Fic: Autumn Leaves, Arthur/Merlin (1/1)
Title: Autumn Leaves
Fandom: Merlin (TV Show)
Character/Pairing: Arthur Pendragon/Merlin Emrys
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Romance, Drama
Summary: "I have a feeling I'm never going to escape you, Merlin." Arthur and Merlin through the centuries.
Length: 5,281 words
Status: Complete
Warnings: Character death (non-permanent)
Autumn Leaves
Five.
The man moves gracefully, the sword in his hand a liquid extension of his body, slicing smoothly through the air before stopping with a sharp clang against his opponent's.
He wears a full mask which hides his blonde hair, but Merlin knows him from the clench of muscles under the shirt, the twist of his wrist that Merlin has never seen anyone do quite so effortlessly.
Merlin winces; the inability to stop playing with his opponent even, or perhaps especially - he winces again as a blow lands with a thump against protective padding - when at risk to himself.
And then there's a moment, a second of stillness where he can see the straightening of the man's back, the drawing in and tightening of so much strength. So much. And then Merlin thinks he is perhaps the only person in the crowd that remains unsurprised at how quickly it ends.
There's a shocked silence, a sword pressed lightly to a soft throat, before Arthur pulls off his mask and throws it to the ground beside the fallen man.
Merlin finds himself cheering right along with everyone else, caught up in the familiar feeling of pride at what this man is capable of.
He follows Arthur into the changing rooms, waits until he has his face to his open locker door before speaking.
“Aren't you tired of fighting?” He watches Arthur’s back tense and then relax with the release of more tension than the small movement could have created. Merlin breathes a sigh of relief because even though he knew, until that moment he still couldn't really believe.
Arthur turns his head to the side and Merlin knows he's only barely seeing him, knows that this is Arthur bracing himself in case what he knows isn't true either.
“Not when I win.” And it's so Arthur that Merlin snorts inelegantly and then can't help but mirror the smile he can see when Arthur finally turns around. Arthur follows it with a glare that Merlin ignores with what he hopes is a look of innocence. “Merlin.” He growls.
“What?”
Arthur huffs, rolling his eyes - and they're still so blue that Merlin's body releases even more tension he didn't know it had - and reaches for the hem of his top. “Who is it this time?”
“Gwen.”
Arthur frowns, his lips pouting. “Oh. Poor Lancelot.” He lifts the top up and Merlin takes a deep breath at the skin on display.
“Hmm.” He mumbles and Arthur freezes for a moment, top up around his head and Merlin can't help but watch that chest as it rises and falls, the muscles clenching and relaxing with each controlled breath.
“Merlin.” Arthur pulls his head free and glares a warning at Merlin that Merlin ignores completely, instead looking to one side of Arthur's ear, his head tilted. Eventually Arthur sighs and, his tone put-upon, asks; “What?”
“Oh, nothing.” He pauses, shifting his eyes to Arthur's and enjoys the familiarity he finds there. “It's just, that's not what you said last time.”
Arthur groans, long and low and it is probably not supposed to have quite the effect it has on Merlin but that's okay because nothing about Arthur has ever affected Merlin the way it probably should.
“Look, I said I was sorry about that. It's been a lifetime, Merlin. Literally. How long are you going to hold that over me?” He pouts again and runs a hand through his hair.
“You almost shot him when you saw them together.” And if there is ever anything more perfectly dangerous than Arthur with a sword, it's Arthur with a gun.
“I didn't know.” He moves closer, stepping into Merlin's personal space and Merlin takes a long indrawn breath of him. “I didn't remember any of it, and then Gwen was there and I didn't know why I felt so connected to someone I'd never met. What else was I going to think? It's not like she ever said 'oh no you're not in love with me Arthur, I'm just your once and future queen and we've been repeating this loop for centuries'.” He stops and looks deeply into Merlin's eyes and Merlin feels that familiar tug in his heart.
“You forgot me.” He says and that wasn't want he meant to say at all. Not after everything they went through together last time, once Arthur remembered. Not after watching him every day and finally growing old with him.
Arthur brings a hand up to Merlin’s hair, brushing it back before running his fingers gently down his cheek. Merlin leans into the touch.
“I know.” He says and Merlin turns his head and presses a kiss to Arthur's palm. “And I'm sorry.”
“I know.” Merlin says and brings his own hand up to Arthur's shoulder. “Don't let it happen again.”
“I won't.” Even though they both know that is not how it happens and really, Merlin's the only one who has never forgotten just once. And then they are kissing and this, this is why Merlin loves their own unique brand of immortality and why he was happy to swap days in the stocks for interrogation by MI5.
They pull back and Arthur rests his head against Merlin's for just a moment. “The others?” He asks.
Merlin sighs and tightens his fingers around Arthur's neck. “Not yet.” He hesitates but even knowing what will happen he cannot not tell him; “You're the first.” He closes his eyes but even still he can sense the wide grin spreading across Arthur's face. “Stop it.”
Arthur chuckles and smooths a hand down Merlin's side. “You came to me first.” Merlin thinks he would enjoy beating the smugness out of that tone.
“Yes.” He says resigned, before realising that this is Arthur and he has never taken it like that from Arthur. “You were the easiest to find.” He pulls back and narrows his eyes, his very own brand of smugness. “Prime Minister. Really Arthur?” And knows he ruins it all by snorting, but Arthur knows that grin has never worked on him anyway.
They pull apart and Arthur changes the rest of his clothes until he's dressed in a dark suit and with a little persuasion, Merlin reaches up to knot his tie. They take a step out of the room and Merlin smirks at the surprised guards who had not seen him walk passed them.
Arthur smiles at him and ignores everyone else. “Come on.” He says and clasps Merlin's hand with his own, pulling them both out into the summer night and the bright flashing cameras. “Time to get the others.” They slide into a drawn up limo and Arthur waits until the divide is up before continuing. “Any idea which monster it'll be this time?”
“No.” Merlin says, because Arthur always asks him and Merlin never knows until they find Morgana.
“Hmm.” Merlin can almost see his mind working. “Well, Morgana hasn't come after you on her own yet, so we have time.” He reaches out, pulls Merlin close by the lapels of his leather jacket and pushes him down against the seats. And, yeah, maybe this is why he likes waking up in an even newer world each time, because doing this on the back of a horse was never as good no matter what Arthur says.
“Shut up Merlin.” Arthur says even though Merlin doesn't yet have breath enough to speak, and then he kisses him again and Merlin shrugs and lets Arthur take the lead.
Four.
“Merlin, that you?” Merlin quirks a lip at the familiar question and presses the door closed behind him. He tugs off his gloves and wipes his feet against the coarse rectangle of carpet, his cheeks tingling as the heat of the house hits them.
“Who else?” He carefully unwinds his scarf as he moves towards the study, feeling himself slowly warm from the bone aching cold of Winter that has hit the streets of London in the last week.
Arthur looks up at him with the usual twist of his mouth that means he knows it was a stupid question but it's a sort of tradition now so can Merlin please stop looking like that. At least, that is what Merlin sees in the smile Arthur sends him, but he is admittedly a little biased.
“How should I know? You could have been a common thief.” He looks Merlin up and down, his eyes running slowly over his body.
“And if I were?” Merlin cuts in when he can see Arthur opening his mouth. “I suppose you thought you'd scare them away with just the sound of your voice?” He snorts and finally pulling the scarf free from his neck he flings it at Arthur's head and moves to the side, pouring himself a snifter of the frankly excellent brandy. It definitely beats the harsh ale of the past.
“Hey!” Arthur yelps and pouts his lips until, with a sigh, Merlin pours a second glass for him. At the sight of Arthur's smug look, Merlin heroically fights the urge to throw the drink at him. “And I'll have you know Merlin, I had people trembling at the sound of my voice today.”
Merlin passes him his glass and he settles back into his chair. Merlin bites his lip against a smile; he wonders if Arthur knows just how young he still looks sometimes, how like a little boy he is when slumped low in the padded chair, his waistcoat flung across the room and his hair ruffled after a long day. He won't tell him, of course, because Arthur teases him enough as it is and after all these years, Merlin's finally learnt not to make it infinitely easier for him.
“How can you be certain it wasn't just the shivers of their bones while they worked away in their cold dark office?”
Arthur inherited Uther's printing business five years ago after seven years of working at the bottom of the ladder and Merlin still mourns the loss of the black ink smeared across Arthur's pale cheeks each night. Taking a damp cloth to it had reminded Merlin of the beginning and even Arthur never mocked him for that feeling of nostalgia.
“They're not cold!” Arthur glares, but the affect is ruined when he doesn't move from his relaxed slump. “Stop making me sound like a damned Dickens character.”
“Scrooge.” Merlin says and hides his chuckle behind his glass as Arthur splutters angrily.
“Dracula.” Arthur says when he has calmed down, which Merlin thinks is unfair because he is only apprenticed to a Doctor and he has never bitten anyone, even if he does have to take blood from patients occasionally.
This is the most equal they have been in their lives so far. This time around Merlin doesn't even work for Arthur and Arthur isn't in line to rule anything except Pendragon Press so there was never any talk of inappropriateness and for once Gwen has not been thrust into the middle of their lives. Which reminds him.
“Gwen said we're to spend Christmas with her and Lance this year. No excuses.” What she had actually said was that if they sent one more messenger an hour before their expected arrival to announce a sudden emergency at the surgery or an urgent story that cannot wait a few hours, she would be sure to remember all the moves her old Mistress had taught her and show them just how well they still worked in these modern times. It had been frankly, quite terrifying.
Arthur looks at him in concern and Merlin realises his face is showing a little of the remembered fear.
“Hmm, Lancelot said the same.”
It was coincidence (although a voice in Merlin's mind, that always sounds rather like the Great Dragon, tells him it is actually destiny) that found the four of them working in the same professions. Merlin had bumped into Gwen quite by accident just outside of Giaus's surgery and when he realised she remembered everything had been so relieved that he had almost incited what would have been the world's shortest fight, when Lancelot had walked around the corner, deep in discussion with Arthur about the latest press, and found his fiancee in Merlin's arms.
Thankfully, Arthur had said “Merlin” in such a way that simultaneously, Merlin leapt to his side and Lancelot instantly remembered everything.
Arthur and Lancelot loved to laugh about, mainly, Merlin's face, every time they had a little too much to drink and embarrassing Merlin was the only game they seemed able to concentrate on.
They never talk about Morgana, because Arthur's guilt nearly overwhelms them both, even though it was neither of their faults. It was already too late by the time they found her; her magic had come to her before she was old enough to remember. By the time she did, she had been driven insane by the visions and Arthur could do nothing but watch her be taken by the madness.
“So I found a book.” Arthur's voice brings Merlin back to the present and he tilts his head at his companion, a sense of wariness creeping over him at the gleeful smile on the other man's face. Arthur is always finding books, he says it is part of his job, but he has never looked quite so pleased with himself about it before.
“A book?” Arthur nods, sliding further into his chair until he can reach a hand over the arm and grasp at the book on the floor beside him.
“Yes Merlin. A book.” His smile ratchets up a notch. Merlin shifts uncomfortably.
“What book?” Arthur grins then, showing his teeth. Merlin takes a final gulp of his drink and chokes on the burn.
“A very special book, Merlin. A book that seems to chronicle the lives of a certain handsome Prince and his inept manservant.” Merlin blinks through tearful eyes and tries not to show his confusion. Arthur sees it anyway and rolls his eyes. “Us, Merlin. It's a book about us.”
Oh.
“That's...um, that's...” Good? Merlin wonders. After all, they do know what happened, they did live it. This is the part of Arthur he never manages to understand no matter what lives they are living; the part that gets excited about things Merlin just does not see the point in.
Arthur sighs, his smile slipping a little and for a moment Merlin feels a guilty pang. “It's brilliant, Merlin. It's brilliant.” He pauses, looking down at the book and Merlin looks too but seeing the dark brown cover changes nothing for him.
When he looks back up Arthur meets his eyes, having returned to his previous humour. “Because in this book, Merlin.” He continues. “In this book is the heroic tale of a young Prince's death...”
Merlin pales, because even now he hates to think about that.
“And the mysterious transformation of his sorcerer advisor into...” Here Arthur pauses and Merlin stops breathing.
Oh no. Really, the world could not be that cruel.
“A. Tree.” Arthur finishes, because the world really is that cruel and hates Merlin that much.
His ears burn with the heat that rushes to them and he drops the empty glass to the table before burying his face in his hands, Arthur's laughter making him blush all the harder.
Damn Princes turned Kings turned Printers anyway, and their bloody endless searching of old book stores. And damn the bookstores themselves while he is at it, and whichever author had managed to dig up that little tale, because, God, Arthur is never going to let him live this one down no matter how many lives they live.
Eventually Arthur's laughter quiets down to the odd hiccup of a snicker and Merlin pulls himself out from behind his hands, eyes narrowed in a glare that just dares Arthur to start again. Arthur merely raises an eyebrow - and Merlin damns old Healers too, who teach young heirs how to do that - and hardly tries to contain his smile.
Merlin moves his glare to the book in Arthur's lap and Arthur lays a hand over it before he can start a small localised fire, just enough to remove all traces of the book from the room.
“Uh, uh. No magic around the books. You know the rules.” And maybe if Arthur didn’t sound so amused, Merlin might not even think it, but he does so it is only his own fault when the last of Arthur's drink ends up dripping from glistening blond strands. Arthur glares at him and Merlin smiles, a damp cloth appearing in his hand.
“You seem to have something in your hair, Sire, let me.” Arthur's glare turns into something more heated and Merlin cheers inwardly at distracting him.
Even as he slips from his chair and makes his way towards Arthur, he knows he hasn't heard the end of it, but that's okay, because he is good at distracting. Besides, eventually Arthur will slip up and do something that will provide Merlin with years of merciless ribbing. It might never be quite the same as remaining so still, so empty that he turns himself into a tree for a few centuries, but Merlin will take what he can get.
Three.
Sometimes, things don’t work out the way they are supposed to. Sometimes, Merlin sees Mordred before he sees any of the others and his rage is so powerful he ends things right there and then. He dies too early, or he ends up in jail but he doesn’t meet Arthur and Morgana turns evil and he is left, waiting for it to start all over again.
Sometimes, Arthur doesn’t remember and it hurts so much to look into familiar eyes and see a stranger looking back that Merlin has to turn away.
He misses Camelot and Hunith, knows that Arthur misses Uther and the Knights and wonders why they don’t all find each other each time.
Once, Arthur is a teacher and he travels around the world with his books and his stories. Merlin is his student; he’s ten years old. Arthur dies from fever in a tent pitched into the dirt of Africa. Merlin remembers him when he reaches eighteen and cries for three days.
Morgana is a Duchess and a housewife. Sometimes they get to her in time, or she comes to them and they save her from her own personal fate. Arthur tries to keep the truth from her, tries to stop her from remembering everything, but he always fails. In their first life, she betrayed them. Even with their forgiveness she never has her own.
Gwen marries Lancelot. That never seems to change.
Two.
It is a long battle, fought on two levels and while Merlin leads the Sorcerers he knows that unlike many Kings before him, Arthur's right there at the front, leading his men in the last charge against the enemy. In the back of his mind he can feel the other man tiring; they've been fighting for months, this last battle a week old and still Arthur has refused all rest but the few hours forced upon him by his own body.
With a twitch of his hand, Merlin flings an attacker into a tree, already turning his attention away to the next before the body hits the ground.
He can feel it in the magic around him that the war is slowly coming to an end. He saw it in the tightness of Arthur's eyes as they left the tent that morning, the touch of his hand against Merlin's shoulder as he turned towards the Knights and Merlin drew closer to the Sorcerers. This is the end. Those left standing today will be the victors.
He has his mind back in the fight, a storm brewing overhead that he has used before, when he hears it, the voice in his head.
“Say goodbye Emrys.”
He turns and watches in disbelief as Arthur falls, his back arching with the lightening, blonde hair and silver mail bright in the white light that surrounds him.
No!
He doesn't need time to build it up; his magic always, always, reacting instantly when it is Arthur - Arthur! - that is in danger, and he doesn't even know what the magic is going to do this time but he lets it go and he hears Mordred's scream like it comes from inside him.
But it is too late. He knows by the stillness of the battlefield, the silence that sounds so loud.
He is beside Arthur without putting any conscious thought into it and he knows even before he touches him - one hand against his neck, the other gripped tight in Arthur's - that it is too late, that it might not have decimated him as it did Nimeuh, but the lightening is killing him just as surely.
He pushes hard with his magic, forcing it through the bond between them and Arthur arches his back again, heels pressing grooves into the mud, but his cheeks flush a light pink and his lips part just before his eyelids.
“Arthur, I-” Arthur pushes his elbows into the ground and tries to pull himself up. Merlin has known him long enough not to stop him, instead, moving his arm to wrap around Arthur's shoulders he supports him as he looks around at his men.
“Merlin.” Arthur’s voice catches on the word, forced out between a grimace of pain and Merlin is so focused on that, he almost misses the flutter of Arthur's hand as he gestures away from them. “What-” He swallows. “What have you done?” Merlin looks then and realises that the silence and stillness aren't in reaction to the King's fall.
“Err.” He widens his eyes and banishes the weapons from the other side's frozen hands, knowing that when he releases time it will be too late for their Sorcerers to bring them back. He turns back to Arthur with a sheepish grin.
“Idiot.” Arthur says, gritting his teeth as Merlin sends through another burst of magic. “That hurts.”
“It's helping you.” Merlin says, even though it's not, not really. But he isn’t going to think about it, because it is unthinkable, completely unthinkable, and it is going to stay that way forever. Until they are old men and Arthur's passed the crown over willingly because it is a job for a younger man and Merlin's decided that keeping one man out of constant danger is enough, and he retires as Court Sorcerer and secretly they both know they'll never stop trying to save everyone anyway, but officially they've had enough. “Prat.”
“No, it's not.” Arthur says, because even though they can hear each other's thoughts sometimes, Arthur calls him on all of his lies, always. “But it's going to be okay.” He continues, his breath a rattle in his chest, because Arthur's a hypocrite and Merlin hates him. “No you don't.”
Merlin rolls his eyes and the moment is so normal that he almost forgets, but of course, Arthur reminds him.
“They're going to need you, Merlin. Merlin.” He repeats when Merlin ignores him. “Camelot is going to need you.” Which usually means ‘I need you’, but Merlin realises with a sharp pain to his chest, does not mean that at all this time.
“It's going to be okay.” Arthur lies again and Merlin really wishes he would stop because hearing his voice get weaker is not helping him to believe it any more than Arthur's fading presence in his mind is. And then he feels the flutter from Arthur and realises this time the lie was not just for him.
“Yeah, sure. S'not like you're irreplaceable or anything.” He jokes, but he cannot force the smile, no matter how much he tries. Arthur's elbows go out from under him and Merlin catches him, pulling him in until he holds him against his chest, his top half across Merlin's lap.
“Exactly, there's always another King.” Arthur leans into him and Merlin watches his eyes, staring out across the still fields.
“Right, and Gwen's got Lance, so yeah, she'll be okay.” He doesn't say ‘I have no one’ because that won't help but it goes over and over in his mind while his arms tighten around Arthur. “And they've already lit candles in Camelot for you once so they probably won't do that again.” What am I going to do?
“Probably won't even notice I'm gone.” Arthur groans, and Merlin hears; You're going to keep going.
“Yeah.” No.
“Promise me, Merlin.” Arthur grabs hold of Merlin's free hand, his skin cold, and when did he remove his glove? “Promise me.”
“I promise.” He says and it is probably the hardest thing Merlin has ever done, to look into those blue eyes and mean the lie on enough levels that Arthur won't know the truth.
Arthur's fingers tremble as he reaches up to rest them against Merlin's cheek and Merlin leans into the touch, blinking tears over them. “Sorcerer.” He breathes, the way he said it that very first time.
Merlin chokes, leaning down and finally pressing his lips against Arthur's, feeling the tug on his magic as he pulls it back out of Arthur's body. “Knight.” He says, and then; “Prince.” Arthur smiles, his breath wheezing. “King.”
He doesn't notice the end of the war, the unfreezing and forced surrender, the shock on Arthur's men's faces as they realise that they've won the battle, the war, but lost their King. It is not until Sir Leon kneels beside him, pressing a gloved hand to Arthur's shoulder, his head bent over in respect, that Merlin even realises that time has started running again.
“My Lord.” Leon says to him, and oh, how Merlin shouted at Arthur for hours for enforcing that. His heart pangs and he feels it like a missing tooth; the gap where Arthur should be.
“Take them home.” He says to the Knight and wraps his arms and his magic tightly around Arthur's body. He waits only until he sees Leon's nod, before the field dissolves around him.
It takes a long time for Camelot and Albion to stop mourning their King. Longer than for King Uther. Longer than it would ever take a kingdom again. Certainly longer than Merlin stays.
He tries to keep his promises to Arthur, but it is too much and eventually he cannot take being there anymore, with so many reminders.
He leaves the way he arrived; a single bag and very few plans. He loses himself in the woods and never bothers to find his way back out. Arthur isn’t there to tease him for it.
Centuries later, he thinks, maybe, just maybe, that is why it happens the way it does; because fate has always shined a little brighter on Arthur than on Merlin, and really, is there anything Arthur has ever loved so much as making Merlin feel like an idiot?
One.
They lay on their backs, faces turned up to the clear sky.
Merlin closes one eye and squints the other, twisting his neck awkwardly. “Definitely a sheep.” He says eventually.
“It’s a stallion.” Arthur repeats again, sounding bored. “You’re going blind.”
Merlin reaches out and thumps him on the arm. Arthur captures his hand before he can pull it back to his body and their fingers interlace, resting against the cool grass.
Beside them, Arthur’s horse whinnies and splashes at the lake with his hoofs.
“Where will you go?” Arthur asks, causing Merlin to peer at him from the corner of his eye.
“I’m not going anywhere.” He replies, confusion creasing his forehead; he feels like he missed a large part of the conversation.
“Not now.” Arthur squeezes his hand. “But one day you’ll move on to do whatever it is you want to do and I’ll have to find a new manservant.”
“Arthur.” Merlin turns onto his side, propping himself up on an elbow. “This is what I want to do.”
Arthur snorts. “I doubt even you dreamt about washing my socks when you were a child, Merlin.”
Merlin tugs on their joined hands until, with a sigh, Arthur turns over to face him.
“Ah, but they aren’t just any socks, they’re Royal socks, Sire. Such an honor.” He grins, Arthur doesn’t. “Is this about my magic?”
Beside him, Arthur tenses and Merlin tightens his grip when Arthur tries to pull his hand away.
“Forget it.”
“Arthur.” Arthur ignores him, turning his face away. “I thought you were okay with it.” He says eventually and releases Arthur’s hand.
They turn onto their backs again, hands close but not touching.
“You’re a sorcerer, Merlin.” Arthur intones. It sounds like it should mean something more than just a single fact, but Merlin cannot guess what.
“And you’re a Pratt.”
A butterfly flits in front of Merlin’s eyes, he follows its flight, slowly sitting up and watching in surprise as it settles on the tip of Arthur’s nose. He laughs as Arthur goes cross-eyed trying to see it and the sound scares it back into the air.
“What’s this about?” He asks, looking down at Arthur.
Arthur sighs heavily, and reaches up to rub at his nose distractedly. Merlin wonders if the butterfly tickled when it left.
“You’re a sorcerer. A powerful sorcerer.” He holds up a hand when Merlin opens his mouth. “There are so many important things you could be doing.”
Merlin shuffles closer and lays a hand on Arthur’s arm, just above his elbow. His fingers curl into the soft fabric of Arthur’s tunic.
“This is important.” He says and then holds up his other hand when Arthur moves to interrupt. “No Arthur, this is important; what we do here, what we are. Those things are important. Not just to me but to everything. Can’t you feel it?”
“Sometimes.” Arthur looks at him and covers Merlin’s hand with his own. “And sometimes I think, maybe they’re wrong and this has nothing to do with me at all. What if there’s somewhere else you’re meant to be, and by staying here you’re ruining whatever plans have been made for you?”
Merlin wonders how long Arthur’s been thinking about this and then decides that the next time Arthur goes for a walk to ‘think’ Merlin is going to thoroughly distract him.
“This is where I’m meant to be.” He grimaces at the saccharin words and rolls his eyes when Arthur snorts. “You’re the Once And Future King.” He says, and like every time since he first told Arthur every thing the Dragon has ever said to him, Arthur wrinkles his nose in distaste.
Merlin pulls Arthur up until they’re sitting side-by-side, leaning against each other for support.
“I’m going to be here forever, you know.” Merlin says nonchalantly. “Over sharpening your sword, dropping your breakfast plates, and pretending the washmaids lost your favourite white tunic when they actually threw it away because I used it to mop up wine from your floor.” He bites his lip when Arthur groans beside him.
“Is that right?” Arthur asks, turning his head to look at Merlin. Merlin nods, his smile wide. Arthur groans again and looks back out across the lake. “There go my dreams of finally having a decent manservant.” He pauses and Merlin follows his gaze.
“There’s always the next life.” Merlin adds helpfully.
Arthur slumps into him.
“No.” He says. “I have a feeling I’ll never escape you, Merlin.”
“Must be destiny.”
Arthur nods and they watch as a fish jumps in and out of the water, its scales flashing gold. “Must be.”
End.
Fandom: Merlin (TV Show)
Character/Pairing: Arthur Pendragon/Merlin Emrys
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Romance, Drama
Summary: "I have a feeling I'm never going to escape you, Merlin." Arthur and Merlin through the centuries.
Length: 5,281 words
Status: Complete
Warnings: Character death (non-permanent)
Autumn Leaves
Five.
The man moves gracefully, the sword in his hand a liquid extension of his body, slicing smoothly through the air before stopping with a sharp clang against his opponent's.
He wears a full mask which hides his blonde hair, but Merlin knows him from the clench of muscles under the shirt, the twist of his wrist that Merlin has never seen anyone do quite so effortlessly.
Merlin winces; the inability to stop playing with his opponent even, or perhaps especially - he winces again as a blow lands with a thump against protective padding - when at risk to himself.
And then there's a moment, a second of stillness where he can see the straightening of the man's back, the drawing in and tightening of so much strength. So much. And then Merlin thinks he is perhaps the only person in the crowd that remains unsurprised at how quickly it ends.
There's a shocked silence, a sword pressed lightly to a soft throat, before Arthur pulls off his mask and throws it to the ground beside the fallen man.
Merlin finds himself cheering right along with everyone else, caught up in the familiar feeling of pride at what this man is capable of.
He follows Arthur into the changing rooms, waits until he has his face to his open locker door before speaking.
“Aren't you tired of fighting?” He watches Arthur’s back tense and then relax with the release of more tension than the small movement could have created. Merlin breathes a sigh of relief because even though he knew, until that moment he still couldn't really believe.
Arthur turns his head to the side and Merlin knows he's only barely seeing him, knows that this is Arthur bracing himself in case what he knows isn't true either.
“Not when I win.” And it's so Arthur that Merlin snorts inelegantly and then can't help but mirror the smile he can see when Arthur finally turns around. Arthur follows it with a glare that Merlin ignores with what he hopes is a look of innocence. “Merlin.” He growls.
“What?”
Arthur huffs, rolling his eyes - and they're still so blue that Merlin's body releases even more tension he didn't know it had - and reaches for the hem of his top. “Who is it this time?”
“Gwen.”
Arthur frowns, his lips pouting. “Oh. Poor Lancelot.” He lifts the top up and Merlin takes a deep breath at the skin on display.
“Hmm.” He mumbles and Arthur freezes for a moment, top up around his head and Merlin can't help but watch that chest as it rises and falls, the muscles clenching and relaxing with each controlled breath.
“Merlin.” Arthur pulls his head free and glares a warning at Merlin that Merlin ignores completely, instead looking to one side of Arthur's ear, his head tilted. Eventually Arthur sighs and, his tone put-upon, asks; “What?”
“Oh, nothing.” He pauses, shifting his eyes to Arthur's and enjoys the familiarity he finds there. “It's just, that's not what you said last time.”
Arthur groans, long and low and it is probably not supposed to have quite the effect it has on Merlin but that's okay because nothing about Arthur has ever affected Merlin the way it probably should.
“Look, I said I was sorry about that. It's been a lifetime, Merlin. Literally. How long are you going to hold that over me?” He pouts again and runs a hand through his hair.
“You almost shot him when you saw them together.” And if there is ever anything more perfectly dangerous than Arthur with a sword, it's Arthur with a gun.
“I didn't know.” He moves closer, stepping into Merlin's personal space and Merlin takes a long indrawn breath of him. “I didn't remember any of it, and then Gwen was there and I didn't know why I felt so connected to someone I'd never met. What else was I going to think? It's not like she ever said 'oh no you're not in love with me Arthur, I'm just your once and future queen and we've been repeating this loop for centuries'.” He stops and looks deeply into Merlin's eyes and Merlin feels that familiar tug in his heart.
“You forgot me.” He says and that wasn't want he meant to say at all. Not after everything they went through together last time, once Arthur remembered. Not after watching him every day and finally growing old with him.
Arthur brings a hand up to Merlin’s hair, brushing it back before running his fingers gently down his cheek. Merlin leans into the touch.
“I know.” He says and Merlin turns his head and presses a kiss to Arthur's palm. “And I'm sorry.”
“I know.” Merlin says and brings his own hand up to Arthur's shoulder. “Don't let it happen again.”
“I won't.” Even though they both know that is not how it happens and really, Merlin's the only one who has never forgotten just once. And then they are kissing and this, this is why Merlin loves their own unique brand of immortality and why he was happy to swap days in the stocks for interrogation by MI5.
They pull back and Arthur rests his head against Merlin's for just a moment. “The others?” He asks.
Merlin sighs and tightens his fingers around Arthur's neck. “Not yet.” He hesitates but even knowing what will happen he cannot not tell him; “You're the first.” He closes his eyes but even still he can sense the wide grin spreading across Arthur's face. “Stop it.”
Arthur chuckles and smooths a hand down Merlin's side. “You came to me first.” Merlin thinks he would enjoy beating the smugness out of that tone.
“Yes.” He says resigned, before realising that this is Arthur and he has never taken it like that from Arthur. “You were the easiest to find.” He pulls back and narrows his eyes, his very own brand of smugness. “Prime Minister. Really Arthur?” And knows he ruins it all by snorting, but Arthur knows that grin has never worked on him anyway.
They pull apart and Arthur changes the rest of his clothes until he's dressed in a dark suit and with a little persuasion, Merlin reaches up to knot his tie. They take a step out of the room and Merlin smirks at the surprised guards who had not seen him walk passed them.
Arthur smiles at him and ignores everyone else. “Come on.” He says and clasps Merlin's hand with his own, pulling them both out into the summer night and the bright flashing cameras. “Time to get the others.” They slide into a drawn up limo and Arthur waits until the divide is up before continuing. “Any idea which monster it'll be this time?”
“No.” Merlin says, because Arthur always asks him and Merlin never knows until they find Morgana.
“Hmm.” Merlin can almost see his mind working. “Well, Morgana hasn't come after you on her own yet, so we have time.” He reaches out, pulls Merlin close by the lapels of his leather jacket and pushes him down against the seats. And, yeah, maybe this is why he likes waking up in an even newer world each time, because doing this on the back of a horse was never as good no matter what Arthur says.
“Shut up Merlin.” Arthur says even though Merlin doesn't yet have breath enough to speak, and then he kisses him again and Merlin shrugs and lets Arthur take the lead.
Four.
“Merlin, that you?” Merlin quirks a lip at the familiar question and presses the door closed behind him. He tugs off his gloves and wipes his feet against the coarse rectangle of carpet, his cheeks tingling as the heat of the house hits them.
“Who else?” He carefully unwinds his scarf as he moves towards the study, feeling himself slowly warm from the bone aching cold of Winter that has hit the streets of London in the last week.
Arthur looks up at him with the usual twist of his mouth that means he knows it was a stupid question but it's a sort of tradition now so can Merlin please stop looking like that. At least, that is what Merlin sees in the smile Arthur sends him, but he is admittedly a little biased.
“How should I know? You could have been a common thief.” He looks Merlin up and down, his eyes running slowly over his body.
“And if I were?” Merlin cuts in when he can see Arthur opening his mouth. “I suppose you thought you'd scare them away with just the sound of your voice?” He snorts and finally pulling the scarf free from his neck he flings it at Arthur's head and moves to the side, pouring himself a snifter of the frankly excellent brandy. It definitely beats the harsh ale of the past.
“Hey!” Arthur yelps and pouts his lips until, with a sigh, Merlin pours a second glass for him. At the sight of Arthur's smug look, Merlin heroically fights the urge to throw the drink at him. “And I'll have you know Merlin, I had people trembling at the sound of my voice today.”
Merlin passes him his glass and he settles back into his chair. Merlin bites his lip against a smile; he wonders if Arthur knows just how young he still looks sometimes, how like a little boy he is when slumped low in the padded chair, his waistcoat flung across the room and his hair ruffled after a long day. He won't tell him, of course, because Arthur teases him enough as it is and after all these years, Merlin's finally learnt not to make it infinitely easier for him.
“How can you be certain it wasn't just the shivers of their bones while they worked away in their cold dark office?”
Arthur inherited Uther's printing business five years ago after seven years of working at the bottom of the ladder and Merlin still mourns the loss of the black ink smeared across Arthur's pale cheeks each night. Taking a damp cloth to it had reminded Merlin of the beginning and even Arthur never mocked him for that feeling of nostalgia.
“They're not cold!” Arthur glares, but the affect is ruined when he doesn't move from his relaxed slump. “Stop making me sound like a damned Dickens character.”
“Scrooge.” Merlin says and hides his chuckle behind his glass as Arthur splutters angrily.
“Dracula.” Arthur says when he has calmed down, which Merlin thinks is unfair because he is only apprenticed to a Doctor and he has never bitten anyone, even if he does have to take blood from patients occasionally.
This is the most equal they have been in their lives so far. This time around Merlin doesn't even work for Arthur and Arthur isn't in line to rule anything except Pendragon Press so there was never any talk of inappropriateness and for once Gwen has not been thrust into the middle of their lives. Which reminds him.
“Gwen said we're to spend Christmas with her and Lance this year. No excuses.” What she had actually said was that if they sent one more messenger an hour before their expected arrival to announce a sudden emergency at the surgery or an urgent story that cannot wait a few hours, she would be sure to remember all the moves her old Mistress had taught her and show them just how well they still worked in these modern times. It had been frankly, quite terrifying.
Arthur looks at him in concern and Merlin realises his face is showing a little of the remembered fear.
“Hmm, Lancelot said the same.”
It was coincidence (although a voice in Merlin's mind, that always sounds rather like the Great Dragon, tells him it is actually destiny) that found the four of them working in the same professions. Merlin had bumped into Gwen quite by accident just outside of Giaus's surgery and when he realised she remembered everything had been so relieved that he had almost incited what would have been the world's shortest fight, when Lancelot had walked around the corner, deep in discussion with Arthur about the latest press, and found his fiancee in Merlin's arms.
Thankfully, Arthur had said “Merlin” in such a way that simultaneously, Merlin leapt to his side and Lancelot instantly remembered everything.
Arthur and Lancelot loved to laugh about, mainly, Merlin's face, every time they had a little too much to drink and embarrassing Merlin was the only game they seemed able to concentrate on.
They never talk about Morgana, because Arthur's guilt nearly overwhelms them both, even though it was neither of their faults. It was already too late by the time they found her; her magic had come to her before she was old enough to remember. By the time she did, she had been driven insane by the visions and Arthur could do nothing but watch her be taken by the madness.
“So I found a book.” Arthur's voice brings Merlin back to the present and he tilts his head at his companion, a sense of wariness creeping over him at the gleeful smile on the other man's face. Arthur is always finding books, he says it is part of his job, but he has never looked quite so pleased with himself about it before.
“A book?” Arthur nods, sliding further into his chair until he can reach a hand over the arm and grasp at the book on the floor beside him.
“Yes Merlin. A book.” His smile ratchets up a notch. Merlin shifts uncomfortably.
“What book?” Arthur grins then, showing his teeth. Merlin takes a final gulp of his drink and chokes on the burn.
“A very special book, Merlin. A book that seems to chronicle the lives of a certain handsome Prince and his inept manservant.” Merlin blinks through tearful eyes and tries not to show his confusion. Arthur sees it anyway and rolls his eyes. “Us, Merlin. It's a book about us.”
Oh.
“That's...um, that's...” Good? Merlin wonders. After all, they do know what happened, they did live it. This is the part of Arthur he never manages to understand no matter what lives they are living; the part that gets excited about things Merlin just does not see the point in.
Arthur sighs, his smile slipping a little and for a moment Merlin feels a guilty pang. “It's brilliant, Merlin. It's brilliant.” He pauses, looking down at the book and Merlin looks too but seeing the dark brown cover changes nothing for him.
When he looks back up Arthur meets his eyes, having returned to his previous humour. “Because in this book, Merlin.” He continues. “In this book is the heroic tale of a young Prince's death...”
Merlin pales, because even now he hates to think about that.
“And the mysterious transformation of his sorcerer advisor into...” Here Arthur pauses and Merlin stops breathing.
Oh no. Really, the world could not be that cruel.
“A. Tree.” Arthur finishes, because the world really is that cruel and hates Merlin that much.
His ears burn with the heat that rushes to them and he drops the empty glass to the table before burying his face in his hands, Arthur's laughter making him blush all the harder.
Damn Princes turned Kings turned Printers anyway, and their bloody endless searching of old book stores. And damn the bookstores themselves while he is at it, and whichever author had managed to dig up that little tale, because, God, Arthur is never going to let him live this one down no matter how many lives they live.
Eventually Arthur's laughter quiets down to the odd hiccup of a snicker and Merlin pulls himself out from behind his hands, eyes narrowed in a glare that just dares Arthur to start again. Arthur merely raises an eyebrow - and Merlin damns old Healers too, who teach young heirs how to do that - and hardly tries to contain his smile.
Merlin moves his glare to the book in Arthur's lap and Arthur lays a hand over it before he can start a small localised fire, just enough to remove all traces of the book from the room.
“Uh, uh. No magic around the books. You know the rules.” And maybe if Arthur didn’t sound so amused, Merlin might not even think it, but he does so it is only his own fault when the last of Arthur's drink ends up dripping from glistening blond strands. Arthur glares at him and Merlin smiles, a damp cloth appearing in his hand.
“You seem to have something in your hair, Sire, let me.” Arthur's glare turns into something more heated and Merlin cheers inwardly at distracting him.
Even as he slips from his chair and makes his way towards Arthur, he knows he hasn't heard the end of it, but that's okay, because he is good at distracting. Besides, eventually Arthur will slip up and do something that will provide Merlin with years of merciless ribbing. It might never be quite the same as remaining so still, so empty that he turns himself into a tree for a few centuries, but Merlin will take what he can get.
Three.
Sometimes, things don’t work out the way they are supposed to. Sometimes, Merlin sees Mordred before he sees any of the others and his rage is so powerful he ends things right there and then. He dies too early, or he ends up in jail but he doesn’t meet Arthur and Morgana turns evil and he is left, waiting for it to start all over again.
Sometimes, Arthur doesn’t remember and it hurts so much to look into familiar eyes and see a stranger looking back that Merlin has to turn away.
He misses Camelot and Hunith, knows that Arthur misses Uther and the Knights and wonders why they don’t all find each other each time.
Once, Arthur is a teacher and he travels around the world with his books and his stories. Merlin is his student; he’s ten years old. Arthur dies from fever in a tent pitched into the dirt of Africa. Merlin remembers him when he reaches eighteen and cries for three days.
Morgana is a Duchess and a housewife. Sometimes they get to her in time, or she comes to them and they save her from her own personal fate. Arthur tries to keep the truth from her, tries to stop her from remembering everything, but he always fails. In their first life, she betrayed them. Even with their forgiveness she never has her own.
Gwen marries Lancelot. That never seems to change.
Two.
It is a long battle, fought on two levels and while Merlin leads the Sorcerers he knows that unlike many Kings before him, Arthur's right there at the front, leading his men in the last charge against the enemy. In the back of his mind he can feel the other man tiring; they've been fighting for months, this last battle a week old and still Arthur has refused all rest but the few hours forced upon him by his own body.
With a twitch of his hand, Merlin flings an attacker into a tree, already turning his attention away to the next before the body hits the ground.
He can feel it in the magic around him that the war is slowly coming to an end. He saw it in the tightness of Arthur's eyes as they left the tent that morning, the touch of his hand against Merlin's shoulder as he turned towards the Knights and Merlin drew closer to the Sorcerers. This is the end. Those left standing today will be the victors.
He has his mind back in the fight, a storm brewing overhead that he has used before, when he hears it, the voice in his head.
“Say goodbye Emrys.”
He turns and watches in disbelief as Arthur falls, his back arching with the lightening, blonde hair and silver mail bright in the white light that surrounds him.
No!
He doesn't need time to build it up; his magic always, always, reacting instantly when it is Arthur - Arthur! - that is in danger, and he doesn't even know what the magic is going to do this time but he lets it go and he hears Mordred's scream like it comes from inside him.
But it is too late. He knows by the stillness of the battlefield, the silence that sounds so loud.
He is beside Arthur without putting any conscious thought into it and he knows even before he touches him - one hand against his neck, the other gripped tight in Arthur's - that it is too late, that it might not have decimated him as it did Nimeuh, but the lightening is killing him just as surely.
He pushes hard with his magic, forcing it through the bond between them and Arthur arches his back again, heels pressing grooves into the mud, but his cheeks flush a light pink and his lips part just before his eyelids.
“Arthur, I-” Arthur pushes his elbows into the ground and tries to pull himself up. Merlin has known him long enough not to stop him, instead, moving his arm to wrap around Arthur's shoulders he supports him as he looks around at his men.
“Merlin.” Arthur’s voice catches on the word, forced out between a grimace of pain and Merlin is so focused on that, he almost misses the flutter of Arthur's hand as he gestures away from them. “What-” He swallows. “What have you done?” Merlin looks then and realises that the silence and stillness aren't in reaction to the King's fall.
“Err.” He widens his eyes and banishes the weapons from the other side's frozen hands, knowing that when he releases time it will be too late for their Sorcerers to bring them back. He turns back to Arthur with a sheepish grin.
“Idiot.” Arthur says, gritting his teeth as Merlin sends through another burst of magic. “That hurts.”
“It's helping you.” Merlin says, even though it's not, not really. But he isn’t going to think about it, because it is unthinkable, completely unthinkable, and it is going to stay that way forever. Until they are old men and Arthur's passed the crown over willingly because it is a job for a younger man and Merlin's decided that keeping one man out of constant danger is enough, and he retires as Court Sorcerer and secretly they both know they'll never stop trying to save everyone anyway, but officially they've had enough. “Prat.”
“No, it's not.” Arthur says, because even though they can hear each other's thoughts sometimes, Arthur calls him on all of his lies, always. “But it's going to be okay.” He continues, his breath a rattle in his chest, because Arthur's a hypocrite and Merlin hates him. “No you don't.”
Merlin rolls his eyes and the moment is so normal that he almost forgets, but of course, Arthur reminds him.
“They're going to need you, Merlin. Merlin.” He repeats when Merlin ignores him. “Camelot is going to need you.” Which usually means ‘I need you’, but Merlin realises with a sharp pain to his chest, does not mean that at all this time.
“It's going to be okay.” Arthur lies again and Merlin really wishes he would stop because hearing his voice get weaker is not helping him to believe it any more than Arthur's fading presence in his mind is. And then he feels the flutter from Arthur and realises this time the lie was not just for him.
“Yeah, sure. S'not like you're irreplaceable or anything.” He jokes, but he cannot force the smile, no matter how much he tries. Arthur's elbows go out from under him and Merlin catches him, pulling him in until he holds him against his chest, his top half across Merlin's lap.
“Exactly, there's always another King.” Arthur leans into him and Merlin watches his eyes, staring out across the still fields.
“Right, and Gwen's got Lance, so yeah, she'll be okay.” He doesn't say ‘I have no one’ because that won't help but it goes over and over in his mind while his arms tighten around Arthur. “And they've already lit candles in Camelot for you once so they probably won't do that again.” What am I going to do?
“Probably won't even notice I'm gone.” Arthur groans, and Merlin hears; You're going to keep going.
“Yeah.” No.
“Promise me, Merlin.” Arthur grabs hold of Merlin's free hand, his skin cold, and when did he remove his glove? “Promise me.”
“I promise.” He says and it is probably the hardest thing Merlin has ever done, to look into those blue eyes and mean the lie on enough levels that Arthur won't know the truth.
Arthur's fingers tremble as he reaches up to rest them against Merlin's cheek and Merlin leans into the touch, blinking tears over them. “Sorcerer.” He breathes, the way he said it that very first time.
Merlin chokes, leaning down and finally pressing his lips against Arthur's, feeling the tug on his magic as he pulls it back out of Arthur's body. “Knight.” He says, and then; “Prince.” Arthur smiles, his breath wheezing. “King.”
He doesn't notice the end of the war, the unfreezing and forced surrender, the shock on Arthur's men's faces as they realise that they've won the battle, the war, but lost their King. It is not until Sir Leon kneels beside him, pressing a gloved hand to Arthur's shoulder, his head bent over in respect, that Merlin even realises that time has started running again.
“My Lord.” Leon says to him, and oh, how Merlin shouted at Arthur for hours for enforcing that. His heart pangs and he feels it like a missing tooth; the gap where Arthur should be.
“Take them home.” He says to the Knight and wraps his arms and his magic tightly around Arthur's body. He waits only until he sees Leon's nod, before the field dissolves around him.
It takes a long time for Camelot and Albion to stop mourning their King. Longer than for King Uther. Longer than it would ever take a kingdom again. Certainly longer than Merlin stays.
He tries to keep his promises to Arthur, but it is too much and eventually he cannot take being there anymore, with so many reminders.
He leaves the way he arrived; a single bag and very few plans. He loses himself in the woods and never bothers to find his way back out. Arthur isn’t there to tease him for it.
Centuries later, he thinks, maybe, just maybe, that is why it happens the way it does; because fate has always shined a little brighter on Arthur than on Merlin, and really, is there anything Arthur has ever loved so much as making Merlin feel like an idiot?
One.
They lay on their backs, faces turned up to the clear sky.
Merlin closes one eye and squints the other, twisting his neck awkwardly. “Definitely a sheep.” He says eventually.
“It’s a stallion.” Arthur repeats again, sounding bored. “You’re going blind.”
Merlin reaches out and thumps him on the arm. Arthur captures his hand before he can pull it back to his body and their fingers interlace, resting against the cool grass.
Beside them, Arthur’s horse whinnies and splashes at the lake with his hoofs.
“Where will you go?” Arthur asks, causing Merlin to peer at him from the corner of his eye.
“I’m not going anywhere.” He replies, confusion creasing his forehead; he feels like he missed a large part of the conversation.
“Not now.” Arthur squeezes his hand. “But one day you’ll move on to do whatever it is you want to do and I’ll have to find a new manservant.”
“Arthur.” Merlin turns onto his side, propping himself up on an elbow. “This is what I want to do.”
Arthur snorts. “I doubt even you dreamt about washing my socks when you were a child, Merlin.”
Merlin tugs on their joined hands until, with a sigh, Arthur turns over to face him.
“Ah, but they aren’t just any socks, they’re Royal socks, Sire. Such an honor.” He grins, Arthur doesn’t. “Is this about my magic?”
Beside him, Arthur tenses and Merlin tightens his grip when Arthur tries to pull his hand away.
“Forget it.”
“Arthur.” Arthur ignores him, turning his face away. “I thought you were okay with it.” He says eventually and releases Arthur’s hand.
They turn onto their backs again, hands close but not touching.
“You’re a sorcerer, Merlin.” Arthur intones. It sounds like it should mean something more than just a single fact, but Merlin cannot guess what.
“And you’re a Pratt.”
A butterfly flits in front of Merlin’s eyes, he follows its flight, slowly sitting up and watching in surprise as it settles on the tip of Arthur’s nose. He laughs as Arthur goes cross-eyed trying to see it and the sound scares it back into the air.
“What’s this about?” He asks, looking down at Arthur.
Arthur sighs heavily, and reaches up to rub at his nose distractedly. Merlin wonders if the butterfly tickled when it left.
“You’re a sorcerer. A powerful sorcerer.” He holds up a hand when Merlin opens his mouth. “There are so many important things you could be doing.”
Merlin shuffles closer and lays a hand on Arthur’s arm, just above his elbow. His fingers curl into the soft fabric of Arthur’s tunic.
“This is important.” He says and then holds up his other hand when Arthur moves to interrupt. “No Arthur, this is important; what we do here, what we are. Those things are important. Not just to me but to everything. Can’t you feel it?”
“Sometimes.” Arthur looks at him and covers Merlin’s hand with his own. “And sometimes I think, maybe they’re wrong and this has nothing to do with me at all. What if there’s somewhere else you’re meant to be, and by staying here you’re ruining whatever plans have been made for you?”
Merlin wonders how long Arthur’s been thinking about this and then decides that the next time Arthur goes for a walk to ‘think’ Merlin is going to thoroughly distract him.
“This is where I’m meant to be.” He grimaces at the saccharin words and rolls his eyes when Arthur snorts. “You’re the Once And Future King.” He says, and like every time since he first told Arthur every thing the Dragon has ever said to him, Arthur wrinkles his nose in distaste.
Merlin pulls Arthur up until they’re sitting side-by-side, leaning against each other for support.
“I’m going to be here forever, you know.” Merlin says nonchalantly. “Over sharpening your sword, dropping your breakfast plates, and pretending the washmaids lost your favourite white tunic when they actually threw it away because I used it to mop up wine from your floor.” He bites his lip when Arthur groans beside him.
“Is that right?” Arthur asks, turning his head to look at Merlin. Merlin nods, his smile wide. Arthur groans again and looks back out across the lake. “There go my dreams of finally having a decent manservant.” He pauses and Merlin follows his gaze.
“There’s always the next life.” Merlin adds helpfully.
Arthur slumps into him.
“No.” He says. “I have a feeling I’ll never escape you, Merlin.”
“Must be destiny.”
Arthur nods and they watch as a fish jumps in and out of the water, its scales flashing gold. “Must be.”
End.