesitated. “And sometimes, I’m holding this girl. No, woman. And I love her, man. I can feel it. I love her, and she loves me back, and I turn and see a man with a crown. And he’s in his armour and giving us his blessing, and he’s with this other guy, and I know both of them. I see the first guy’s face, and then suddenly I see…”
Arthur gripped the table and leaned forward. “What? You see what?”
Luke looked up from his gaze on the floor. “I see that it’s you.”
*
“Arthur,” calls a voice from the back door, and Arthur closes his engineering book to go help his dad carry the groceries in. Taking two bags from his father’s outstretched hands; he carries them in and starts putting them away in the cupboards. Behind him, he can hear Udolf moving around the kitchen.
“Arthur, come here,” his father says, and he instantly obeys. Arthur may not agree with everything his father says, but he does respect and love him, and when the man who never asks anything from him requests that he do things, he does it.
“Son, what is this I hear from Bartie, about you applying for another job?” Udolf has never been anything but straight to the point, his eyes firm as he fixes them upon a suddenly nervous Arthur, silver hair glinting in the sun.
Arthur fiddled with the zipper of his hoodie, trying to avoid his father’s gaze. “Arthur, how many times have I told you? I’m not too old to continue working; there is no need for you to hold five jobs at the same time in an effort to ensure a happy life for me. We may not be the richest people in this village, but -”
“But I want to!” burst out Arthur, “I told you that you should just retire and let me do the work, is it that you don’t trust me? I told you that I can handle it, why can’t you just -”
“Enough!” Leather biking gloves slapped the table, and Arthur’s mind is suddenly awhirl with memories he doesn’t remember having. His father in a red cloak, his father reading off of a scroll, his father addressing his people (his people?), his father not backing down on a decree. Arthur came to, finding his father still in his leather jacket and jeans, holding him up with a concerned look on his face, and suddenly, suddenly, the name Uther resonates through his mind, and is gone as quickly as it came.
“Arthur?” it warmed him to hear the note of concern so evident in his father’s voice, when he realised that his father had always voiced his concern readily. A part of his mind chanted oh no he didn’t, you know now for sure that he loves you, you didn’t before! Shaking his head, he smiled reassuringly at Udolf and detangled himself from the former’s arms.
“I’m fine, dad. Look, I’m just worried about you, ok? I don’t want you to find yourself without money on the streets.”
Arthur closed his eyes as he felt his father ruffle his hair. “Arthur, I have enough money to support our next four generations and then some. Relax, son. When I was your age, I went out and had fun. When was the last time you did that? I met your mother when I was your age! Don’t you want to go out and find someone, instead of worrying about non-existent money problems?”
‘But I do have someone!’ chimed in that part of Arthur’s brain that didn’t make sense most of the time. ‘I do!’ And followed it up with a barrage of images of pale skin, black, messy hair and the world’s cheekiest grin, and the smell of incense and fire. Arthur waved away the pang of pure want, and wondered what the hell was wrong with him these days.
*
Morgana was going insane. There was no other explanation for it. She’d spent the entire week dogging Arthur, swooping in out of nowhere with skills she had obviously picked up from ninja school, questioning him and dashing out again.
“Merlin!” she hissed at him over a barrel of potatoes at the Sunday Market, and then scrutinised his face as though hoping for a reaction. Arthur, distracted with haggling with Mrs Kane, made a vaguely questioning noise, and when he next looked around, she was stalking off in a huff.
“Confess!” she screeched at him the other day, grabbing him and shaking him so hard, Arthur swore he could feel his eyeballs rattling in his skull. “I know you know him!” she yelled, before calming down and apologising, and then wandering off muttering under her breath.
Then she had poked him in the back during Mass, when she hadn’t been to church in about 12 years, and Arthur barely hid his yelp as his father looked up curiously from his own worshipping position. “Arthur,” she mumbled, “have you been dreaming of men with big ears?” Arthur hadn’t even bothered replying, instead shuffling closer to his father and hoped against hope that Morgana would get bored and just go away.
He wouldn’t put it past her to be stalking him today, too. Arthur tugged his marketing bag closer, eyeing the barrels and crates in case they hid Morgana. “Arthur!” He swore and ducked behind a tree, starting when a hand grabbed his elbow. Morgana’s face loomed close to his, and Arthur tried to act as if he saw some apples that he wanted, and Morgana cut through his fumbling descriptions of the redness of the fruits.
“Have you been avoiding me?” He stared resolutely at her torn jeans. “Arthur! Look at me, you plebe! I swear Arthur, you’re the worst - Oh my! Gwen!” Arthur practically wilted in relief as Morgana pounced on the black girl who visited the village every month.
During one of the few moments where they were both hiding from Morgana and by chance had found the same tree to hide behind, Arthur had found out that her name was Gwendolyn Carter, and she came to the village monthly because she researched plants and their village apparently had an abundance of a few rare ones. The first time she had arrived, she had been accosted by an ecstatic Morgana who had jumped on her back with a joyful shriek of “Gwen!”
Terrified by this absolute stranger who knew her name and had seemingly attacked her, Gwen had tasered Morgana. Morgana had apparently not reacted to the tasering at all, only beamed at a gaping Gwen and told her that she liked her even better now, when she was “all independent and shit”. So Gwen usually let Morgana cling on her while she worked, although she needed breaks from her at times.
Well, whatever. As long as Gwen kept Morgana away from Arthur, he would count his blessings, whatever way he was getting them. As soon as he thought that, Arthur saw Morgana wade her way back through the crowd and he stifled a groan.
“Gwen’s coming with us to the pub tonight!” Morgana crowed. “It’s going to be brilliant! I am brilliant! I am such a brilliant, brilliant person for thinking of this! Tonight is going to be brilliant!”
Arthur sighed and made his way towards the bread stall, Morgana boasting about her brilliance next to him.
*
“Why did you have to bring him?” sulked Morgana, as she stared moodily at her mug.
Arthur had brought Luke along to save him from sheer boredom. Luke had strolled into the pub, taken one look at Gwen, and drawled out a “hey baby, is that a taser in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”
It was a taser. Luke found out firsthand.
But in a move that had surprised them all, including Gwen herself, she had hoisted him up from the floor and told him that he could buy her a drink. Luke trailed after her with a dazed look of adoration.
“Everybody’s hooking up except for me,” groused Morgana, glaring at Luke and Gwen, who were making out quite frantically on the opposite side of the table. “Why couldn’t he keep his paws off of her? He had her for an entire lifetime! It’s my turn now! Who braided my hair when I went crazy?! No one, that’s who, I want my best friend back!”
Arthur sighed and patted her on the back, and drained his own drink with one gulp.
“Why, hello there lovely!”
Morgana scowled. “Blanchet, I didn’t sleep with you in your last 50 lives, what makes you think I’m going to start now?”
Arthur turned to laugh at Blanchet’s pain, and froze. Next to Will was the very same man that’d been staking out in his dreams for the last few weeks. And he had the gall to just stand there and shyly grin at him! ‘Fuck you, heart, stop bloody fluttering. He could be a rapist for all I know!’
“Merlin!” screeched Morgana, pushed a baffled Blanchet out of the way, and threw herself at pouty-and-gorgeous. ‘Alright,’ grumbled Arthur, ‘maybe not a rapist. What type of name is Merlin? He has no right to turn up here! And he called me a little boy! I’m a big boy! A big, big boy! I can show him, and he won’t be calling me little n’more, cause I’m a big, big boy!’
He blinked and then looked at his drink. Maybe he had had a few, so what?
The next thing he knew, he was being squashed more firmly into the booth. Gwen and Luke fell into his lap, still going strong, and Arthur stared at them with despair, and then looked at pale-and-smoking warm against his shoulder, fluttering his eyelashes sheepishly at him, and tried not to kill himself.
Across the table Blanchet spoke up. “Hey, maybe I can be 50th time lucky?”
*
“Guys,” slurred Will, waving a hand in the air. “We need to like… visit a haunted house or something. Cause like. We’d be cool. And shit.”
(“Can’t you find another girl?” Morgana said, holding her vodka bottle like a lifeline. “I mean, she’s my best friend!”
“Why don’t you find another girl?! This one’s mine!” mumbled Luke into his mug.
“Stop objectifying me!” hissed Gwen, trying to find her taser.)
Arthur blearily focused on Will, shaking his head as there seemed to be 5 of the boy. “Duuuuude. Where would we even find a haunted house?”
Merlin, head on Arthur’s shoulder (Was he trying to tempt him? Did he think Arthur was going to throw him up on this very table and ravish him? Did he?! DID HE?!), suddenly shot upright, and then groaned and held his head. Everyone around the table leant as far away as they could, incase he was going to vomit, and then leaned back in as Merlin sat back up again and opened his mouth with a less nauseous expression.
“Oh my God, guys! I know a haunted house!”
Morgana seemed to sober up in a minute. “Merlin. Stop.”
Merlin waved her away, and then nearly fell out of the booth with the effort. He grinned up at Arthur under his lashes as the latter caught him at the last moment, and Arthur gulped as Merlin licked his lips and the room got a few degrees hotter.
“I do know a haunted house,” continued Merlin, sultry eyes still on a red Arthur. “Its rooms can be… magical. And it’s got big beds. Really big. Could easily fit two people or more.”
(“I want a big bed for my beautiful girl!” beamed Luke at Gwen. Morgana immediately struck up a protest about him deflowering her best friend, while Will stared at Morgana in what he thought was a sexy gaze.
“I told you not to objectify me!”)
Arthur scratched his neck nervously and tried to stop his hands from groping Merlin.
“Alright!” clapped Will. “Let’s get a move on!”
*
All five of them stared up at the house.
“Oh my God,” gasped Luke. “The chimneys are waving at me! Hi, guys! Hi!”
The rest stared at Luke strangely, and then looked at the motionless chimneys, and decided to just advance. Merlin touched the door and it clicked open, and they all piled into the dark hallway.
“Doesn’t look haunted,” muttered Gwen drowsily, one hand grasped in Luke’s and the other holding her taser aloft. “Are you sure about this, Merlin?”
Morgana appeared to be scolding a vase that had seemingly knocked her upside her head, as if she did so everyday. Will gazed open-mouthed at a door that was closing and opening itself, giggling hysterically every time it happened. Arthur was ready to propose that they go explore the “haunted house”, when Luke moaned something about being tired, Gwen staggering under his weight as he collapsed suddenly on top of her.
Arthur heard a stream of whispers, and he caught a flash of gold from Merlin’s direction, and when he shot a suspicious glance in the other’s direction, Merlin grinned toothily at him. All of a sudden, beds seemed to be floating down from the ceiling, down the stairs and through the windows.
Luke uttered a war cry and crashed face first onto a plush pink one. Gwen looked nervously at Merlin, who nodded reassuringly at her, and got on next to Luke. Immediately, the bed began to float up the stairs, Luke’s cries of “I’m Harry Potter, bitch! I’m winning the Quidditch match!” fading away.
Morgana tottered to a bed with a green duvet and regally climbed on. “Well,” she raised an eyebrow at Will. “Are you coming or what?” Arthur laughed as Will floundered before dumbly clambering on next to Morgana who waved at Arthur before settling back into the pillows as the bed began to rise.
And suddenly, he was alone with Merlin.
Merlin smiled at him, and Arthur was struck with the need to kiss him, to take him into his arms and bite that pale, pale neck. To use that neckerchief to bind Merlin’s artistic hands to a bedpost, and watch him beg for release. Merlin bit his lip, and Arthur tugged nervously at his collar.
“You should go to bed.” Arthur took a step back, face flushing with embarrassment. Alright, he was stupid for thinking that someone as gorgeous as Merlin would go for him. And he didn’t just go for strangers, did he? So yeah, ok. He was acting stupid, and should have talked to the guy before even thinking of -
“Arthur.” Merlin had gotten closer in the last few moments, and leaned in closer to Arthur, noses almost touching.
“You should sleep off the alcohol. I’ll see you in the morning.” And he pushed Arthur onto the nearest bed, which began to float up the stairs, into a bedroom, while Arthur craned his neck around to try and catch another glimpse of the stranger whom his soul called for.
*
He was 5, and he was throwing a tantrum, calling for his mother. The nanny sat next to him, tears in her eyes as she pleaded for His Highness to listen to reason, that he didn’t have a mother. That he could have anything, anything at all. Arthur didn’t want anything, he wanted his mother. Owen’s mother cleaned his wounds and kissed his forehead and fed him bread. Arthur wanted a mother for his own, and he’d scream until he got one.
Suddenly, he felt the looming presence of his father. Opening his teary eyes, Arthur feared reproach, when he suddenly felt his father lay a gentle hand on his head. Arthur let his tears flow once more, as his father cradled him close.
Then he was 15, and in his first official fight. Parry, parry, thrust, thrust. Watch his weak side, and thrust again. Parry to the left, and swipe the sword, catching the other knight’s helmet, and resting the sharp edge against his neck. He smiled grimly as the crowd burst into cheers, and revelled in the pride in his father’s smile.
20 years old and Father thought he needed a manservant. A stupidly attractive one, at that. God, Father knew how to test his patience. If only Merlin didn’t have such a cheeky mouth on him, then Arthur would get along with him so much better. But if he had been as naïve as he looked, there would be no fun in life, now would there?
26 and Merlin was thrusting up underneath him, mouth open in a groan of pleasure, and Arthur let his head fall onto the crook of that pale neck, the beginnings of a toe-curling orgasm at bay, and he felt his heart burst in love.
38 and Guinevere smiling in a love-struck way at the man kneeling in front Arthur. He has half a mind to jab and remind her that the public were supposed to think they were in love, when the man raises his head, and Arthur says “Rise Lancelot, Knight of the Round Table.” And Arthur grips Lancelot’s shoulder in pride, and sees Merlin whooping with glee, and somewhere in the back of his head, he can hear himself shout, Luke?!
Coronations, knighting, wars, Merlin, Morgana screaming in pain and the dimming sanity in her eyes, and death and Merlin’s guttural scream flash past his mind. Arthur dreamt until he could dream no more.
He bolted upright in bed, gasping for air as the weight of hangover hammered his skull.
“Holy shit,” he gaped at the room. “I’m Arthur fucking Pendragon!”
*
He burst through the door, clutching the doorknob for support as he hollered, “You bitch!”
Merlin, snoring with his pink mouth open, jerked awake and shrieked as he snatched his bedclothes up to his chin. “Lancelot, can you check to see whether you’ve got Gwen before trying to steal virtues!”
Arthur and Merlin both stared at each other in confusion, Arthur recovering first. He stalked up to the bed, as Merlin’s eyes grew wider. “Arthur, what -”
“You utter manwhore,” seethed Arthur, clambering onto the bed and shaking Merlin. “Couldn’t you just have told me?! How easy is it to snap your fingers and return my memories? You absolute shit bag, you crotch gobbler, you -”
Merlin cut through with a delighted, “Arthur Pendragon” and pulled the latter down on top of him before Arthur could continue. And alright, the lecturing could wait until they made up for a few centuries’ worth of lost time.
Plus, Morgana and Will? He was never going to let her live this down.
Rating: R/M
Length: 6101 words
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me.
Prompt: Merlin has been alive for centuries, and now lives in a kind of house that all the village kids would joke is a witch’s house. On Halloween (or whenever), reincarnated!Arthur gets dared by his friends to sneak in and see if it really is haunted.
Author's Note: For eltea, my love. Hope you enjoy reading it, cause I sure had fun writing it. :)
There is a house at the end of Malvern Street, in the village of Albelot. Many avoided the house, though no one can say why. Maybe it was because of its overgrown hedges; perhaps it was because of the overgrown garden that peered out over the hedges. Or maybe, because of the animals that flew in and out; birds chirping, rabbits, squirrels and snakes. Lucy Hinging swore she once saw a bear staring at her over the hedge, but Lucy had also said that Elton John was her boyfriend, so no one really believed her. Maybe it was because of the whispered murmur passed down through centuries, that there was either a witch or a wizard living in that house. Adults often scoffed when they heard this, having had the strain of the world shatter their beliefs, but the children and teenagers of the small village knew better.
There was a muted voice, genderless through barriers, that often howled, yelled and chanted gibberish in the garden at certain times of the day, if you pressed your ear at the right spot of the hedge. And there was the fact that magic happened behind those barriers. When nice Katie Parker accidently threw her worn, patched up ball over the hedge, it bounced back shiny and nearly brand new, traces of previous stitching still present, proving it was hers. When helpful Joe Brown’s bicycle had broken down outside the house, he left it there overnight, resting against the hedge. The next morning it was repaired and sparkling in the sun.
However, when local bully Piers Cowell chucked his broken Frisbee over the hedge, it came right back and smacked him across his face, breaking into even more pieces. So obviously it wasn’t a bad witch or wizard, the other children reasoned, but still one that was to be avoided. Though it would have been nice to throw Piers over the wall and have him come back as a toad or something.
So the house stood alone, peace disturbed only by the milling children of the village who often spent their idyllic days sprawled on the grass opposite the house, staring at it in fascination, hoping that something interesting would occur.
It was this house that Arthur Pembley was staring at. His mates stood a meter away from him, shouting encouragement. ‘Funny,’ he mused, ’21 is apparently too old to go Trick-or-Treating tonight, but not too old for dares.’ Oh well, at least he wouldn’t be called a coward. No one had ever entered the house (Emrys house, as the carefully carved inscription on the looming gate proclaimed), and it wasn’t really a possibility that others would in the future. Once everyone’s parents would hear of tonight, the kids of the village would be lucky if they were allowed to go to their friends’ houses, let alone this one.
Bracing himself and bouncing on the spot in an attempt to quell his nervousness, Arthur sunk one hand into the foliage of the hedge, and clawed his way up and over, his friends’ hollering suddenly cut off as he landed in the garden. Arthur frowned at the lack of noise from outside, wondering if the hedges had magical properties. Well, he supposed, if you had cawing children outside all day, it would be sensible to put up a sound barrier.
He made his way up the rambling path, head twisting this way and that as he took in what other children could only imagine was occurring in the garden. There was laundry hanging out, if you could call rows of what looked like neckerchiefs, laundry. Arthur swore he saw a beach chair and what seemed to be a tub of sunscreen hop away round the corner, and he stopped to rub his eyes to make sure he was not hallucinating. A rabbit peered down at him from a tree, (a rabbit in a tree?!) and tiny things fluttered past his face at top speed, in what Arthur would swear sounded like a flurry of giggles.
He stopped in front of the main door, looking up at the darkened windows, house looming above him. 5 chimneys spouted from odd position on the roof, (why on earth would someone need 5 chimneys?) and there! A window was open! Arthur jogged up to it, looking around nervously before hoisting himself up to the sill. Halfway, he paused, and thought about what exactly he was doing. It could get him into loads of trouble with father, but then again, that’s all that it would get him into. Mind made up, he swung himself in, trying to ignore sounds of tittering laughter all around him, sure that the stress was getting to him.
He padded into the dark room, and ran his hands over the wall. The room seemed to be empty, save for a few books, a roughly drawn, glowing circle in the middle of the room, and a scorch mark right next to it. Wiping his sweaty palms against denim, Arthur approached the door, flinching as it creaked open.
A staircase seemed to appear in front of him, and Arthur swore it wasn’t there a minute ago. He glanced around nervously, and gripped the banister in an effort to stop his hands from trembling. He froze when he heard a breathy chuckle next to his ear, and turned slowly to find the source.
That’s when the rug underneath him threw him up into the air.
Arthur barely had time to scream (a manly scream, mind you), when he found himself hanging upside down from a chandelier. Before he had the time to catch his breath, the damn thing began swinging from side to side, first unnoticeable, then in violent motions that forced all his blood to rush to his head. He soared up into an arc, fingers scrabbling at thin air as his legs kicked, and he landed with an “oof!” on the staircase, while laughter roared around him.
He heard the rumbling before he felt it, and suddenly he was being bucked up and off, gripping onto the banister at the very last moment as he screamed and screamed as the staircase galloped around the room. Fighting down the bile, Arthur struggled not to cry in sheer terror, as for the third time in two minutes he was catapulted into the air, this time landing on something solid and blessedly unmoving.
It took him a minute to realise that that the “something” was a pair of arms that encircled his waist. He stilled as hot air blew across his ear.
“Hello, little boy.”
Arthur positively shrieked, lunging towards the door in front of him, not caring that it opened by itself, and that the garden path suddenly underneath him began moving him towards the front gate at breakneck speed. As he was manually kicked out by a pair of animate garden gnomes, Arthur cast back one last terrified look, to catch a glimpse of a man who looked no more than 25, whose mouth went from laughing to an “o” of surprise. And then the garden gate whacked him solidly on the arse as it shut itself firmly, and Arthur found himself in the arms of his friends, all who looked from him to the gate, with terrified expressions.
*
After he had finished regaling the disbelieving pub with his tale, Arthur sat back comfortably in the chair as his friends called for another round. Owen elbowed Matthew in the ribs, and the latter giggled drunkenly and slid under the table. Peter was currently sticking crisps up his nose and snorting at the exasperated barmaids, while Luke stared dazedly into the distance. Arthur surveyed the drunken mess the others were, and sighed as he looked at his untouched glass.
It wasn’t that he wasn’t in the mood to get piss drunk, it was just… he couldn’t get the image of the man out of his head. It was like it was seared into his eyelids, and every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was that rose-pink mouth, long lashes and eyes that had flashed gold for a mere second.
Arthur knew that he was gay, had known for years, and well. So did everyone else in the village. But he had never found himself this attracted to someone he had never known. It just wasn’t how it worked. Everyone had expected that Arthur would marry Morgana, and when they had discovered that he was gay, everyone had thought he would go for Luke. Because Arthur Pembley was never unpredictable - he was the son of Udolf Pembley, and there was nothing his father disliked more than spontaneity, with the sole exception of Arthur’s coming out, because he never wanted to alienate his son.
And you know what they said. Like father, like son. Arthur had never fallen for anyone who was a stranger, anyone who he didn’t know inside out. Strange, but it made him the strong, reliable person he was.
But there wasn’t something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, the sudden urge to take the man into his arms, the familiarity of him. And the snatches of conversations that filtered through his mind, even though he could swear that he had never seen him in his life. A trickle of “-walk on your knees” drifted into his ear, and he blushed red, wonderingly how the fuck he knew what the man’s shoulder felt like under his palm, and the feel of his lips.
Arthur grunted and let his head fall to the table with a “thunk”, while Luke drunkenly asked him what was wrong.
*
“I am the Walrus,” intoned 6 year old Tristan, studying Arthur’s hand very seriously. Arthur gave him a suspicious look and edged away from him slightly. Of all the kids he looked after, (“baby-sitting” was a term for sissies, alright?) Tristan weirded him out the most. And that was saying something, seeing as he also looked after that Gavin boy, who always thought everyone had some kind of ailment and needed “curing”.
Tristan? He took the cake. And Arthur could never shake the feeling that something was wrong about the relationship he shared with the boy, that they were supposed to be… closer, as silly as that sounded. That they should have been sharing a greater connection than “Baby-sitter” and “sittee”.
“Do you have dreams?”
Arthur was startled out of his musings to see Tristan staring at him intently. “I mean not normal dreams. But dreams others never have. Like… castles, maybe?”
Arthur frowned and was about to ask him exactly how the former knew what Arthur dreamt of nearly every night, when a voice from behind him spoke up first.
“Ooooh, I have dreams of castles!” proclaimed Luke, throwing his leg over one of the arms of the sofa. “I’m all in armour, and ladies keep on telling me that I have a lot of lance, if you get my drift,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows at Arthur. The latter rolled his eyes and nudged him to shut up.
Tristan seemed startled by Luke’s proclamation, and studied him with growing interest while Arthur and Luke exchanged confused looks. After a few moments, Tristan patted Arthur’s knee.
“It’ll all be clear once you meet him.” Arthur raised his eyebrows. “You’ll understand everything then. Now come on, it’s my bedtime, and you know how Mummy gets when you let me stay up this late.”
*
Arthur and Morgana had been friends since Year 2, when he had walked into the classroom, face freshly scrubbed and ready for a new year and asked her why she was dancing, to which she had viciously spat, “I am not dancing you arse, I am SHAKING WITH PAIN.” Horrified and intrigued by the foul words spilling out of her mouth, Arthur had taken to following her around and provoking her with all the glee of a 7 year old, hoping that she would swear again. They’d been best friends ever since.
And yeah, it was true that if Arthur had been straight, he would have most probably gone for Morgana. She was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. He had told her that once, to which she had replied that yes, it was true, but that the same face got boring after the first few times. Confused, Arthur had never brought it up again.
For awhile, Arthur could have sworn that Morgana and Luke would have made a beautiful couple. But he saw Morgana a week after they had started dating, crying in her sleep, fingers clawing in the air as she called for a “Gwen”. And Luke sitting next to her, watching her with a face that said he shared her sorrow, but did not comprehend why he himself, understood. They had mutually parted ways the next day.
These little facts made up Morgana, and it was like you learnt something new about her everyday. Like how she always knew what you were thinking. Or she could tell that you were about to do something stupid even before you thought about it. Ok, he wasn’t REALLY planning to hire a stripper for her birthday; there was no need to bite his head off.
“Arthur, stop daydreaming.”
Blearily, Arthur lifted his head up to look at Morgana. She scowled impressively, multiple ear piercings shining in the sun. Before she could start lecturing him about whatever was bothering her about him, someone cleared their throat.
Both of them turned to look at Will Blanchet standing with a sleazy grin on his face. “Is this seat empty?”
“Yes, and this one will be too, if you sit down,” snapped Morgana, not waiting to see Will slink away before turning back to Arthur. “Why are you sitting at Starbucks and doing nothing?”
“Hey,” mumbled Arthur, into the crook of his elbow, “it may look like nothing, but actually my cells have been really busy.”
He heard Morgana try to hide her laughter with a huff. “Arthur. I haven’t seen you since last week, and Luke told me that you haven’t been sleeping properly lately.”
Arthur raised his head to glare at her in annoyance. “What the fuck? Is Luke sitting outside my window a-la Edward Cullen?” He ducked as she swatted him.
“He bloody cares for you, you heathen. He can probably tell from the way you look like you haven’t slept in a year. Arthur, it’s like you were beaten with an ugly stick.”
Arthur paused for a minute, and then flashed a smile and then winked at a passing girl, smugly watching her walk into a pole while she avidly stared at him. “Nope, still got it.”
Usually by this point Morgana would launch into a rant. Confused by the absence of a tirade, Arthur looked around to see Morgana gaping open mouthed at him.
“Morg, what’s -“
“Oh my sweet heavens!” screeched Morgana, Arthur ducking his head in embarrassment as people began turning around to see what the fuss was about. For fuck’s sake, you think she would learn to exclaim like a normal person instead of someone’s 60 -year old grandma.
“Arthur,” hissed Morgana, “why didn’t you tell me you saw him? This is a Big. Deal. Did you think it would be funny to keep this from me? Both of you are numbskulls, I mean, we haven’t even awakened Lance from his state, and here are both of you, frolicking in your big gay love, and -“
“Morgana!” Arthur interrupted, holding her flailing hands in his grip, “What on Earth are you talking about?”
She seemed ready to rip a new one in him, until she noticed his look of confusion. Her hands grew slack in his, and her mouth stayed open. “Oh. You don’t know.”
“Know what?” When she didn’t respond, he shook her hands. Suddenly, she sprang into action, and with a, “I’ll have to talk to him!” and a kiss on his cheek, Arthur was left in the wake of her whirlwind of departure. He sat still for a moment, before giving up on trying to figure it out, and sank back into a slouch, images of neckerchiefs and crowns dancing behind his lids.
*
“Dude, yo mamma so old, she got the signed copy of the Bible!”
“Luke my mother’s dead,” stated Arthur as he stirred the spaghetti sauce and then wiped his hands on his apron. “And your accent isn’t doing much for your ghetto cred.”
“First of all,” the other said, waggling a finger under Arthur’s nose, “you saying “ghetto cred” in the very same accent isn’t really convincing. And secondly, where’s my food, bitch?”
“Up your arse. By the way, wasn’t Morgana supposed to be coming for dinner?”
Luke shrugged as he hopped up on the counter. “I dunno, man. She said she had to go talk to someone important, and that spending the evening with him was more important than “gallivanting with Neanderthals”, according to her. Do you think she’s tupping Blanchet on the side?”
Arthur scoffed as he ladled the food onto the plates. “As if she would go near Blanchet with a ten foot pole. But seriously, she ran out on me too, the other day. Right after talking about someone’s “big gay love”, and a guy called Lance who wasn’t awake or some shit. Maybe he needs to be “awakened” Sleeping Beauty style, eh?”
Luke usually laughed at stupid jokes like these, so when he didn’t get a reaction, Arthur turned to look at him. Luke was staring pensively at the table. “Dude?”
Luke gave him a startled look, before sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s just - you know the other day when I was joking with that Tristan kid? I kind of wasn’t.”
Arthur stilled and carefully watched the other’s face. “I mean, I have been having dreams. Since like, forever. There’s a white castle. And we’re all at a round table, and sometimes I’m fighting, and sometimes -” Luke hesitated. “And sometimes, I’m holding this girl. No, woman. And I love her, man. I can feel it. I love her, and she loves me back, and I turn and see a man with a crown. And he’s in his armour and giving us his blessing, and he’s with this other guy, and I know both of them. I see the first guy’s face, and then suddenly I see…”
Arthur gripped the table and leaned forward. “What? You see what?”
Luke looked up from his gaze on the floor. “I see that it’s you.”
*
“Arthur,” calls a voice from the back door, and Arthur closes his engineering book to go help his dad carry the groceries in. Taking two bags from his father’s outstretched hands; he carries them in and starts putting them away in the cupboards. Behind him, he can hear Udolf moving around the kitchen.
“Arthur, come here,” his father says, and he instantly obeys. Arthur may not agree with everything his father says, but he does respect and love him, and when the man who never asks anything from him requests that he do things, he does it.
“Son, what is this I hear from Bartie, about you applying for another job?” Udolf has never been anything but straight to the point, his eyes firm as he fixes them upon a suddenly nervous Arthur, silver hair glinting in the sun.
Arthur fiddled with the zipper of his hoodie, trying to avoid his father’s gaze. “Arthur, how many times have I told you? I’m not too old to continue working; there is no need for you to hold five jobs at the same time in an effort to ensure a happy life for me. We may not be the richest people in this village, but -”
“But I want to!” burst out Arthur, “I told you that you should just retire and let me do the work, is it that you don’t trust me? I told you that I can handle it, why can’t you just -”
“Enough!” Leather biking gloves slapped the table, and Arthur’s mind is suddenly awhirl with memories he doesn’t remember having. His father in a red cloak, his father reading off of a scroll, his father addressing his people (his people?), his father not backing down on a decree. Arthur came to, finding his father still in his leather jacket and jeans, holding him up with a concerned look on his face, and suddenly, suddenly, the name Uther resonates through his mind, and is gone as quickly as it came.
“Arthur?” it warmed him to hear the note of concern so evident in his father’s voice, when he realised that his father had always voiced his concern readily. A part of his mind chanted oh no he didn’t, you know now for sure that he loves you, you didn’t before! Shaking his head, he smiled reassuringly at Udolf and detangled himself from the former’s arms.
“I’m fine, dad. Look, I’m just worried about you, ok? I don’t want you to find yourself without money on the streets.”
Arthur closed his eyes as he felt his father ruffle his hair. “Arthur, I have enough money to support our next four generations and then some. Relax, son. When I was your age, I went out and had fun. When was the last time you did that? I met your mother when I was your age! Don’t you want to go out and find someone, instead of worrying about non-existent money problems?”
‘But I do have someone!’ chimed in that part of Arthur’s brain that didn’t make sense most of the time. ‘I do!’ And followed it up with a barrage of images of pale skin, black, messy hair and the world’s cheekiest grin, and the smell of incense and fire. Arthur waved away the pang of pure want, and wondered what the hell was wrong with him these days.
*
Morgana was going insane. There was no other explanation for it. She’d spent the entire week dogging Arthur, swooping in out of nowhere with skills she had obviously picked up from ninja school, questioning him and dashing out again.
“Merlin!” she hissed at him over a barrel of potatoes at the Sunday Market, and then scrutinised his face as though hoping for a reaction. Arthur, distracted with haggling with Mrs Kane, made a vaguely questioning noise, and when he next looked around, she was stalking off in a huff.
“Confess!” she screeched at him the other day, grabbing him and shaking him so hard, Arthur swore he could feel his eyeballs rattling in his skull. “I know you know him!” she yelled, before calming down and apologising, and then wandering off muttering under her breath.
Then she had poked him in the back during Mass, when she hadn’t been to church in about 12 years, and Arthur barely hid his yelp as his father looked up curiously from his own worshipping position. “Arthur,” she mumbled, “have you been dreaming of men with big ears?” Arthur hadn’t even bothered replying, instead shuffling closer to his father and hoped against hope that Morgana would get bored and just go away.
He wouldn’t put it past her to be stalking him today, too. Arthur tugged his marketing bag closer, eyeing the barrels and crates in case they hid Morgana. “Arthur!” He swore and ducked behind a tree, starting when a hand grabbed his elbow. Morgana’s face loomed close to his, and Arthur tried to act as if he saw some apples that he wanted, and Morgana cut through his fumbling descriptions of the redness of the fruits.
“Have you been avoiding me?” He stared resolutely at her torn jeans. “Arthur! Look at me, you plebe! I swear Arthur, you’re the worst - Oh my! Gwen!” Arthur practically wilted in relief as Morgana pounced on the black girl who visited the village every month.
During one of the few moments where they were both hiding from Morgana and by chance had found the same tree to hide behind, Arthur had found out that her name was Gwendolyn Carter, and she came to the village monthly because she researched plants and their village apparently had an abundance of a few rare ones. The first time she had arrived, she had been accosted by an ecstatic Morgana who had jumped on her back with a joyful shriek of “Gwen!”
Terrified by this absolute stranger who knew her name and had seemingly attacked her, Gwen had tasered Morgana. Morgana had apparently not reacted to the tasering at all, only beamed at a gaping Gwen and told her that she liked her even better now, when she was “all independent and shit”. So Gwen usually let Morgana cling on her while she worked, although she needed breaks from her at times.
Well, whatever. As long as Gwen kept Morgana away from Arthur, he would count his blessings, whatever way he was getting them. As soon as he thought that, Arthur saw Morgana wade her way back through the crowd and he stifled a groan.
“Gwen’s coming with us to the pub tonight!” Morgana crowed. “It’s going to be brilliant! I am brilliant! I am such a brilliant, brilliant person for thinking of this! Tonight is going to be brilliant!”
Arthur sighed and made his way towards the bread stall, Morgana boasting about her brilliance next to him.
*
“Why did you have to bring him?” sulked Morgana, as she stared moodily at her mug.
Arthur had brought Luke along to save him from sheer boredom. Luke had strolled into the pub, taken one look at Gwen, and drawled out a “hey baby, is that a taser in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”
It was a taser. Luke found out firsthand.
But in a move that had surprised them all, including Gwen herself, she had hoisted him up from the floor and told him that he could buy her a drink. Luke trailed after her with a dazed look of adoration.
“Everybody’s hooking up except for me,” groused Morgana, glaring at Luke and Gwen, who were making out quite frantically on the opposite side of the table. “Why couldn’t he keep his paws off of her? He had her for an entire lifetime! It’s my turn now! Who braided my hair when I went crazy?! No one, that’s who, I want my best friend back!”
Arthur sighed and patted her on the back, and drained his own drink with one gulp.
“Why, hello there lovely!”
Morgana scowled. “Blanchet, I didn’t sleep with you in your last 50 lives, what makes you think I’m going to start now?”
Arthur turned to laugh at Blanchet’s pain, and froze. Next to Will was the very same man that’d been staking out in his dreams for the last few weeks. And he had the gall to just stand there and shyly grin at him! ‘Fuck you, heart, stop bloody fluttering. He could be a rapist for all I know!’
“Merlin!” screeched Morgana, pushed a baffled Blanchet out of the way, and threw herself at pouty-and-gorgeous. ‘Alright,’ grumbled Arthur, ‘maybe not a rapist. What type of name is Merlin? He has no right to turn up here! And he called me a little boy! I’m a big boy! A big, big boy! I can show him, and he won’t be calling me little n’more, cause I’m a big, big boy!’
He blinked and then looked at his drink. Maybe he had had a few, so what?
The next thing he knew, he was being squashed more firmly into the booth. Gwen and Luke fell into his lap, still going strong, and Arthur stared at them with despair, and then looked at pale-and-smoking warm against his shoulder, fluttering his eyelashes sheepishly at him, and tried not to kill himself.
Across the table Blanchet spoke up. “Hey, maybe I can be 50th time lucky?”
*
“Guys,” slurred Will, waving a hand in the air. “We need to like… visit a haunted house or something. Cause like. We’d be cool. And shit.”
(“Can’t you find another girl?” Morgana said, holding her vodka bottle like a lifeline. “I mean, she’s my best friend!”
“Why don’t you find another girl?! This one’s mine!” mumbled Luke into his mug.
“Stop objectifying me!” hissed Gwen, trying to find her taser.)
Arthur blearily focused on Will, shaking his head as there seemed to be 5 of the boy. “Duuuuude. Where would we even find a haunted house?”
Merlin, head on Arthur’s shoulder (Was he trying to tempt him? Did he think Arthur was going to throw him up on this very table and ravish him? Did he?! DID HE?!), suddenly shot upright, and then groaned and held his head. Everyone around the table leant as far away as they could, incase he was going to vomit, and then leaned back in as Merlin sat back up again and opened his mouth with a less nauseous expression.
“Oh my God, guys! I know a haunted house!”
Morgana seemed to sober up in a minute. “Merlin. Stop.”
Merlin waved her away, and then nearly fell out of the booth with the effort. He grinned up at Arthur under his lashes as the latter caught him at the last moment, and Arthur gulped as Merlin licked his lips and the room got a few degrees hotter.
“I do know a haunted house,” continued Merlin, sultry eyes still on a red Arthur. “Its rooms can be… magical. And it’s got big beds. Really big. Could easily fit two people or more.”
(“I want a big bed for my beautiful girl!” beamed Luke at Gwen. Morgana immediately struck up a protest about him deflowering her best friend, while Will stared at Morgana in what he thought was a sexy gaze.
“I told you not to objectify me!”)
Arthur scratched his neck nervously and tried to stop his hands from groping Merlin.
“Alright!” clapped Will. “Let’s get a move on!”
*
All five of them stared up at the house.
“Oh my God,” gasped Luke. “The chimneys are waving at me! Hi, guys! Hi!”
The rest stared at Luke strangely, and then looked at the motionless chimneys, and decided to just advance. Merlin touched the door and it clicked open, and they all piled into the dark hallway.
“Doesn’t look haunted,” muttered Gwen drowsily, one hand grasped in Luke’s and the other holding her taser aloft. “Are you sure about this, Merlin?”
Morgana appeared to be scolding a vase that had seemingly knocked her upside her head, as if she did so everyday. Will gazed open-mouthed at a door that was closing and opening itself, giggling hysterically every time it happened. Arthur was ready to propose that they go explore the “haunted house”, when Luke moaned something about being tired, Gwen staggering under his weight as he collapsed suddenly on top of her.
Arthur heard a stream of whispers, and he caught a flash of gold from Merlin’s direction, and when he shot a suspicious glance in the other’s direction, Merlin grinned toothily at him. All of a sudden, beds seemed to be floating down from the ceiling, down the stairs and through the windows.
Luke uttered a war cry and crashed face first onto a plush pink one. Gwen looked nervously at Merlin, who nodded reassuringly at her, and got on next to Luke. Immediately, the bed began to float up the stairs, Luke’s cries of “I’m Harry Potter, bitch! I’m winning the Quidditch match!” fading away.
Morgana tottered to a bed with a green duvet and regally climbed on. “Well,” she raised an eyebrow at Will. “Are you coming or what?” Arthur laughed as Will floundered before dumbly clambering on next to Morgana who waved at Arthur before settling back into the pillows as the bed began to rise.
And suddenly, he was alone with Merlin.
Merlin smiled at him, and Arthur was struck with the need to kiss him, to take him into his arms and bite that pale, pale neck. To use that neckerchief to bind Merlin’s artistic hands to a bedpost, and watch him beg for release. Merlin bit his lip, and Arthur tugged nervously at his collar.
“You should go to bed.” Arthur took a step back, face flushing with embarrassment. Alright, he was stupid for thinking that someone as gorgeous as Merlin would go for him. And he didn’t just go for strangers, did he? So yeah, ok. He was acting stupid, and should have talked to the guy before even thinking of -
“Arthur.” Merlin had gotten closer in the last few moments, and leaned in closer to Arthur, noses almost touching.
“You should sleep off the alcohol. I’ll see you in the morning.” And he pushed Arthur onto the nearest bed, which began to float up the stairs, into a bedroom, while Arthur craned his neck around to try and catch another glimpse of the stranger whom his soul called for.
*
He was 5, and he was throwing a tantrum, calling for his mother. The nanny sat next to him, tears in her eyes as she pleaded for His Highness to listen to reason, that he didn’t have a mother. That he could have anything, anything at all. Arthur didn’t want anything, he wanted his mother. Owen’s mother cleaned his wounds and kissed his forehead and fed him bread. Arthur wanted a mother for his own, and he’d scream until he got one.
Suddenly, he felt the looming presence of his father. Opening his teary eyes, Arthur feared reproach, when he suddenly felt his father lay a gentle hand on his head. Arthur let his tears flow once more, as his father cradled him close.
Then he was 15, and in his first official fight. Parry, parry, thrust, thrust. Watch his weak side, and thrust again. Parry to the left, and swipe the sword, catching the other knight’s helmet, and resting the sharp edge against his neck. He smiled grimly as the crowd burst into cheers, and revelled in the pride in his father’s smile.
20 years old and Father thought he needed a manservant. A stupidly attractive one, at that. God, Father knew how to test his patience. If only Merlin didn’t have such a cheeky mouth on him, then Arthur would get along with him so much better. But if he had been as naïve as he looked, there would be no fun in life, now would there?
26 and Merlin was thrusting up underneath him, mouth open in a groan of pleasure, and Arthur let his head fall onto the crook of that pale neck, the beginnings of a toe-curling orgasm at bay, and he felt his heart burst in love.
38 and Guinevere smiling in a love-struck way at the man kneeling in front Arthur. He has half a mind to jab and remind her that the public were supposed to think they were in love, when the man raises his head, and Arthur says “Rise Lancelot, Knight of the Round Table.” And Arthur grips Lancelot’s shoulder in pride, and sees Merlin whooping with glee, and somewhere in the back of his head, he can hear himself shout, Luke?!
Coronations, knighting, wars, Merlin, Morgana screaming in pain and the dimming sanity in her eyes, and death and Merlin’s guttural scream flash past his mind. Arthur dreamt until he could dream no more.
He bolted upright in bed, gasping for air as the weight of hangover hammered his skull.
“Holy shit,” he gaped at the room. “I’m Arthur fucking Pendragon!”
*
He burst through the door, clutching the doorknob for support as he hollered, “You bitch!”
Merlin, snoring with his pink mouth open, jerked awake and shrieked as he snatched his bedclothes up to his chin. “Lancelot, can you check to see whether you’ve got Gwen before trying to steal virtues!”
Arthur and Merlin both stared at each other in confusion, Arthur recovering first. He stalked up to the bed, as Merlin’s eyes grew wider. “Arthur, what -”
“You utter manwhore,” seethed Arthur, clambering onto the bed and shaking Merlin. “Couldn’t you just have told me?! How easy is it to snap your fingers and return my memories? You absolute shit bag, you crotch gobbler, you -”
Merlin cut through with a delighted, “Arthur Pendragon” and pulled the latter down on top of him before Arthur could continue. And alright, the lecturing could wait until they made up for a few centuries’ worth of lost time.
Plus, Morgana and Will? He was never going to let her live this down.