Archive of Our Own

“Arthur…”

He grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut against the tears that want to trail down his face. Gwen’s tone is so soft and understanding, dripping with hidden pity. Arthur knows what they all think, no matter how well they hide it - that he’s being too obsessive, unable to let go, no matter how hopeless the situation is. And how can he let it go? How can he let anything go, when it’s Merlin on the other side, the one person he spent his whole life dreaming about, even before the memories returned.

On his laptop, he’s going through birth records from the last 30 years, desperately hoping to catch a familiar name, something to give him a hint. It’s such a unique name, Arthur knows he’ll find it. It’s just a matter of time.

“He has to be out there, Gwen,” he murmurs, heart clenching in his chest. “Because…”

Because if he’s not, when why even bring Arthur back? It had been Arthur and Merlin, always. The two of them against the world, even if Arthur hadn’t realised back then, not fully. He knows better now. Not everything, not by a long shot, but Lance was very forthcoming with what he knew, limited as it was. They all laughed and cried, and Arthur still can’t sleep sometimes, thinking about Merlin alone, in a Camelot that wanted him dead.

“Maybe he's not supposed to be found yet,” she suggests.

Arthur scoffs. “We found everyone. Everyone found their way to us, one way or another, through the years, and you want me to believe that Merlin and Leon couldn’t? They were there the longest.”

And that’s what hurts so much. Arthur loves his knights, he loves his sister (after all the screaming, crying, and apologising), and he loves Gwen (even if it’s not the love of a husband towards his wife). He loves them all, but Merlin and Leon were the first ones by his side. As much as Leon pretended to stay out of everything, he had been the first one to truly understand Merlin and Arthur. 

His first friend. First Knight.

“Arthur, we found the village he had been born in last time,” Gwen reminds him, always so stubborn. She had made a wonderful Queen, for all she loved someone else. “We found Will, and he said he never met a Merlin. He never had a best friend like that.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, and flinches when she lays a hand on his shoulder.

“Oh, Arthur…”

Her arms are as gentle and loving as he remembers, and Arthur hides in them, because there’s nothing else to be done. He knows she’s right - she’s the one person to love Merlin as much as he does, though they’re all smitten with the man, and she’s one of his oldest friends. She misses him, that much Arthur can see. They all miss him, and Leon’s absence is like an open wound that never really closes.

There are times still when they’re all instinctively waiting for Leon to step in and stop them, his dry humour cutting through their antics. It hurts when nothing happens.

“You think we’ll never meet them?” Just saying the words leaves a hollow feeling in Arthur’s chest, hurt bleeding into his chest. He can’t exist without Merlin for much longer. “That they just… won’t get reborn?”

She bites her lip. “Merlin never returned to Camelot when you died,” Gwen says slowly, her voice melancholic as always when she speaks about Arthur’s death. “Leon left not long after, there’s been talk that he fell in a fight… I never really learned what happened to him, but Merlin… He was supposed to be the most powerful warlock to ever walk the earth, but I don’t think he had much incentive to keep living, after-”

“After I died,” Arthur finishes. 

He remembers dying, in little flashes - Merlin’s arms around him, those beautiful eyes bleeding gold, the anguish and grief in them. He wants to wrap his arms around the other man and say all the things he couldn’t back then. Arthur may not be the most emotionally healthy person, but he’s a well-adjusted man in the 21st century. He goes to therapy.

He could even shower Merlin with affection like he deserves.

“Maybe they were born before us, and are now old men happy with their families,” Gwen soothes even as her voice shakes. “Maybe they were reborn decades ago, and lived in times we only know from history books… Who knows how this even works?”

Arthur chuckles wetly, and they both pretend he’s not crying in her arms. 

“I miss them.”

“I know.” Silence reigns for a bit, both of them lost in their thoughts. “I do too. It feels…incomplete without them.”

It feels like half of his soul is missing, gone somewhere in the wind, and Arthur doesn’t know how long he can keep going for. His friends are amazing and he enjoys how much closer they are in the 21st century compared to their first lives, but it’s not the same without Leon’s reliable shadow and Merlin’s cheeky smile.

They all miss them, but he can see it in Lancelot and Gwaine the most.

“I knew, from the very moment I came to Camelot,” Lancelot admits one day when they’re all well into their cups at Arthur’s place. “I still don’t know how the hell you all missed it.”

Gwen snorts. “It was easier not to see it,” she muses. They spoke of Merlin’s magic before, discussing all the moments they suspected something, but Lance never spoke up before. It’s not as surprising as it should’ve been - Arthur always knew that the friendship between Merlin and Lancelot had been special. “We all knew there was something about him, but… Magic was illegal.”

“And now it’s gone,” Elyan chimes up helpfully. They all glare at him, and he raises his hands in playful self-defence. “What? All the magical creatures are gone, it’s been centuries now. Don’t you think that if magic still existed there would be some proof?”

“Well... Maybe they got good at hiding,” Gwaine says slowly. “Druids used to be able to hide even during the Purge, maybe they got better. The industrial revolution and everything.”

“I bet Merlin hated it, if he lived during it,” Arthur says with a chuckle. “He was always close to nature, the stout.”

“Well, he was Magic itself, I reckon he had a good reason to hate hunting,” Lance says. At their shock, he shrugs. “You didn’t know?”

“You see, Lance, I happened to be dying when Merlin told me, so I might’ve missed some details,” Arthur drawls. They all wince, looking at the floor in shame, and Arthur just snorts. “C’mon, 1500 years have passed, I’m over it. You should get over it too.”

Gwen leans against his shoulder. “Arthur… You died, but some of us remained,” she explains softly. “And if Merlin lived a long life after that, he probably felt responsible for your death. You died in his arms.”

The mood immediately plummets, and this time it’s Arthur who drops his gaze in shame. He had died, yes but it’s been a long time, and he got over his nightmares about it. Still, the idea of Merlin dying in his arms and Arthur having to live with it is…unbearable. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs. It’s yet another thing he does now, no longer bound by the imaginary pride of being a King - Arthur apologises (not as often as he should, but no one is perfect), and makes sure he doesn’t hurt his friends needlessly. “I forgot.”

Gwaine snorts, and the strange mood lifts slightly. “Well, whoever and wherever Leon and Merlin are, I hope they’re happy. They deserve it, magic or no magic.”

“Cheers to that!”

They drink, and the hole in Arthur’s chest closes a bit. He grows around his grief, and for a second, he doesn’t imagine a dark-haired young man laughing while leaning against his shoulder. For a second, everything is right.

In a small cafe in Florence, Merlin drops into a chair with an exasperated groan, already reaching for a glass of wine.

“It’s not even noon,” Leon notices dryly.

“Which is exactly why you ordered us a bottle,” Merlin snips back. “I had a meeting with my advisor.”

“Ah.” Leon pours more wine into the glass after Merlin empties it. “Did it come to blows again?”

“That was one time!”

“One time too many.”

“You’d think that living through the damned history would give me an edge, but no, instead it makes me want to fight every bloody historian in the world!” Merlin complains, headache building.

Leon gives him a sympathetic look, but his eyes are dancing with laughter, the bastard.

“I told you to keep away from academics this time around,” his best friend points out. 

Merlin groans. “I told you I felt…weird. Needed to do something that wasn’t violent.”

After World War II, they somehow stuck to the more…intense professions. They both fought in the war, bled and died, and afterwards, they stayed in the military for a bit, before switching to the FBI in the golden age of criminal profiling. Centuries have passed, and Merlin still wants to do good - he wants to change the world in a way he hadn’t managed before, and there’s a part of him that never recovered from the shadows of his last years in Camelot. The shadows that only grew with time, years spent alive, only kept away through Leon’s determination and the beauty of living.

Merlin, as much as everyone tried to make him forget, is the Magic itself - he might hate it sometimes, but he loves the world, he loves living. He also loves learning, no matter how pissed he may get at historians.

“You’d think I wouldn’t need all of this to look at dead bodies for a living,” he grumbles eventually.

“I think you like it,” Leon says slowly, with a smirk. “Keeps you busy.”

Well, he can’t exactly counter that one. Ever since they left the FBI some 30 years ago, Merlin felt weird, something buzzing under his skin. It had happened a few times before, but never so intense, and some part of him kept hoping, but the realistic side of him kept him tethered to the ground.

Avalon was gone, the lake disappearing over the years, Camelot long having turned to rubble. Centuries have passed, revolutions turning the world upside down, wars threatening to tear everything apart, and Arthur never returned. Magic remained, his constant companion next to Leon, so it can’t even be that - his King is just forever lost.

Merlin knows better than to hope now. He doesn’t allow it to tear him apart like it used to.

“I was thinking-”

“Dangerous.”

Merlin downs the rest of his wine and gives his friend the finger. “We need to let loose,” he says firmly. “Marie told me about this cool club, and it’s haunted, apparently! Want to check it out?”

“Are we going out to drink or to hunt ghosts?” Leon asks, an amused tilt to his lips as he finishes his wine too.

“Why not both?” Merlin suggests. “Could be fun.”

“It’s always fun with you, Merlin.”

They laugh as they walk away from the cafe, uncaring that it’s not even 2 pm. Immortality gives a person some privileges, like day drinking and staring death in the face. After over 1500 years of this, Merlin thinks they have it down.

“Princess! C’mon, Arthur, wake up!”

Someone is shaking him, blabbering the whole time, and Arthur groans, trying to curl up under the sheets for some more sleep. He’s been up until 3 am working on the latest project, and when he finally raises his head to glare at the clock, it’s showing 6 am. 3 hours of sleep.

Surprisingly, the person shaking him is Gwaine of all people, the same Gwaine who never gets up before noon and works as a bartender in the best queer bar in their part of London. Fuck him.

“What the fuck do you want?” he growls, feeling like he’s about to strangle the man. “It’s 6 am.”

“Look.” A phone is thrust right into his face, until Arthur wrestles control of it from Gwaine and looks at the screen with bleary eyes. It’s playing a video from some club’s Instagram page. He frowns, rage peeking out from under sleepiness threatening to take him back under. 

“Gwaine, if you woke me up to look at some fit bloke in a club-”

“Arthur.” The man’s tone immediately shuts him up and he looks up at Gwaine, finally noticing the quiet desperation on his face, hope hiding in his eyes. “Watch carefully.”

He swallows and goes back to the start, trying to focus on the blurry footage. It’s from a club, so the lighting is dim, colored red and purple. In the sea of people, someone catches his eye, and everything stops for a second. It’s just a glimpse, a flash really, but Arthur replays it and pauses at the right second, the image frozen on the screen. They stare at it, as his heartbeat picks up, until it feels like he’s about to have a heart attack, until his hands are trembling so badly the phone falls to the bed.

“Gwaine…” Arthur can’t believe how weak he sounds, how much his voice shakes, and maybe before, he’d baulk at being so openly emotional, but now he meets Gwaine’s disbelieving eyes, and cries. “It’s him.”

“I know,” Gwaine says breathlessly. “I’d recognise those eyes everywhere.”

Arthur picks up the phone again and looks at the image on the screen, drinking in the sight of sharp cheekbones and pale skin almost glowing under the purple lights. It should be impossible to see his eyes so clearly, but the blue is so intense it immediately draws Arthur’s gaze. He knows those eyes. He died looking into those eyes, watching gold bleed out of the familiar blue.

He loved those eyes.

“Merlin…”

It should be impossible to recognise someone from such shitty footage, but that face is burned right into Arthur’s soul. It’s the one he dreams of every night, and seeing it now, in the 21st century, in a club, is shaking him to his core.

“It’s him?”

“Looks like him,” Gwaine confirms. “It’s- I didn’t do any digging yet, but it’s from this famous club in Florence. I’ve been, uh, I’ve been watching it because it’s supposedly haunted or something, and then just… Keep watching.”

Arthur almost doesn’t want to stop looking at the blessed image of Merlin, but as soon as he hits play again, he knows why Gwaine told him to.

“Leon,” he says breathlessly, tears finally spilling from his eyes, a smile stretching on his lips.

His First Knight is unmistakable, with ginger curls almost bright red under the lights, a familiar smirk on his face. Arthur drinks in the sight, watching Leon lean close to Merlin, whisper something into his ear. He aches, deep inside, and Gwaine collapses onto the bed next to him, as Leon and Merlin melt back into the crowd and disappear from view. Arthur makes a small wounded sound, immediately rewinding the video to the beginning.

He has no idea how much time they spend watching the short video over and over again, and when the spell finally breaks, Arthur realises his face is covered in tears and he’s leaning against Gwaine’s shoulder. The other man has been a good knight, but Merlin’s best friend in the other life. Now, he’s Arthur’s closest confidant, the one who understands that deep yearning for Merlin, even if the nature of their feelings isn’t the same. Somehow, Lancelot bears the pain with more grace - though he had Merlin in the way none of them had, maybe that helps. Maybe he’s just a different kind of person, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that Gwaine is solid and strong next to him, always there when Arthur truly needs him.

“Shit, Gwaine,” he whispers, voice ruined. His friend laughs brokenly, through his own tears. “I don’t- They’re alive.”

“Yeah.”

Silence falls for a bit longer, but then they’re both laughing, falling back on Arthur’s bed. Joy and disbelief spill from his chest, happiness making his toes curl. After years of uncertainty and yearning, and he finally found them. He finally got to see Merlin and Leon in the 21st century. It doesn’t matter that it’s through the screen - the world is so much smaller now, they can easily reach them. They know where to look and it’s more than any of them could’ve ever hoped for.

Arthur turns to lie on his side and meets Gwaine’s wild eyes, both of them laughing through the tears. It’s the best, most intense feeling he’s gotten since his memories returned, and it’s so very fitting - of course, it’s up to Merlin to invoke them.

“We have to tell everyone,” Arthur says, heart galloping with emotions. “They- They’re out there.”

Gwaine’s nodding, laughing all the while, and it’s like they can breathe freely for the first time.

“We have to tell the others,” he says. “Lance’s gonna piss himself with happiness.”

Arthur laughs. “This will be the thing that breaks him, I know it. And we need to find them, what’s the username?”

His hands are still shaking when he feels for his phone, immediately typing in the club’s name on Instagram, trying to find some clues. He feels manic, as if flying through the motions, but the enthusiasm dims when he scrolls down to the very start of the club’s page and doesn’t find a hint of Merlin or Leon anywhere. Still, they have a starting point - Florence is much smaller than the whole world, and they know their friends are alive. That’s all that matters.

“You’d think immortality would get rid of the hangover,” Leon groans when the afternoon sun wakes both of them, tangled together in Merlin’s huge bed. He somewhat remembers stumbling inside at early hours of the morning after a successful ghost hunt and an even more successful fun night out. “But we’re here to suffer.”

Merlin moans lowly, hiding his face in the pillow, trying to escape the painful rays, reaching out with one hand and waiting for two vials to fly into his palm. “Here.” He throws one in Leon’s direction, and downs the other one in one go. It’s tart and intense - centuries alive made him the best potion master out there, and so his potions taste good now. The future is amazing. “Shit, it’s been a while since we drank that much.”

His friend hums, sounding a bit more awake. His hair is a mess, and his lips are smeared with dark purple lipstick. As if through the fog, Merlin can remember Leon making out with someone when they got rid of the ghost, but he knows it didn’t go any further - they went to another bar soon after.

“I’m pretty sure I saw someone film us, though,” Merlin says slowly. “Not great.”

Leon winces. “How’s that new magic coming around?”

“Eh.” Merlin shrugs. “The internet is a fickle place, and my magic isn’t exactly made for fine detail.”

“You’ve had ample time to learn,” his friend notices. “It’s not an issue now, but in a few decades… We’ll need to find a solution.”

“I know.” He falls back against the bed, wincing at the sweaty, sticky feeling of his clothes. Merlin desperately needs a shower. “I think Arianne was coming up with something promising, I’ll check in with her tomorrow.”

Magic isn’t what it used to be, but as Uther proved, it’s impossible to get rid of it, at least as long as Merlin lives. It went underground, the creatures evolving to hide amongst normal animals, the magic users adjusting to how the world changed. There’s a whole magical world out there, if one knows where to look, and Merlin learned to enjoy teaching. Young people are so full of ideas, and it’s especially useful in the new age of technology, one that just doesn’t sing to Merlin’s soul. He’s a being made of Magic and nature, lightning in a bottle. The internet isn’t of his world, but he needs to be able to manipulate it if they wish to continue living in relative peace.

“Shower first, then we eat something. There’s leftover pasta in the fridge,” Leon says. “Go.”

Merlin gives him the finger but does as instructed and they meet in the kitchen, feeling slightly more human, both still damp from their respective showers. They eat while standing, pasta still as good as it was the day before, and as much as Merlin yearns for what used to be, he loves the world he lives in.

“Remember what the ghost said?” Leon asks, always the brave one, walking straight into conversations Merlin doesn’t want to have. He was doing so good suppressing that particular memory. “Merlin.”

He sighs. “Of course I remember,” Merlin mutters, rubbing his eyes. “She was right.”

The words hang heavily between them for a second, before Leon groans. 

“And you never thought to tell me?” It’s not an accusation, but it stings nonetheless.

“It’s far from the first time, Leon.” Merlin’s suddenly so tired, so exhausted of the constant cycle of hoping and disappointment. He knows better now, and he’s not about to get himself go based on some random ghost’s words. “A few times before, over the years… But they never returned, and nothing ever changed. Nothing will ever change.”

“Merlin…” He sags against the man’s chest when Leon wraps his arms around him, and they stand in silence for a while. The former knight is so much stronger than him, still so full of hope, still believing the cursed prophecy that led to the tragedy. The prophecy that almost made Merlin go insane. “If others also feel it, maybe there’s some merit this time? How about we ask around a bit tomorrow, while you meet with Arianne?”

He just nods into Leon’s shoulder, too tired to fight. Maybe the other man is right - maybe this time there’s something more to Merlin’s stupid feelings, maybe the endless waiting is over. He’s too afraid to hope, but too old to give into the darkness trying to pull him under. When Merlin straightens, he feels a bit better, and when Leon smiles, everything is less daunting. Merlin will never stop feeling endlessly thankful for having an immortal friend, for Leon’s steady support, his drive to live. Maybe things will change.

When they walk into Arianne’s shop the next day, Merlin immediately knows that others also feel it. The feeling settles into his bones, his magic lashing out like a startled cat, and Leon presses their shoulders together, their gazes meeting.

Merlin nods, and a brilliant smile spreads on Leon’s face, like sunlight coming from between the clouds. 

“What happened?” is what Arianne says the second she sees him.

Merlin smiles at her, doing his best to calm her down. “I don’t know yet, but I don’t think it’s bad. You feel it too?”

“There’s something in the air… Farhad’s been having migraines those last few days, and you know how he’s with those vague feelings. It’s not great.”

He winces. “Talk to Greta, she should have something to help him with that… I’ll contact a friend of mine, maybe he needs more training. It’ll take a while, though.”

Arianne smiles. “I’m sure he’ll be grateful either way. I’m just glad it’s not another global disaster.” They all wince at the reminder of Covid and how that felt. “So, what brings you here? Just that vague feeling?”

“Actually…” Merlin drawls, leaning against the counter and doing his best to look innocent. Leon snorts. “How’s your research into magically removing something from the internet?”

She raises an eyebrow. “You…got filmed?” She’s doing a valiant job at trying to suppress laughter, but her lips are twitching. “After everything, you got filmed? Where?”

“In a club,” Merlin mumbles. “I think they’re going to post it too, and that’s-”

“Not great,” Arianne finishes. “Alright, lemme have a look.”

They follow her into the back room, and when she explains the new idea, Leon and Merlin exchange a smile. Before long, their faces are gone from the video, changed into nonexistent people that Arianne takes from her favourite cartoons. Magic is truly an amazing thing, and Merlin will never get over the passion and ingenuity of young people - it’s what made him fall back in love with magic, what made him feel more accepted than anything before.

With that taken care of, they’re free to go back to normal life, and if Merlin now sometimes looks over his shoulder, seeking out a flash of blonde hair and familiar eyes? That’s between him and Leon only.

Arthur stares at Gwaine in growing horror, their friends’s pitying gazes almost a physical weight on their shoulders.

“You didn’t save it?” he hisses, heart pounding as everything unravels in front of them. 

“You didn’t either! Why didn’t-” Gwaine throws back, before pressing his fists to his eyes and groaning. “Guys… I swear it was them, we both saw it. It’s different somehow now, I swear. It was them.”

It’s Gwen who speaks up, and Arthur hates how careful and hesitant her tone is. It’s as if she’s afraid for them, and that’s just wrong. They’re sharing the best news any of them has gotten since they all found each other, and their friends are looking at them like they’re crazy.

“Arthur, Gwaine… I’m sure they look familiar, but it’s not them,” she says carefully. “Maybe, I- Maybe because you both died you don’t remember them quite that well, but-”

“Gwen.” She falls silent when Arthur instinctively slips into the kingy tone he hasn’t used since he died. “It was them. We both agree on that. It was Merlin and Leon.”

“Stop,” Lance whispers suddenly, and all eyes snap to him, startled at the anguish on his face. “Arthur, I know you mean well, but it’s- It’s not them. I see Merlin’s face every time I close my eyes, don’t you think I’d be able to recognise him? It’s not them.”

Arthur exchanges a helpless glance with Gwaine. He knows they both agree - they saw Merlin and Leon, he’s sure of that. He has no idea how that’s changed, how the men in the video are strangers now, but he knows they’re not crazy. 

“I’m going to find them,” he says slowly, coming to a realisation. “I know where they live. I’ll find them and prove you all wrong, because we saw them, and you’re all- I know what I saw.”

“Arthur, I want to believe you,” Percival says, because he’s the most reasonable one in the end. “But it doesn’t look like them.”

“Not now, but it used to be them!” Gwaine snaps. “And I don’t know, maybe it’s magic, but it’s different now. You think we’d lie to you like that?”

Gwen softens. “We don’t think you’re lying to us,” she soothes. “But maybe you saw wrong, and just…convinced yourselves it was them. You were both hungover and tired, weren’t you?”

Arthur stares at them, at the pain and pity in their eyes, and storms out of Elyan’s flat, hearing Gwaine follow him. His heart aches and his hands are trembling as he makes his way down the stairs, cold London air hitting him once he’s outside. On one side, he can understand why their friends are doubtful, but it’s- 

They’re wrong. He knows they’re wrong, and maybe it was magic that changed the video, but it doesn’t matter. Arthur’s going to find them anyway.

“Whatever you’re planning, I’m going with you,” Gwaine calls after him. When Arthur turns to look, his friend’s face is set with determination, eyes full of familiar pain. “How hard can it be to find two blokes in Florence?”

Something softens in his chest and he smiles at the other man. “Guess we both need some time off work,” he says with a small smile, hope returning. At least one person believes. “And buy two tickets to Italy.”

“Honestly, I can’t wait.”

It’s easy to take two weeks off - Arthur has PTO saved, he doesn’t really go on vacation much, and last-minute tickets are cheap, all things considered. They pack in a rush, and leave for the airport with a quick message to the group chat, before muting it. Arthur doesn’t need to see their friends’ texts to know they think they’re crazy

When the plane takes off, Arthur’s heart calms down. Gwaine is already snoring in the seat next to him, and for the first time in a long time, he feels a tug on his navel, pulling him forward, towards Merlin. Towards Leon too, though he’s under no impression which of them sits so intertwined in his soul. He has no idea how they’ll find two random men in a city as huge and filled with tourists as Florence, but neither Arthur nor Gwaine are good at giving up.

Even the air in Italy is lighter, something humming in it - like the whole world is waiting for them to find their friends, to finally end this hopeless yearning. The Round Table isn’t full, and who else to bring their missing friends back but Strength and Courage? 

It’s by pure luck that they manage to find a decent motel that doesn’t rob them of all their money. The room is simple but it’s more than they need, as they immediately set off to look for Merlin and Leon. The beginning, at least, is simple.

“The bar is new, but already pretty popular,” Gwaine explains as they make their way there. “It’ll be opening soon, and we can ask around. People in bars always speak English anyway, a huge part of their clients are tourists, and you’re lucky because I know how to speak in bars.”

“You know how to do much more than speak in bars,” Arthur replies dryly. “I just hope someone remembers them or something.”

“It’s not like Merlin is a forgettable person,” the other man says. “It’s the cheekbones and the eyes.”

“And the ears.” As much as Arthur used to make fun of Merlin’s ears, he was always fond of them, especially as the man grew into them. “Can't forget those.”

“You certainly didn’t,” Gwaine chimes in. Arthur feels himself blush. “Not many did.”

He snorts through the embarrassment. “There’s no way you weren’t a little bit in love with him, back then.”

When Arthur glances at Gwaine, the other man has a far-away look on his face, something a lot like disappointment and a little bit like heartbreak in his eyes. Suddenly, he regrets speaking up, but Gwaine shakes his head with a small laugh eventually.

“Weren’t we all? Merlin has always been special, though none of us could hold a candle to what you felt for him, even back then.” Gwaine doesn’t usually speak so openly; having Merlin so close must be affecting him as much as it affects Arthur.

“Did you know? Back then?” He’s a bit curious - Arthur hasn’t been the most emotionally capable person in his last life, but he had known, even back then. His love for Merlin had been, and still is a special, vital part of him. Two sides of the same coin, Lancelot told them one evening.

Soulmates, if Arthur’s one to believe in such things. He is.

“Eh. I knew, but I’ve always been lax with those things. I think everyone else looked away after you married Gwen.”

Arthur hums. “I loved her.”

“As a friend and a Queen,” Gwaine finishes easily. “But not the way you loved Merlin.”

He can’t help but laugh. “I don’t think there’s a way for me to love anyone the way I love Merlin.” It’s freeing to admit it now, in the 21st century where he’s free to love and do as he wants, no kingdom on his shoulders. It’s freeing and joyful, knowing he loves the other man so much - and even if Merlin doesn’t remember, Arthur knows he’ll be happy as long as he has him by his side. “Do you think Leon knew?”

Gwaine’s laugh startles hum. “Oh, Princess, Leon was convinced you two were courting before you started pursuing Gwen.”

“What?!” It’s the first time Arthur hears about this.

“Yeah, of course. Something about poetry?”

Immediately, things click into place and he groans, picking up the pace to escape Gwaine’s obnoxious snickering. 

“Shut up,” Arthur mutters.

“Oh, I hope they remember, if only to have that one conversation.”

They both shy away from discussing what happens if Merlin and Leon don’t remember. It’s the only thing that makes sense, in a way - they’re both nothing if not loyal, and Arthur can’t imagine a world where they both remember and never looked for them, never reached out. It’s too painful to think about now, however, and he wants to take it one step at a time.

To worry about their memories, they first have to find them. The club from where the video came is the only starting point they have, and Arthur’s hopeful, for the first time in a long while. They’re getting closer, he can feel it.

The bar is plain-looking from the outside, but they get let in anyway, even though it’s a few hours from when it really opens. Workers are milling around, probably cleaning up after the previous day, and Gwaine immediately strikes up a conversation with a woman behind a long bar, putting glasses in order. Arthur just hangs back and looks around, as if he’ll be able to tell that Merlin was here based purely on magic. Not that he has any.

“Yes, I think I remember someone like that.” The words pull Arthur out of his musings and he’s by the bar in a flash, leaning closer to the woman. Gwaine’s not doing any better, and she can clearly tell it’s important, because she smiles at them hesitantly. “The dark one was nice, though we made fun of him for being so pale… He seemed to glow, and it brought attention.”

She speaks with an Italian accent, but her English is impeccable. 

“He had a friend, about the same height, curly hair. I noticed because I’m trying to get mine to look like that too,” she gestures towards her hair, curling slightly at the ends. Gwaine makes a show out of checking her out, throwing in a wink for good measure, and she just laughs. 

“Did you catch any names?” Arthur can’t help but ask, anticipation making his palms sweat. This is it.

She hums with a faraway look in his eyes. “You know… I normally don’t remember, but this was so strange it caught my attention. M-something, like… Oh! Merlin!” They both yerk in place at the sound of their friend’s name falling from someone else’s lips, and Arthue’s knees grow so weak he has to sit down on a stool, suddenly lightheaded. “Are you okay?”

He’s too overwhelmed to reply, everything in his head spinning, so Gwaine takes over once again. He’s always been a charmer.

“Yeah,” he says, and his voice is hoarse too - he can’t even pretend to be unaffected. “Merlin’s… He’s a good friend we lost contact with years ago. He and the guy he was with. We’re trying to find them.”

“Oh… And this search brought you all the way to Florence? Must be some friendship.”

Arthur barks out a laugh. “You have no idea.” He’s giddy and breathless with the realisation that they were right. Leon and Merlin were here, just a few days ago, they’re real. They’re alive. “It’s… I know you don’t know them well, but do you… Is there a way we can find them?” 

He’s not counting on much, ecstatic to have what they have, but unexpectedly, she lights up.

“Not me, but… Enzo!” She yells something in Italian, and a man comes from a side door, frowning.

“Marie? Yes, I know- She was talking of ghost stories, Leo, why do you want her?” His accent is more pronounced, but at least he’s speaking English, if only for their benefit. Arthur is endlessly grateful.

The woman, Leo, rolls her eyes. “She knows two guys they’re looking for. Their friends. She can get in contact with them, no?”

Enzo nods. “But she’s…weird. No phone, no email. I need to tell her you want to meet, and she will, in a few days. Busy.”

Arthur’s heart is pounding when he exchanges a look with Gwaine. He doesn’t care if Marie is the strangest woman in the whole wide world as long as she knows where to find Leon and Merlin. He’ll do anything to finally see them, finally meet them.

“Can you?” Gwaine asks breathlessly, a manic smile on his face. “We’ll wait, but please… We’ve been waiting so long.”

The man looks a bit suspicious, but Leo mutters something to him in Italian and his face clears. “There’s a garden with a dragon sculpture, she’ll meet you there. I don’t know when yet. I can text you?”

They eagerly exchange numbers and exit the bar on shaky legs. As soon as they’re outside, Arthur slumps into a bench, hiding his face in his hands. His heart is hammering and tears sting at his eyes, but he refuses to cry. Gwaine’s warm hand squeezes his shoulder. Arthur looks up.

“They’re here,” he whispers in disbelief. “We’re going to meet them.”

Suddenly, nothing else matters. Meeting a strange woman by a dragon sculpture (the irony isn’t lost on Arthur) is a small price to pay for being one step closer to his First Knight and the man who owns his heart. It’s all worth it.

“I can’t fucking wait until we tell everyone,” Gwaine grits out with a wide smile. “Let’s keep it to ourselves for a bit, though, shall we? Bastards deserve it.”

It’s unfair, in a way, but Arthur refuses to feel guilty. They have no proof yet, nothing they can show their friends and prove that they’re right, and he’s not in the mood for being questioned again. They can tell everyone when Merlin and Leon are finally standing in front of them.

Merlin shifts his shoulders for the 7th time in the last 10 minutes, and he can tell the moment Leon’s patience snaps. He meets the other man’s eyes with a sheepish smile, and shrugs.

“I know I’m being annoying, sorry.”

“It’s only annoying because you won’t tell me what’s bothering you,” Leon explains, an exasperated look in his eyes.

“That’s just it - I don’t know!” Merlin explodes into movement and his magic shoots out from him as he starts pacing. Blue butterflies rush over to their plant collection, and a little fire dragon perches on Leon’s shoulder as he tries to find his equilibrium back. “It’s- Like a fucking itch, like I’m sick, but not sick? Like someone is watching us, but I know they’re not because we’re both too paranoid for that.” He tugs at his hair and finally slumps against a window, Florence sprawling in front of them. “It’s driving me insane, Leon.”

He hears the other man rise from the couch and come stand next to him, but not close enough to touch. Leon knows him better than that, he knows when Merlin needs space, when everything becomes too much.

“Has it happened before?”

“Not to this extent,” Merlin admits after some thought. “Sometimes Magic feels weird, whenever a prophecy comes to pass or something important changes, but that’s just… That’s how the world works, you know? This is not normal. It’s been getting worse.”

“You’ve felt like this for years now, haven’t you?” Even disappointed, Leon doesn’t sound harsh.

Merlin shrugs. “I can’t tell you every time I have a weird feeling, we wouldn’t talk about anything else otherwise,” he mutters but eventually gives up. “But yes, maybe I’ve been feeling something for a few decades now, and it’s not going away. It’s getting worse.”

“Merlin.” He stills at Leon’s suddenly serious tone. When their eyes meet, Merlin knows what his friend is about to say before he even opens his mouth. “Did you stop to consider that maybe it means that they came back? Has it ever been so long before?”

“Maybe once,” Merlin admits in a heavy voice. “It stopped around roughly three decades or so.”

“And you never told me?”

He sighs deeply. “It’s when I was travelling around Sibir and you were in Australia. I didn’t get a chance to tell you and when we met, the feeling was gone.”

“Did you think it meant they came back?”

Merlin is silent for a long while. As much as he loves life and thrives in the world they built for themselves, a part of him died with Arthur, with Camelot. It’s a part of himself he’ll never have back, immortality be damned. There’s darkness inside of him, one that Leon will never truly know, and it’s at times like these that it rears its ugly head. Merlin loves living, but sometimes he wishes he’d died with Arthur.

“I considered it,” he says carefully. “But I had no true way of knowing and when I arrived at Avalon, Freya didn’t tell me anything. I don’t know if it’s because she refused to, or simply because there was nothing to tell.”

Silence falls for a long while and they breathe together, two immortals in the beautiful city that breathes the history they lived. Merlin sometimes hates it, but otherwise, his Magic sings under his skin, in a way it never has done in Camelot. He hates it sometimes too.

“I miss them,” Leon whispers eventually. Merlin leans against his side, enjoying the touch. “Even Gwaine.”

He snorts out a laugh. “You loved him, annoying bastard that he was,” Merlin insists. “Just like you loved the rest of them.”

“I did. I still do.” Merlin rests his head against Leon’s shoulder and for a second, the itch under his skin settles down. “I really believe they’re out there, Merlin.”

Merlin takes a deep breath and tries to work through the automatic denial that’s forming on his lips. This is the one point of contention between them - while Leon hopes and believes they’ll all return, Merlin has made bitter peace with the fact he’ll never see Arthur again. It hurt too much to hope. To hope, he needed the part of himself that had died while Arthur was still alive. He doesn’t know how to resurrect the dead.

“I hope you’re right,” is what he ends up saying, heart heavy with all the possibilities. “I hope they’re out there, but… Whenever I look for Arthur, my magic comes back empty handed.”

“Maybe you’re not meant to find him with magic.” Leon shrugs. “The internet exists, and we even know where we could start.”

Merlin raises an eyebrow. “London? Really?”

“Well, it’s where the monarchy lives, isn’t it?”

When they laugh, the weight isn’t so terrible to bear anymore. Merlin isn’t alone, and with Leon by his side, he feels like they can do it. Maybe not right now, with both of them so melancholic but soon. The world is vast, but Merlin, for the first time in a long time, believes they can find them if they’re alive.

Arthur groans when he finally falls onto the bed. The mattress is hard but it smells clean, and his body aches the way it had after a good training session with the knights. Next to him, Gwaine burrows into the sheets only in his underwear, a giddy air around him.

“We’re so close,” the other man mutters, a smile audible in his voice. “I checked the route, just a few buses and we’re there. He’s going to be there.”

He smiles at the thought, heartbeat picking up. Marie was certainly a strange woman, but a helpful one. It felt as if she looked into their souls and immediately agreed to help them, her eyes kind. They’re not sure about Leon, but Merlin attends the University of Florence, doing a PhD in history, and he always comes to the building on Thursdays, staying for a few hours. All they have to do is catch him there, and everything will be okay.

Arthur still has no idea what he's going to say to the other man, endless possibilities spinning in his head, but seeing him will be enough, he knows. Everything else can be worked out, as long as Merlin stands in front of him. He’s never felt like this before, at least not in this life - like the magic of the world that he can’t feel is itching underneath his skin, calling out for his other half, for the man who’s always owned his heart.

“Do you think he remembers?” he finds himself asking.

“Nah,” Gwaine replies immediately. “But one look at you and he will.”

“Think so?”

“I know so,” Gwaine says. “That man was always devoted to you, more than anyone else. Even if he doesn’t have magic now, he’s going to recognise you.”

Arthur hides his smile in a pillow. “I never knew you to be such a romantic, Ser Gwaine.”

The other man curses at him, and they both chuckle. Sleep doesn’t come easily but once it does, all Arthur dreams about are blue eyes bleeding gold, the warmth of the safest arms in the world around him.

Sun is shining the next morning as they get ready, and Arthur can’t stop his hands from shaking. Even Gwaine is nervous, his moves jerky and his eyes wild but they find their place on the bus and eventually step into the university, the historical buildings looming above them. Arthur feels like he’s about to jump out of his own skin, but they go on anyway, into the history department. They exchange slightly insane grins as they climb the staircase, and then they’re there.

People are milling around, students and professors filling the hallway as they walk into the crowd. They know the room number but it’s hard to get to, and before he knows it, he’s pushed against a wall by a group of students talking loudly in Italian. He curses, trying to force his way through and just there, between one heartbeat and the next, is a pair of blue eyes.

Their gazes meet briefly, for a mere second, but the world stops.

He can hear his every heartbeat, every breath, everything slowing down as the King of Camelot finally locks eyes with his warlock. Everything else falls away and they’re just Arthur and Merlin, Merlin and Arthur, connected through centuries, through lives lived and forgotten, through the prophecy they never fulfilled.

Arthur starts smiling, breathless and filled to the brim with joy, already grabbing Gwaine’s arm to tug him forward.

“Merlin!” The name tears from his throat as soon as Arthur is capable of speaking, and he trips over his own legs trying to rush towards him, only…  There’s a bright flash and something tugs at his gut, painful and incessant, contorting his whole body as if going through a narrow tube. He thinks he screams, but it’s lost to the sudden vortex of what feels a little bit like magic and a lot like fate, like something larger.

He lands on the ground with a thump, all air forced out of his lungs, and barely has time to roll away before Gwaine is sprawled in a heap next to him, trying to catch his breath. They’re panting, everything spinning, and when it stops, Arthur needs a second to get his bearings.

“What the fuck?” Gwaine asks, and Arthur echoes it wordlessly. 

When Merlin opens his eyes, he immediately knows something’s wrong.

His magic is screaming at him, the fabric of the universe itself rebelling against his presence, and it takes all of Merlin’s self-control not to lash out to correct the imbalance. He has been brought to this Earth to fill the void in Magic the Purge caused, so he’s very sensitive to any distortions of the natural order. And now he’s that distortion.

Slowly, Merlin opens his eyes only to squint immediately, blinded by the sunlight warming his face. He groans and raises on one elbow, trying to orient himself. Thankfully, Leon is lying next to him, seemingly unconscious but unharmed, and they’re in the middle of a clearing in the woods. Around them, in a neat circle, forget-me-nots grow. His magic was active.

“Now, what’s the issue?” he mutters to himself, before sinking deep into his magic.

Merlin knows the world he lives in like an echo of himself, his magic soaked into every fibre of its being. That’s exactly why he can immediately tell that they’re not in that world. It’s not only that they’re not in Florence, or in the 21st century, but that they’re not in the correct universe. He can feel another heartbeat next to his, a shadow that’s probably his own person.

Another Merlin. Another universe, another Merlin, one with magic. It’s strange - he never considered what it’d feel like for another version of himself to exist, but now that it’s happening, he can tell that it’s wrong. This world doesn’t take kindly to another vessel of Magic itself existing in it, and Merlin is the one paying the price. It hurts, like tiny needles under his skin, like a constant itch made worse than what he felt in their world.

“Leon? You with me?” he calls at the other man, gently nudging him with his foot. “Ser Leon!”

As if on command, Leon yerks upright with a groan, looking around wildly. Once his eyes settle on Merlin, he curses and finally sits up, rotating his shoulder.

“Merlin? What happened?”

It’s only then that Merlin remembers the moment before everything went bright and they got sucked into an invisible whirlpool, and his breathing catches in his chest. He only had a second, but that second was more than enough.

It’s been centuries since he last saw Arthur, but he knows, deep inside, that the man looking back at him from the corridor was Arthur. It’s as if their very souls connected once their gazes meet, the other’s lighter blue almost shining. Merlin’s head spins and he closes his eyes, trying to make sense of everything.

“Arthur was there,” he says slowly, each word tasting strange on his tongue. “In the university building.”

Leon yerks in shock and Merlin can feel the weight of his eyes on him. “What?”

“Yeah,” he breathes. “I swear it was Arthur… We locked eyes for a second and then suddenly I’m waking up here.”

“Okay…” Leon falls silent for a while. “And where is ‘here’?”

Merlin winces. “You know… It’s not only a question of ‘where’ but also ‘when’?”

“We time travelled?” Shock is audible in Leon’s voice.

He turns to look at the other man, and the world pulses in agreement. “Yep,” Merlin says with a smile. “Not only that. I think we’re in another universe.”

Leon stares at him for a long while, before exhaling loudly and shaking his head. “Only you, Merlin, only you,” he says fondly. “Life by your side is certainly full of surprises.”

“You knew that back in Camelot,” Merlin points out cheekily. “And you can’t say you’re bored! We’re now in another time and universe, and we need to get back home because Arthur’s there.”

His whole body is vibrating with that knowledge. His King may not remember, he might’ve been born again instead of returning to Lake Avalon (and Merlin knows that, because his connection to the lake would let him know), but it doesn’t matter. What matters is that Arthur was right there and Merlin will do anything and everything to make sure he comes back to him.

“So what’s the plan?”

“For now? Let's get walking.”

They get up and choose a direction based on Merlin’s ‘weird feeling’. He’s good about following them now and Leon always trusts them. He’s not sure what time period they’re in, or what’s the universe exactly, but he can adjust their clothing as soon as they see what’s the fashion here. No need to stick out more than they need to. They check and confirm that their phones aren’t working - there’s no signal. It doesn’t necessarily confirm they’re in the past, but that’s what Merlin is leaning towards. It doesn’t feel like the future.

They both perk up at the same time when faint sounds of human activity reach them. In front of them, a road is peeking out from between the trees, made from dirt. They hide behind a tree and observe a small party come closer, walking loudly, in that familiar way - they’re wearing armour and walking their horses. 

When Merlin hears the knights’ voices, however, everything pauses for a second. Next to him, Leon makes a small sound and jerks forward, but he catches him at the last second, preventing the man from stumbling out onto the road. The movement, however, is enough to catch someone’s attention, and the party comes closer, shouting at them. It takes Merlin a second to switch his brain to the correct language, immediately noticing they’re speaking the language of his childhood.

He’s pretty sure this is Camelot.

He only has a few moments to change their clothes to fit the times (or so he thinks, he’s not sure if there are big differences between their past and this world), and then pushes Leon firmly behind the tree, taking a few steps towards the knights. Merlin meets Gwaine’s eyes, and waves awkwardly.

“Hi?”

The sound of swords being unsheathed makes Merlin tense and take a step back, magic swirling under his skin. He motions at Leon to stay hidden, and prepares for a possible fight. He’s in no danger - it’d take less than a thought to knock all of them unconscious, but he doesn’t want to do it yet.

“Uh, how about we put the swords down, shall we?” he drawls, keeping a respectful distance between them. “Why such a warm welcome?”

“Merlin.”

Oh, so they know him. Merlin shuffles in his spot, trying to decipher their faces, but it’s been so long that he doesn’t remember how to read them anymore. The only person he does know is Leon, and the First Knight is keeping to the back, his hand on his sword. There's a familiar hesitance on his face, and when he looks at him, Merlin knows they were close. At least as close as he and his Leon had been in their Camelot, even in the beginning.

“Would you believe me if I told you I have no idea why you’re pointing your swords at me?” he tries. “Because I don’t.”

“You tried to kill the King, and you’re claiming you don’t remember?” Elyan asks, half-shocked and half-suspicious.

Merlin pauses. “Oh, I did?” he breathes. “Which one?”

“Arthur, who else?” Gwaine is the one who replies.

A snort from the woods behind them makes everyone look in that direction, and Merlin groans in exasperation when Leon emerges from behind the tree. Now every sword is pointed in their direction, and his best friend looks remarkably unbothered. To be fair, it’s not like they can die for good.

“Would you believe us if we said it was not this Merlin?” Leon asks with a wide smile. “I promise, our story is just unbelievable enough to make sense.”

Sunlight gently falls through the trees that stretch around them in every direction, lush and green. It’s like no forest he’s been in, in this life. Arthur looks around trying to figure out what happened, but there are no clues.

“Was that- Did you see him?” Gwaine asks breathlessly.

A smile spreads on his face and Arthur is thrust into that moment when his eyes met Merlin’s, when everything was worth it.

“Yeah,” he says breathlessly. “It was Merlin.”

“Fuck.”

He laughs, so giddy he can fly with it, and nothing else matters for a while. They were right - Merlin is there, in Florence, in the university. They’re not chasing the impossible. They’re right.

“Yeah.”

They lie in silence for a while longer, and Arthur slowly comes down from the high of seeing the man he loves, until their situation starts to compute. He sits back up, takes a good look around, and comes to a disturbing realisation.

“I have no idea where the fuck we are,” he says.

Gwaine hums. “Think Merlin sent us somewhere?”

Arthur thinks back to that brief moment when their gazes meet, and shakes his head immediately. It was only a split second, but Merlin’s eyes widened in shock too, and Arthur wasn’t the only one being tugged somewhere.

“I think it was larger than Merlin.” As soon as he says the words, he knows them to be true - something deep inside of him settles, and he knows that whatever sent them wherever they are is bigger, stronger than Merlin.

The question remains - what’s stronger than Magic itself?

“Well, time to find out!” Gwaine announces happily, unbothered as always. Arthur leans on that.

They get themselves up and pick a random direction to start walking in. The weather is pleasant, but Arthur can tell in his bones that they’re no longer in Italy. The longer they walk, the more sure he becomes that they're so very far away, both physically and metaphorically.

They make their way deeper into the treestress, the silence between them so heavy it hurts, and a thought shyly appears in Arthur’s mind. It’s so unbelievable he almost doesn’t want to say it. But he’s the reincarnated King Arthur who chased the mythical Merlin across country borders, impossible doesn’t exist. Then, things become clear.

“You know, Gwaine… I don’t think we’re in the 21st century anymore,” Arthur says slowly

Above them, an abandoned castle looms, straight out of a horror movie almost. He knows it, or at least he thinks he does. “We’re in Camelot,” he says dumbly. Gwaine elbows him in the gut in retaliation and they stand there, looking at the castle. “Or well, in Albion in any case. I know this castle.”

“Shit, Princess,” his friend breathes. “We travelled back in time?”

“I- Well, I'm pretty sure even dust from this castle doesn't exist in the 21st century,” Arthur says slowly. “And it looks about the same it did when I first visited it, when I was around 17.”

“Huh.”

Arthur raises an eyebrow. “That's it?” As far as reactions to time travel go, it's remarkably blase.

Gwaine shrugs. “Arthur, we're reincarnation of a mythical King and a knight who lived in a world with magic. It's not that out there.”

He nods, admitting defeat. It's a first for them, but at the same time, he can't exactly say it's the weirdest thing that's ever happened to him. Waking up one day, at 12, with the memories of living as King Arthur still takes that spot. His best friend was the most powerful warlock to ever walk the Earth (not that Arthur knew that at the time), he's sure Merlin had faced much stranger things.

“You sure it's Camelot, Princess?” Gwaine asks.

Arthur nods. “Unless there's another place on Earth with a castle like this, that has a stone with a penis etched onto it.”

His friend perks up. “Really?”

“We were 11 and thought it was funny,” he says as an explanation. “And I can see the stone from here, over there.”

They walk closer, Gwaine almost bouncing on his toes in excitement, when a flash of movement up above catches their eye. They haven't been knights in centuries, but some habits stuck and situational awareness is handy to have. They both look up, and Arthur has to stifle a gasp when his eyes land on a figure perched on top of a ruined tower, cloaked in black and staring down at them. In one swift jump, they're right in front of them, and, before either of them can react, have a dagger pressed against Arthur's throat. Gwaine makes a startled sound, starting to move towards them, but the figure points another dagger at him.

“Twitch, and he dies,” they growl, voice somewhat familiar. They both freeze in place, as the attacker turns to look at Arthur. Their hood is deep enough that their face is shadowed, but from the darkness, a pair of gold eyes is blazing. “I recall promising to kill you if you ever stumbled upon me again.”

And that voice… 

“Merlin?” Arthur asks, joy and shock warring inside of him. “What in the bloody hell are you doing?! Since when did you want to kill me?”

It's so completely shocking to see the other man that Arthur doesn't even care about the sharp blade pressing against his neck. All that matters is Merlin standing right in front of him, dressed all in black, eyes glowing. He knows, at the back of his mind, that it's not his Merlin, the Merlin he saw in Florence, but to his starved heart it doesn't matter. Merlin is Merlin, even if he wants to kill him.

His reaction seems to be enough to confuse the man, and the dagger pulls away slightly. Arthur, still beyond caring, pulls at his hood and pushes it off, his breath catching at the side of Merlin’s face. It is Merlin, but his eyes are hard and haunted, a scar running down his right cheek to his jaw. He looks hardened, the way his Merlin looked right at the end, but years younger than the man who had held Arthur as he died. The dichotomy is startling.

“You're not Arthur,” Merlin says quietly, finally dropping both daggers.

Arthur shrugs. “I am Arthur. Just not your Arthur.”

Those blue eyes narrow and a rumble of thunder sounds in the distance as Arthur's body buzzes. Merlin’s magic.

“Arthur isn't mine,” the other man hisses. Gwaine snorts and Arthur can't help but chuckle. It seems to enrage Merlin further because a dagger rises again. “He threatened to take my head off if he ever saw me again.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I mean, seems like you returned the favour,” Arthur says, alluding to what just happened. “I'm not him, but if he's anything like me, he'd rather die than hurt you.”

Arthur has lived his life without Merlin, he's so far beyond trying to deny his feelings, the tenderness in his heart. He's a different person than King Arthur, while also so intricately him… Just freer and more emotionally mature (or so he hopes). 

Merlin scoffs bitterly. “You have no idea what happened. Where did you even come from? And what are you wearing?”

He looks down at his jeans and t-shirt and winces. “Yeah, that's a… You wouldn't believe us.”

Merlin’s eyes narrow and Arthur is struck by how unfairly gorgeous the man is. Through the years, Merlin’s face almost became blurred so being faced with it again, so clearly, is confusing. His heart is pounding and even knowing this isn't his Merlin, Arthur itches to kiss him, consequences be damned.

“And how do you know that? How do you know me?” Merlin asks.

Arthur sighs impatiently. It's probably not the best idea to aggravate a man seemingly so eager to hurt him, but Arthur has always lacked self-preservation. “I told you, I'm not your Arthur, I'm from another universe. Another world. Well, we both are.”

They turn to look at Gwaine who's listening to them while doing a little perimeter check, eyes sharp. Arthur is reminded that his friend did do a few years in the military, and some habits never go away.

“Y’know, Merls, this place is a dump, why do you even live here? An assassin like you can probably afford something better.”

The words make Arthur look at Merlin sharply. It makes sense, but at the same time…

“How do you know that?” Merlin asks in a growl, electricity gathering in the air. It's his magic, probably getting ready to strike and it's so not the time to grow hot around the collar. “You just said you're not from here.”

Gwaine shrugs lazily, eyes soft as he looks at their friend. Like this, it's so easy to see just how much the man had missed Merlin. They might not love him the same way, but they miss him the same. He was the most important person in both of their lives and Arthur know this is fucking with Gwaine too.

“I travelled around,” he says. “And those cool tattoos of yours aren't nearly as inconspicuous as you probably think.”

The words barely have time to register in Arthur’s mind before he’s staring at the other man, finally noticing the dark lines crawling up Merlin’s neck. They’re thin and intricate, like veins, like lightning strikes, and they’re gorgeous. They fit this Merlin, make him look more dangerous, and Arthur’s mind immediately conjures the image of his Merlin covered in tattoos. His heart skips a beat and he carefully pushes down his feelings again. It’s not the time.

Merlin narrows his eyes, cocking his head to the side. The move should look innocent, but it reminds Arthur of a predator. It’s not a bad look on him, even if it's strange. 

“Where are you from then, if not from here?” Merlin asks slowly. “I can tell you’re not the people I last saw in Camelot. This is the last time I will ask.”

“From very far away,” Arthur says, patiently ignoring the threat. This may not be his Merlin, but he refuses to believe there is a Merlin who will kill them. “You wouldn’t believe us if we told you,” he repeats.

“Doubtful,” Merlin replies with a smirk. “Impossible doesn’t exist.”

Arthur snorts. “Not when you can wield magic.”

Merlin stills, something dangerous flashing in his eyes again. Arthur takes a step back, Gwaine following, and he raises his hands in a placating manner. “I just- We’re from the future!”

Silence falls. “What? You're like, the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the Earth, this can't be that weird,” Gwaine drawls.

The tension drops and Merlin frowns, looking so adorably confused that Arthur wants to wrap him in his arms. He’d even do it, if he wasn’t sure he’d get at least stabbed for it, if not completely decimated. He still doesn’t think Merlin would hurt him, but a cornered predator is the most dangerous one. 

“What.”

It’s not really a question, but Arthur starts rambling anyway, suddenly nervous. All the feelings he’s been keeping behind a wall flood out, and he can’t stop himself.

“Okay, so I’ve died- But no, don’t worry! I died in my time, and then I was reborn in the 20th century and then I remembered my past life, and we’ve been trying to find you and Leon, because everyone else came back too, and Gwaine found you in Italy, and we went there and I even saw you but then there was a flash, and we ended up here, and you’re-”

“Arthur.” It’s not a shout, but the tone is so familiar that Arthur falls silent, panting and staring at Merlin in confusion. The other man is smiling now, and it makes him look exactly like his Merlin, softer and kinder. “Okay, I understand,” he says soothingly. “It sounds unbelievable, nature doesn’t like anyone messing with time, but if anyone would travel through time, it would be you two.”

“Oi!” Gwaine perks up. “Are you saying we’re accident-prone?”

“Yes.” The response is so deadpan that they both chuckle. “Without me, this Arthur would be dead a dozen times over, which is ironic considering I was sent to Camelot to kill him.”

“Didn’t do a very good job of it, though, did you? Can’t even kill me correctly, Merlin.” The familiar voice comes from behind them and they all spin around, Merlin’s daggers coming out again. There, between the trees, is Arthur, wearing chainmail and a familiar red cape. He looks impossibly young and innocent, in a way Arthur barely remembers himself, and his eyes are soft when he looks at Merlin.

“Arthur,” Merlin says quietly. “What are you doing here?”

He grabs Gwaine’s arm and pulls them both away, giving the two men an illusion of privacy. It’s strange, watching the two of them come closer, both hesitant but seemingly unable to stop, as if there’s an invisible force pulling them together. They stop just a few feet away from each other, daggers hidden, Arthur’s sword still in its sheath.

“I didn’t- You didn’t try very hard to kill me, did you?” King Arthur asks softly.

Merlin scoffs. “I don’t think you realise how easy it’d be to end your life, Arthur. I saved it more times than I can count.”

“Why?” There’s desperation clinging to the King’s words, and when Arthur looks very hard, he can see the way his hands tremble. “You were sent to kill me, but you saved me, and- I hated seeing you walk away.”

The assassin smiles softly. “You’re not an easy man to like, Arthur. But an ever harder man to hate.”

The blonde scoffs, anger marring his face. “Just tell me, damn it! You’ve been driving me insane, thinking about why didn’t you kill me and why you looked at me like that, and-” Panting, King Arthur falls silent again, Merlin looking worried in front of him. “Just fucking tell me.”

“When I first came to Camelot, after I killed those 3 nobles, a dragon called me from underneath the castle,” Merlin says. “He told me that I’m destined to protect you, so that you can bring the Golden Age to Albion.”

King Arthur scoffs, but there’s hurt in his eyes. “So this was all because of destiny?”

The other man laughs bitterly. “Oh, absolutely not. I told the dragon to go fuck himself and sneaked into your chambers to kill you while you slept.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Merlin shrugs. “Maybe I was curious,” he says slowly. “Maybe I wanted to know why a dragon imprisoned by a Pendragon would tell me to protect Uther’s son.”

“And did you find out?”

“Yeah.” They stand in silence for a while, and Arthur is almost vibrating in place with nerves. “You’re not Uther’s son, not when it counts. It was enough for me to keep protecting you, at least before-” Merlin cuts off, a flush rising on his face. Arthur stifles a gasp.

“Before what?” King Arthur seems eager too, a familiar expression on his face.

However, it seems like Merlin is done talking - he just shakes his head and takes a step back, the tension between them breaking abruptly. Arthur watches in disbelief as Merlin turns around and stalks back towards the castle, and it’s just so infuriating that he can’t help himself. Have he and his Merlin been this bad too?

“He loves you!” he calls after retreating Merlin, making him pause. King Arthur turns to yell at him, but Arthur knows himself, he knows those eyes. They look so much younger, they have so much time still. It should be spent in happiness. “He’s like that because he loves you, Merlin, he’s just too much of an emotionally stunted coward to say anything.”

Merlin’s shoulders tremble, and he half-turns to glance back at Arthur. “How do you know?” The words are so quiet they’re almost lost to the wind. 

“Because he looks at you the way I look whenever I think of my Merlin,” Arthur says easily. “He loves you and he’s scared and probably angry, but I swear, Merlin, he loves you. And you love him too, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” Merlin snaps, accompanied by the King’s sharp inhale of shock. The warlock turns to look at him, rolling his eyes. “Oh, come on, you couldn't have missed that!”

“Merlin, I somehow missed that you’re an actual assassin, how could I have- You’re good at keeping your cards close to your chest,” the man says fondly. “And it’s… He’s right, you know? I do.”

“What?”

“Love you. Even if I’m angry.”

Arthur jumps to the side as Merlin abruptly rushes towards the King, their bodies colliding together, and then they’re kissing. He avoids his gaze, feeling himself flush and yearn. Gwaine’s cheer is lost in a bright flash of light, and they’re gone again, leaving two lovers kissing passionately in the clearing.

He doesn’t even lose consciousness this time, and manages to land on his feet instead of dropping onto his back. Next to him, Leon twists nimbly in the air and lands with a neat roll, brushing his hair away from his face. Merlin is a bit disappointed - they were in the middle of a really interesting conversation with the Knights of the Round Table, and he still wants to know more. The story of an assassin Merlin is a curious one - Merlin can’t imagine himself as an assassin, though he became one, more or less, by the end of Arthur’s reign. It’s good to know that Lancelot of that world is still a loyal friend to Merlin, and that their Arthur seems to be fond of him too. 

Different worlds, with entirely different backstories, but some relationships are the same. It brings Merlin joy.

“Aw man, just when it got interesting,” Leon complains playfully. “Any idea where we are this time?”

Merlin focuses for a second. “It feels a bit like the previous world, as far as the timeline goes,” he decides eventually. “But there’s something else…”

The air is heavy with a promise of something unspoken, a weight that Merlin isn’t used to. His magic responds, trying to get a feel for it, but it’s like Destiny - untouchable, but not unchangeable, something more than most can comprehend. It doesn’t ooze the same darkness that the prophecy he’s involved in does. Instead, it feels light and important, as if someone took his heart and tied a thread to it, leading out into the world. Merlin wants to know what’s at the end of it.

“Might have to do with the tattoo on your forearm,” Leon says. “Looks important.”

Merlin raises an eyebrow as his eyes snap to his forearm. He has a few tattoos, got them over the years, but the one Leon speaks about is very different. Purple lightning spreads all over his forearm, running up under his shirt, which Merlin chucks off without a thought. The pattern continues up to his neck and shoulder, then goes down on his chest. And there, on his side, is a familiar sword that Leon has wielded for the last 1500 years. Excalibur. Around him, lightning arches in a familiar pattern, one that Merlin sees whenever he calls the element to do his bidding. The magic he’s closest to, despite being a Dragonlord is, after all, lightning. The Excalibur can mean only one person, the one it was made for - Arthur.

“What…?” Leon smiles and bares his own arm, where a phoenix is rising from the ashes, a cup standing to the side. The Cup of Life. “What is this?”

“No idea,” his friend replies. “But seems important, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Merlin breathes. “Very much so.”

His tattoo can only mean him and Arthur, but why is it here? And why did it just appear, as soon as they got dumped into a new world? Is this the way this one works, where everyone has a magical tattoo, of unknown meaning? For him, Merlin knows, it means the most important person in his life, but is it like that for everyone? And why isn’t Arthur represented by a crown? So many questions.

“What is your magic telling us? It was a very good guide last time.”

Merlin shrugs. “Well, we better start walking then,” he says brightly.

They’re once again in the middle of a forest, though Merlin sort of recognises it. It feels different than his world felt, back during Camelot’s times, but it looks more or less the same. He knows they’re about a 3 day ride out of Camelot, up North. The weather is a bit colder and harsher here, but nothing crazy, and he knows Leon is enjoying himself too as they walk in silence, faint rays of sun warming their way. This world is different, even more so than the last one, but it doesn’t feel hostile. In a way, magic is somehow more saturated into the world here, heavy and almost pressing him down, as if Destiny is taking a much more active hand in guiding people.

Merlin doesn’t hate it, but he’s thoroughly done with prophecies and destinies, so he is a bit wary.

They walk for maybe 3 hours in silence, Leon completely trusting Merlin’s magic to lead their way, when they stumble upon…something. It’s a clearing, but one that almost oozes magic. Merlin’s whole body tingles, his senses focusing on one specific thing - a little grave, covered in forget-me-nots, lilies of the valley, and cornflowers. Around it, in a perfect circle, are mushrooms and wildflowers. They pause, both instinctively wary of such things, because they usually warn of Fey, but the air isn’t malicious the way it usually is when they’re involved. Very slowly, Merlin inches closer, noticing more details.

At the head of the grave is a sword, a very familiar one - the one Arthur had used to use before getting Excalibur. It’s well-loved, the handle wrapped in red neckerchief, rust not daring to touch the blade. As they stand and watch, a sick feeling starts to creep up.

“Merlin…” Leon whispers. “Why do I have a feeling this is your grave?”

Merlin can only nod slowly. As an immortal, it’s strange to feel this dread, as if his very magic can tell some other version of him is dead. Was he not immortal? Merlin can technically die, but it only takes a few hours at most for him to come back. He and Leon did a lot of testing over the centuries, and they’re still yet to find a method to permanently kill either of them. They stopped searching after a few centuries, content with their lives, but they know their limits. It never takes more than 24 hours to come back, and that’s only in extreme causes of death.

This? He knows it’s been a while, at least a few months. The blade is pristine, but the neckerchief is frying at the edges, faded and battered by the elements. The clearing is also in pristine condition, dripping with magic and power, and Merlin instinctively knows that it’s him down there, rotting away. He has no idea how it happened, how it’s possible. The world doesn’t feel too different from their own, so it’s normal to assume this Merlin was also Emrys. But if so, why did he die and stay dead?

“That’s… I didn’t know it could happen,” Leon says eventually. “You’re dead in this world.”

The words sound strange, unbelievable. Emrys means immortal, he’s Magic itself, and he never dies for good. He keeps coming back, no matter how much he had hated it at the beginning, and to see a grave holding his body is strange. 

“Maybe he wasn’t immortal here,” Merlin says, not believing a word he says. “Or maybe he was killed with a weapon forged in dragon fire.”

They consider the statement, and then Leon inhales sharply. “Merlin,” he gasps. “You can’t seriously think-”

“Well, it’s an option, isn’t it?” he says, trying to pretend it’s not making his heart ache. “No mortal blade can kill me, but Excalibur isn’t a mortal blade.”

Leon sighs. “I refuse to believe Arthur would ever hurt you, much less kill you.”

Merlin laughs bitterly, looking at the lightning on his forearm. “I don’t know this Arthur. Maybe he did kill his Merlin. Maybe they were sworn enemies and he did what had to be done.”

“Who are you, and why are you spewing such lies about the King?” someone asks in a growl 

They whirl around, Merlin’s magic surging up, only to freeze when they come face to face with Mordred. The young man is wearing chainmail and Camelot’s red cape, and he looks every inch the knight he is. Only one thing is strange - he’s young, yes, but looks about the same age as he had during Camlan. There’s grief in his eyes too, something dark and haunted, and he’s clutching his sword in his hand, the tip of it trembling when he realises who he’s looking at.

“Emrys?” Mordred whispers, hope blooming on his face. “You’ve returned?”

Merlin inhales sharply. Over the centuries, the irrational (and yet rather understandable back then) hatred he has felt towards Mordred has faded, leaving behind only regret tinted with fondness. He’s old enough to realise that he had been played, by almost everyone around him, and he knows others have paid for his mistakes. The pain of that isn’t so sharp anymore, faded with time, but being faced with one of his biggest mistakes is… jarring. He takes a step closer and Mordred drops his sword, immediately rushing at him. Merlin opens his arms and allows the young man to barrel into them, hugging him close. It’s as strange as it is natural, and he allows his magic to blanket the knight, soothing old pains.

“I’m sorry kid,” he says quietly, pressing his face against Mordred’s hair. The man in his arms makes a questioning sound, and Merlin squeezes tighter. “I am an Emrys, but I’m not your Emrys, I’m afraid.”

Mordred pulls away with a gasp, searching for truth in his eyes, his mind reaching out to Merlin’s. He replies in kind, letting the knight feel the vastness of his magic, the depth of time he’s experienced, and the other man’s eyes widen. 

“You…”

“We’re from another universe, and from another time as well,” Leon says kindly, causing Mordred to look at him. “What happened here?”

“That’s a very complicated question.”

Merlin and Leon share a resigned look. If only things could be easy for a change…

Arthur expects being pulled away, but he still doesn’t manage to brace himself in time and he ends up on the ground, Gwaine pressing him in further, an elbow in his side. He groans, pushing the other man away and trying to catch his breath, and when he opens his eyes, he comes face to blade with a familiar sword. He follows the blade up, to meet a furious pair of blue eyes. 

“Oh, fuck,” Arthur says, heartbeat picking up. Next to him, Gwaine is in a similar condition, swords being pointed at them in a circle, all of his knights staring down at them. “That’s…not ideal.”

“Who are you?” the other Arthur growls. His head already hurts at the thought of trying to distinguish between himself and the other man, so he mentally deems him ‘Pendragon’. 

“You,” Arthur replies instantly, and rolls his eyes at the scowl he receives. “Oh, come on, I refuse to believe magic doesn’t exist in this world, this can’t be that strange. Think, Pendragon - we just appeared out of the sky in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, as you’re…preparing for a battle?” His statement ends on a question as he takes a good look around them, past the swords pointing at their throats. “What the fuck is happening?”

This doesn’t look like Camlan, but they all look about the right age - he doesn’t remember everything with perfect clarity, but Arthur knows how he had looked while dying, and the man in front of him looks similar. So, if not Camlan, then where are they? And…

“Where’s Merlin?” They all flinch, as if struck, at the name, and Pendragon’s eyes darken with what might look like anger, but Arthur knows is guilt and sorrow. An impossible thought strikes Arthur, and he’s not ashamed of the way his voice shakes. “Is he dead?”

That’s the only explanation that makes sense about the man not being here with them, protecting Pendragon the way his Merlin had done, from the shadows. 

“It doesn’t concern you,” Pendragon says, in a voice so dead it’s starting to creep Arthur out a little. He doesn’t remember himself ever being like that. “Where did you come from?”

At least the swords get taken away, and Gwaine’s the first one to stand up, his eyes trained on another version of himself. “Where’s Merlin?” he demands of this version of Gwaine.

The knight bows his head. “Gone,” he replies hoarsely. “I failed to protect him.”

“Shut up, Gwaine,” Pendragon snaps. “You had nothing to do with it, there was nothing-”

“I should’ve been watching his back, Arthur! Then maybe he wouldn’t have died for a man who wanted to kill him anyway!” knight Gwaine shouts, eyes flashing. “It might’ve been Morgana who was holding the sword, but it might as well have been you. We all know what you thought of him, at the end.”

“You knew nothing!” the King shouts, drawing the attention of some other knights. He takes a deep breath and forces himself to be calm, but Arthur can see the way his hands are trembling. “I wasn’t- I don’t owe any of you an explanation.” With that, Pendragon turns around and stalks towards a big tent, cape flapping behind him. “We attack at dawn. Get those two settled.”

They’re left alone, the green knight staring after the King with dark eyes. 

“Coward,” he spits out.

“Gwaine…” Leon soothes, though he doesn’t argue with him, Arthur notices. Just what happened in this world? “Fighting him won’t bring Merlin back.”

The knight nods curtly and stalks away as well, shoulders bowed under an invisible weight. His Gwaine shifts closer to Arthur and he nods at the man, immensely thankful for his presence. Everything is easier when he’s not alone. Leon sighs deeply and other knights crowd around them with sympathetic smiles.

“It’s been like this ever since Merlin…” Lancelot says quietly before trailing off. “Gwaine is too angry to understand. No offence.”

His Gwaine snorts. “None taken. I take it a lot happened? And who the fuck are you fighting?”

He doesn’t ask how Lancelot is alive now, no matter how much Arthur knows he wants to. How come they lost their Lancelot in their original times, but this one is alive and well? Maybe Merlin was the price they paid, though Arthur can’t ever imagine paying it. His heart aches at the mere thought, and he thinks back to Pendragon and the dark look in his eyes, the grief that seems to be eating him alive.

It’s almost too much to imagine, living in a world without Merlin, knowing he’s dead. At least Arthur had the hope of his Merlin being around somewhere, faint as it was. Pendragon has to live with the knowledge that Merlin will never return, and if he feels guilty about it… Arthur doesn’t even want to think about it. 

“How did he die?” he asks, Gwaine coming to stand next to him. “Was it with Excalibur?”

Leon looks at him sharply. “How do you know that sword?”

Arthur rolls his eyes again. Honestly, they’re not very bright, are they? “We’re from another world,” he says. “Things happened differently there, but some things are apparently the same. Did he have magic too?”

Elyan stiffens but no other knight reacts in any way. Lancelot nods, relief in his eyes. 

“He did,” he says fondly. “I knew from the start, but it was a big revelation to some. Not that it mattered, in the end.”

“He didn’t use his magic to save himself?” Gwaine asks.

Leon shrugs. “We think he tried, but it wasn’t working for some reason. Morgana said something about an immortal blade, but… To be honest, she was raving for some time and I wasn’t focused on her.”

Arthur swallows, darkness threatening to pull him under at the image - Merlin dying on the ground, Morgana cackling above him, Excalibur buried in Merlin’s chest… It hurts too much. The only thing that can make it worse is if Arthur was the one holding the blade, but that’s too much for him to take.

“When?”

Lancelot sighs. “4 moons ago. Morgana was greatly weakened, and disappeared for that time, but she’s been gathering her army here this time. We predict she will lose.”

He raises an eyebrow. Morgana of their world had been a formidable opponent, he knows, and although he misses her in his new life, some part of him is glad. Maybe she’s alive, but they’re better apart, without their painful history. Arthur hasn’t thought of her for a few years, so being faced with her now is jarring.

“How do you plan on winning without Merlin?” he asks, honestly curious.

“We have a small army made out of sorcerers, and druids are helping at the camp,” Leon answers. “With Morgana not at full power, we stand a chance. We can’t afford to wage this war much longer.”

They’re then led to their tent, given a sword each, some new clothes, chainmails. Arthur doesn’t know how to explain to these men that they’re not trained knights anymore. They’re fit, and they do martial arts for fun, but aside from some fun reconstructions and cons, they don’t use swords. The blade feels big and clunky in his hand, and it slips right out when he tries to do his famous twirl. Gwaine snorts.

“I’d like to see you do better,” Arthur snaps. “What a fucking mess, huh?”

“Think Pendragon really did it?” Gwaine asks, sprawled on a bedroll. He plays nonchalance well, but Arthur knows him, he can see the tension in his shoulders, the fear in his eyes. “Think they’ll win this?”

He shrugs. “I can’t imagine a world where I ever kill Merlin,” Arthur says quietly, and even saying the words hurts. They’re like shards of glass in his mouth, his whole body rebelling against the concept. “I’m sure he blames himself for it, but I think Morgana killed Merlin. Our Morgana wanted to do it too. Kill Emrys.”

Gwaine sighs deeply. “This world is fucked, Arthur, and I thought we had it bad.”

Arthur snickers. “Well, maybe we won’t die this time,” he jokes. “But I’m staying far away from any fighting.”

“Courage running away?” he jokes.

He shows him the finger. “We need to stay alive to find Merlin.” Arthur’s voice softens when he says the man’s name, and everything is worth it, if Merlin is at the end of the road. He has no idea what’s happening, but he knows he saw Merlin, he’s sure it was Merlin. They found him once, they can do it again. “How hard can it be?”

They’re running through the forest, Mordred leading the way. Merlin and Leon exchange worried glances, but his magic perks up the closer they are to wherever they’re going. The air is heavy with magic, with dark magic, clogging and thick, one that makes his skin itch. Over the centuries, Merlin got used to dealing with dark magic, even dabbling in it from time to time -  nothing truly destructive, but he likes knowing what he’s up against, and it’s not like his magic can get contaminated anyway.

Being Emrys has its perks.

“Okay, wait, run it by us again,” Merlin says before they get close to the loud sounds of battle. Everything in him is crying out to go closer, that Arthur is there, whatever version of him it might be. “Morgana is alive?”

“She’s not dead,” Mordred says with a wince. “Emrys, our Emrys that is, weakened her greatly before she killed him with Excalibur. He took some of her magic.” There’s reverence in the young man’s voice that makes Merlin wince, but he doesn’t comment. He’s older now, he understands, but it still makes him a bit uncomfortable. “She hid away gathering her army. We can defeat her easily now.”

As much as Merlin wants to believe him, he exchanges a dubious look with Leon. They’re both attuned to nature, to the very fabric of the universe, and they both can tell there’s something wrong. Maybe it’s because this world’s Emrys is dead (it should be impossible), maybe it’s because people carry mysterious marks on them which reek of Fate, maybe it’s because Morgana reached for something forbidden, something that should stay beyond a mortal’s reach.

The last theory seems the most convincing.

“Mordred,” Merlin says, using the same tone he uses whenever he’s in the military. It makes the man’s attention snap to him, like a soldier, and he lays a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Stay on guard,” he says quietly. “Hope is good, but recklessness kills, and you can never trust Morgana, not when she’s like this. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Always fight as if you’re on the losing side,” Leon adds. “You never know how the tides will turn.”

The young Druid’s face grows worried, but they smile at him and push him towards the battlefield that’s hiding behind the trees. Merlin will protect him, ensure that he lives, but he doesn’t know what to expect from the battle. He’s overwhelmingly powerful, but the air feels wrong, and if he’ll have to focus everything on breaking through the darkness, he won’t be able to protect his friends. He glances at Leon and they nod at each other as they step out from between the trees.

“Don’t die too much,” Merlin yells to him cheekily, right before they throw themselves into the battle.

Excalibur appears with a spark in Leon’s hand, and Blackfyre follows quickly, lightning dancing on the dark blade. It’s been a while since they fought with swords, but they make sure to train regularly, right next to normal martial arts training - their long years taught them to stay prepared. Magic is swirling around the soldiers wearing Camelot colors, and Merlin pushes it away expertly, splitting his attention between his own fights. He’s old, he’s powerful, and he’s determined to find Arthur, whatever version of him is there.

Morgana is there, like a long-forgotten memory, an echo of magic so twisted and corrupted it had made him shudder. He looks for her, but most of Merlin’s attention is focused on catching a glimpse of that golden hair, of the soul that always cried out to him.

“Merlin!” Leon’s yell grabs his attention and he swiftly ducks under a sword, puts an enemy down, and looks at him. “Found Gwaine!”

He makes his way towards his friend and, together, they cut through the enemies coming their way, all of them augmented with magic. It worries Merlin - from what Mordred said, she shouldn't have been able to use so much magic, so much power. Besides, this magic stinks, of death and decay, that sickly-sweet smell of old blood. 

“Something’s wrong!” he yells at Leon. “Cover me.”

Trusting Leon implicitly, Merlin slams Blackfyre into the ground, a distant thunder sounding in the air as he sinks into his magic. It spreads through the battlefield, immediately focusing on a dark presence oozing rot into the earth, something darker than even Morgana. A twisted godling. Merlin curses, and he’s just about to go back, when his magic catches on something else - a golden flame, something so familiar and yet almost forgotten. Something priceless.

“Arthur!” The word tears from his throat and Merlin’s thrown back into the real world violently, only sharp reflexes saving him from losing his head as a sword sails his way. He meets it with his own blade, and tears from Leon’s side, rushing towards Arthur.

Because is his Arthur, and not this world’s Aryhur. Merlin would recognise him anywhere, anytime, and it’s the same man who was standing in the university hallway before everything changed and they got thrown into a different universe. His magic responds to his unspoken command and the time around them stops briefly, and Aryhur’s eyes widen.

“Merlin…?”

The sound of his name on Arthur’s lips causes him to trip, but thankfully, the man is right there, arms closing around Merlin’s shoulders. He wraps his own around Arthur’s waist and clings, his whole body trembling, soul singing at the feeling of having the man he loves back in his arms.

“Arthur…” he whispers hoarsely, burying his face in his shoulder, clinging and grabbing. His magic flares out, desperately trying to ensure this is really Arthur, that it’s not one of his cruel nightmares, the ones that leave him hollow and broken. “Oh, gods…”

“Merlin.” Arthur’s voice is wet and Merlin fights with himself to pull away slightly, finally locking their eyes together. The other man is crying, yet he’s still so gorgeous, golden and alive in his arms, not dying like the last time. “You’re here…? How- What are you doing here?!”

Immediately, familiar and playful indignation flares up. “Saving your stupid ass, that’s what I’m doing! What are you doing?”

“Fighting! I got a sword!” They both glance down at the bloodied sword now lying down in the mud, the battle around them frozen still. That’s when Arthur finally starts noticing things. “How…”

“I’m the most powerful warlock to ever walk the Earth,” Merlin says dryly. He feels like he’s in shock, a strange ringing in his ears. His magic lashes out around him, desperately trying to make sense of the fact that it’s Arthur in front of him, alive and apparently skilled with a sword? Things are failing to fall into place, and he doesn’t know what to do about it. 1500 years, and he still feels like a kid in front of his King. “How did you end up fighting a battle? How do you even know how to use a sword?”

“Well, powerful warlock, I might not be as good as I was, but I used to be the best knight in Camelot. I kept up some training.”

The words turn everything on its head for Merlin. Arthur’s here, and Arthur remembers. In the shock of everything, he just blurted out the most common sentiment about his magic, but it’s like they’re back in Camelot, only better, and Arthur remembers.

He doesn’t even notice his knees growing weak, until Arthur makes a small sound and lowers them to the ground, right into the mud. Merlin stares at his King, at the man he loves, and sees the same surprise, the same shock mirrored in Arthur’s eyes. He cups his face with a shaking hand and, for a second, everything’s okay.

They rest their foreheads together, eyes slipping closed, the world frozen around them. It’s not even a strain on Merlin’s magic, and it reaches out eagerly, twisting around Arthur’s soul, his innate magic. He’s the same but different, Arthur Pendragon still but not weighed down by his destiny, by the Kingdom on his shoulders. He still looks at Merlin the same, and touches him gently, hands trembling where he holds him.

“How are you here?” Arthur whispers, his warm breath hitting Merlin’s lips. “I’ve been looking for you…”

“You found me in Italy,” Merlin replies quietly. The words make Arthur open his eyes and they stare at each other, grief and joy warring inside. Merlin had stopped hoping for this centuries ago, yet here Arthur is, right in his arms. He doesn’t know what to do, but he knows what he wants do to. “I didn’t know you came back.”

It’s almost shameful to admit - that Merlin had stopped looking, gave up on the hope that they’d ever be reunited. Arthur doesn’t hold it against him, he can see, and the blonde just smiles through the tears.

“When did you come back?”

“I never left,” Merlin says. The other man pauses in his arms, as if understanding the weight of the words, and Merlin watches as terror bleeds into Arthur’s eyes. 

“Merlin…”

“It’s okay,” he soothes. “You’re here now.”

The other man shakes his head before pulling Merlin into his arms, and he sags into his hold immediately, finally relaxing. It’s as if a part of him has been tense since Arthur had died in Merlin’s arms, and although he still enjoyed his life, it’s only now that he feels truly alive. The other half of his coin is here, finally, and Merlin knows he’s never going to let him go. His magic is still keeping the time frozen, but he has to end this battle before Arthur gets hurt again. And that’s not even taking into account this world’s Arthur.

“Wait, is there another you here?” Merlin asks, forcibly pushing all the emotions away. It’s not unlike going into battle, into war, and he’s had enough practice for it to come easily. He stays close to Arthur, but straightens his shoulders and gets his head in the game. Arthur looks at him in awe. “Arthur,” he snaps. “We have to focus.”

Arthur takes a deep breath and shakes his head, visibly trying to focus. There are still hints of Merlin’s knight lurking in the shadows of his eyes and he smiles fondly, watching the man snap back into it.

“Yeah, he’s- Well, he’s freaky, but he’s here. I think…I, uh, we learned that you-”

“I died in this world,” Merlin interrupts his stuttering. “I know, we found his grave.”

“We?” Shock shows on Arthur’s face but he just shakes his head and pulls both of them up. 

“Later.” He looks around and spies Leon, mid-swing at some sorcerer dressed in rags. The magic users aren’t powerful, but there’s a fair bit of them, and he knows they’re being augmented with something. Something dark. “We need to finish the battle and get shit figured out. This Camelot doesn’t have its own magic users, at least not very powerful ones.”

“Well, at least they have some,” Arthur drawls in that familiar way. Merlin elbows him in the side, his heart aching at the motion, at the ease between them. There are centuries unspoken, all the secrets and feelings, but they fall back together as if no time has passed. “What’s the plan?”

Merlin raises an eyebrow at him in disbelief. Maybe some time has passed, because the Arthur of before would’ve never asked him outright, at least not until the very end, until the pretence between them was starting to waver.

“Hey, I recognise you might know some things! You’re very, uh, grown.”

He watches, both elated and shocked as Arthur flushes right to the tips of his ears, his eyes escaping to the side, shuffling in place awkwardly. It makes perfect sense yet no sense at all, and Merlin vows to demand an explanation later. When this whole mess has been handled.

“It tends to happen over 1500 years,” Merlin says dryly. “Stay close and don’t do anything stupid.”

Without waiting for a response, he calls his magic back and the world comes alive around them. From deep within the forest, darkness calls out. Merlin has to reply.

Arthur feels like he’s in a dream. He stupidly thought that after being reincarnated and then thrown around different universes nothing would shock him anymore, but here he is, standing next to Merlin, his Merlin, dazed and stupid. The world is alive again, and he shudders at the amount of power tangible in the air. It’s a familiar feeling, something he hadn’t been able to put a finger on back in Camelot, but now he knows - it’s the feeling of Merlin’s magic, the absolute power he wields so easily.

The other man is standing there, calm as if in the eye of the storm, hair long and curly, eyes glowing even though they’re still blue. His gaze is locked onto something in the forest to their left, and Arthur automatically shifts to guard his back. He’s not as well-trained as he had used to be, but he’s still nothing to scoff at. Though, he muses eyes on the black and silver sword in Merlin’s hand, maybe it’s not needed. 

This Merlin, the man who had lived for over 1500 years (and doesn’t that just break his heart every time he thinks about it) is a stranger but not. Arthur knows him on the most base level, their souls calling out for each other. The strange tattoo on his side feels tender, and Arthur carefully doesn’t think about it for a while, focusing on the battle.

“We need to find Leon,” Merlin says, voice hard and loud. He sounds the same but different, and Arthur shudders at the sound of it. Everything still feels surreal, but now is not the time to deal with it. “There’s something wrong with this world.”

“Well, you’re dead, so…” It’s hard to say, even though Merlin is standing right in front of him. Arthur can’t even begin to imagine how hard it must’ve been to live for centuries while Arthur had died in his arms. Devastating.

“That’s an issue, but not exclusively what I’m talking about. Come.” Merlin moves like he was born to do it, magic twisting around him, killing the soldiers his sword doesn’t, and Arthur walks by his side, the two of them finally working together like they had been destined to. He has no magic, but he imagines he can feel the rightness singing in the air as they cut through the enemies. “Leon!”

A familiar face turns to them, a bright smile breaking out on his oldest friend’s lips. Insituvently, Arthur knows this is his Leon, the one which came from the 21st century. He carefully doesn’t ask the questions that want to burst from his chest. There will be time for it later.

“Arthur! It’s been a while!” He laughs and squeezes his First Knight shortly, wincing internally at the hidden meaning of the words - there’s probably a reason why neither Merlin nor Leon came to them, and Arthur’s almost afraid of the answers to his questions. “What’s the plan?”

“Guard this world’s Arthur while I go with ours to find out what’s the problem,” Merlin says simply.

“You’re risking him?” It’s insulting, being talked about as if he’s not here, but Arthur stays silent. He likes to think he’s grown from the arrogant man he had used to be, and he knows the time and place. 

“Look at him and tell me he’s going to let me go alone. I wouldn’t have.”

The two men exchange a look and nod at each other. “Fair. Keep him safe, will you, Merlin?”

“Funny. It’s exactly what I wanted to say to you,” Merlin quips back before they’re running away, dodging swords and spells, Merlin’s magic keeping them safe. “It’s a stupid idea to bring you with me, and I’m scared shitless, but at least like this I can keep an eye on you.”

Merlin speaks in this strange detached away Arthur sometimes heard from Gwaine when his friend falls back on his military training. Considering the 1500 years that passed, he’s not surprised, but it’s still a new side of Merlin that he has to learn.

“Wait, Gwaine’s there!” he gasps, remembering that Merlin doesn’t know. “He got thrown around the universes with me.”

The warlock curses under his breath. “Hope Leon will keep him safe too,” he mutters.

“I wouldn’t worry, Gwaine is more than prepared.”

Merlin opens his mouth to ask, but suddenly falls silent, stopping and tugging Arthur next to him. The forest around them is dark and gloomy, but not in the normal way. The sounds of battle completely disappeared, and Arthur knows they’re not that far away from it. Magic.

“Come out!” Merlin suddenly calls, voice commanding as if echoes between the trees. “I can sense you!”

A quiet chuckle is his response and Arthur instinctively shifts closer to Merlin, tightening the hold he has on the sword. Around them, the darkness grows and something emerges from it, twisted and tangled, a glowing pair of orange eyes pinning them in place. The wrongess of it all makes Arthur shudder, everything in him urging him to stay guarded.

“Little warlock,” the voice hisses, sounding like hundreds of people speaking at once, shadows lashing out around them. “I thought you’re dead.”

Merlin cocks his head to the side, growing very still. “You’re the one who’s keeping him dead, aren’t you?”

Another snicker, devoid of warmth but full of pride. “One of my best works. It’s so much easier without Emrys to get in the way. Yet, here you stand.”

“I’m not him.” Merlin turns with the creature as it circles them, always keeping it within his eyesight. Arthur follows him. “What are you?”

“Not ‘who’?”

“I know better,” Merlin says. “Are you controlling Morgana?”

As always, the sound of her name sends a sharp sting to his heart, but Arthur keeps his face impassive. He’s had years to deal with that particular loss and betrayal.

“I don’t need to. She’s quite…eager.”

Merlin tenses, his magic surging up but before he can do anything, the world whirls around them and Arthur makes a desperate grab for him, sighing in relief when his hand connects. They stumble but stay together as the world comes back, and they’re still in the same universe, Arthur can tell. They’re standing in a clearing, the air unnaturally still, all life running away from the shadows that emerge from the trees once again. The creature is there, glowing eyes and cold breath, and it takes Arthur a second to realise what he’s looking at - Merlin’s grave. He makes a wounded sound, clutching the man even closer, and Merlin tangles their fingers together, squeezing tightly. He knows it’s not his Merlin, but it is a Merlin, and that’s enough to break something in him.

“Hmm, not quite.” Before one heartbeat and the next, something pops in the air and Pendragon stumbles into the grass a few feet away from them, bloody and muddy, caught mid-slash. He curses and barely manages to save it, before whirling around to face the creature.

“You!”

“Me.” Pendragon rushes at the shadows, but they tangle around his legs, until he ends up on the ground, Excalibur thrown to the side carelessly. Curiously, the shadows stay away from the weapon, focusing instead on the King, keeping him well and pinned, mouth covered to muffle his screams. Arthur looks at him and wonders if he had ever been like that. “Better.”

Next to Arthur, Merlin is frozen, but it’s a predator’s stillness. He’s coiled up like a spring wire and Arthur can feel his magic underneath his skin as they stand pressed together. The other man glances at him and his eyes are glowing bright gold, intense and well-loved, and no part of Arthur is afraid. 

“Whatever you need,” he promises.

Merlin looks at him, everything else falling away for just a moment. “When I tell you to, grab the sword.”

Arthur glances at the creature, but the other man doesn’t seem to be worried about it, so he just nods and steels himself. Excalibur isn’t far away, but roots and rocks are suddenly littering the clearing, and the shadows look ready to lunge at them. They’re held at bay by the creature’s focus on Pendragon, but it’s not going to last forever. Then, something crackles in the air, Merlin twitches, and-

“Now!”

He dives without a thought, sliding between the shadows that stray from him, grabbing Excalibur and immediately jumping to his feet, moving further away from the creature and its shadows. Merlin's magic is right there, shielding Arthur from any danger, and it’s not golden like he’s used to. Instead, it’s thunder and lightning, a storm rolling over them purely because Merlin willed it to. Arthur freezes, eyes trained on the lightning raining from the sky, and the shadows are retreating, hiding back in the trees.

Somehow, he’s ended up right beside the little mound of dirt, by Merlin’s grave. There’s something pulling him even closer, heartache and Destiny, but he stands his ground.

“You’re weak,” the creature hisses, the air itself becoming heavy. “I killed him! I killed Emrys!”

Merlin laughs, but it’s a bitter sound. “He’ll be back.” 

Then, his eyes meet Arthur’s, and it’s like they’re sharing a mind, everything becoming clear. Merlin nods, another thunder sounds, and Arthur plunges Excalibur deep into the middle of the grave, just as lightning hits it. He’s thrown back, landing against a tree with a thump. His chest hurts, but it doesn’t matter because the whole forest is alight with lightning and brightness, a grand crack echoing in the sudden stillness. He glances up and sees a figure standing over the grave, shoulders hunched, and then-

“Arthur, no!”

He doesn’t even notice someone appearing by him, a strong body slamming him to the side, out of the way of a pointed shadow speeding his way. Arthur catches Merlin as he slumps into his arms, blood quickly gushing from the huge stab wound in his chest, eyes fluttering closed.

Everything else disappears.

“No.” Arthur slumps to the ground, cradling the love of his life in his arms. Merlin coughs weakly, blood spilling from his mouth, and he wants to lay down and die too, he can’t- “Please…”

“Arthur,” Merlin whispers. His voice isn’t as weak as it should be, but he can’t focus on this when he’s dying, and Arthur only just found him again. “Arthur, listen.” It’s instinct to obey that voice using that tone, and he snaps to attention, pushing the grief and despair back. Arthur focuses back on Merlin, meeting a pair of blue eyes, and he’s… Not growing any weaker. A pale hand cups his face, trembling a bit but growing stronger. “Arthur, I’m immortal. It’s okay.”

Air suddenly rushes back into his lungs and he can breathe again, the sounds of a battle filtering back in. In Arthur’s arms, Merlin groans and leans against his shoulder, the blood flow stopping. He watches in stunned disbelief as Merlin wipes the blood away with the top of his hand, Arhur’s arms sliding beneath his shirt to touch the warm skin where the wound is already closing.

The second his hand slides to his side, they both jolt, a current running through Arthur’s whole body. Just for a second, it feels like he and Merlin are one being, their souls intertwined, warmth spreading from the point of contact. He feels his own side, in the same place, radiating warmth and it makes no sense, but it’s perfect.

It’s him and Merlin, like they’re destined to be. The love of his life. Arthur pushes everything to the side, focusing back on Merlin, on his worried, awed blue eyes.

“You’re okay?”

Arthur laughs shakily, squeezing the other man gently. “You’re the one who got stabbed.” He doesn’t mention the weird…current. It’s not the time.

“And you had to see it.” It’s just like Merlin to worry about Arthur when he’s the one who was in danger, who got hurt. He simply leans his forehead against Merlin’s temple and breathes for a while, basking in their togetherness, before a shout draws his attention.

He’s quickly reminded that they’re in the middle of a battle, and they both spring up, Merlin stumbling just a little. The scene in front of them is straight from a fantasy action movie, something King Arthur might’ve experienced only more.

This world’s Merlin is back, and he’s pissed. Fire is quickly consuming the forest around them, eating through the shadows as he stands, backlit by it, Excalibur in his hand, Pendragon kneeling by his legs. The creature seems to be cowering, but this isn’t Merlin that Arthur knows. This is Emrys, and he’s glorious.

The warlock snaps his fingers and Morgana appears. His own Merlin wraps an arm around Arthur in an effort to comfort, but he worked through that a long time ago. It still hurts to see her this mad, ravaged by her own revenge, lost to the same mania that took Uther. Her hair is tangled, eyes glowing a sickly sulphur yellow, yet she’s still powerful. Still his sister.

“You,” she hisses, her own magic arching around her.

Emrys doesn’t twitch. “Me,” he replies calmly. “Death isn’t the end for me. It never will be. My place is by Arthur’s side.”

“He killed you!” Morgana crows gleefully.

By Emrys’ feet, Pendragon twitches with guilt, but the warlock just helps him to his feet while keeping his eyes on his enemies, Excalibur still clutched tightly in his hand. Pendragon grabs his free hand and they stand together, like they were meant to be. Hidden by the unburned part of the trees, Arthur is just in awe he gets to witness this.

“You killed me, Morgana. I know who held the blade,” Emrys says. “You let yourself be used by it.” The look he throws the huddled shadow creature is pure disgust, ignoring the way it mutters ‘impossible’ at him. “I wanted to save you, but I see better now. There’s only one end for you.”

She laughs, loud and tinted with madness, rain falling down on her, only adding to the overall effect. Arthur can feel Merlin’s muscles tense, but the man doesn’t move. He just seems prepared to intervene, if needed. He leans further into him and they watch together, mere spectators in another universe’s story unfolding. Their story unfolding.

“You don’t have the spine to kill me,” she hisses. Her hiss is quickly cut off when Emrys seems to blend into the shadows for a second, emerging right in front of her and plunging Excalibur right into her chest. Morgana freezes, caught like a butterfly, gasping in shock, and then she slides to the ground, Excalibur leaving her body.

“I’m sorry, Morgana,” Emrys says quietly, watching as she dies by his feet. “You have no idea just how sorry I am.”

Pendragon comes to stand by his side, both of them watching. It’s Merlin who deals with the shadows, though Arthur has no idea how he knows that. It’s as if he’s suddenly plugged right into Merlin’s magic, able to feel whenever he uses it, the vastness of it. He can feel it spread through the clearing, aiming right for the creature. 

In the end, it’s Merlin’s own black sword that kills the creature, whatever it was, and his magic cleanses the air, the storm above them suddenly cutting off. Emrys takes notice and the flames slowly die down as well, though it takes much longer. All that’s left is the scent of burning wood, ash, ozone, and blood. 

Morgana’s body is quickly covered in flowers, dark and gorgeous, roses and poppy seeds, golden carnelias. She becomes one with nature, everything around them blooming, and even the sound of the battle slowly dies down.

“The Magic welcomes its own,” Merlin says quietly. “Morgana’s been lost for a long time.”

“It’s my fault,” Emrys speaks up.

Merlin shrugs. “Maybe. Or maybe you were a child, thrust into a world way too large, and she was always tinted with darkness. You never know. It’s not your weight to carry.”

The warlock doesn’t seem to know what to say to that, so they just walk closer, looking towards where the battle happened.

“They’ve stopped,” Pendragon says, wonder in his voice.

“I expect most of them to be dead by now,” Merlin admits. They all look at him. “They were magically enhanced, augmented by the creature and Morgana. I don’t think Camelot’s forces will have any problems dealing with what’s left.”

Pendragon smiles at that and, for the first time since he got there, Arthur can see how they’re the same person. He turns to Emrys, something tender on his face, their hands linked, and Arthur looks the other way. He doesn’t need to witness yet another emotional moment, not when he knows what it feels like to think Merlin is dying. He can’t imagine living in a world where he is dead.

He finds his Merlin already looking at him, amused and affectionateaffectionate, and his side is still burning, but it’s okay because Merlin is right there, nestled in his chest. Whatever that means.

Whatever this universe is made of, Merlin knows his and Arthur’s souls are the same. From the moment the other man cradled him, thinking he’s dying, there’s been a tether connecting them, one soul in two bodies, two souls belonging together.

He finally realises what the Magic of this world is telling him, and he can’t help but smile.

Soulmates isn’t a word anyone really used to describe him and Arthur, not directly, but everyone’s been talking around it for forever. Two sides of the same coin. Two souls making one.

They’re so different yet the same, and only together they’re whole. It makes perfect sense, and when he looks Arthur in the eyes, he knows the other man agrees. He doesn’t even think about the other versions of them sharing their own moment right beside them, because he finally has him. Arthur, his King, his everything, his soulmate. After 1500 years Arthur is right here, and he seems to remember, and Merlin doesn’t even have time to feel guilty over not visiting Avalon, because Arthur tugs him closer and kisses him, and the world goes silent.

Centuries in the making, it takes Merlin a second to get his bearings, but as soon as Arthur falters, clearly unsure, he comes back to life. He wraps his arms tightly around Arthur’s waist, pulling the man even closer, swallowing his surprised moan. Arthur moulds to him, licking Merlin’s lips until they open, a warm hand landing right where Merlin’s new tattoo is, his soulmark. He immediately copies the move, both of them moaning in surprise at the surge of pleasure and affection that fills them.

When they pull apart, they’re both panting for breath, but Arthur is beaming, and nothing else matters. Merlin leans his head against Arthur’s and just breathes, finally letting himself believe. The pain and grief of decades without him are being washed away with every tender touch, every gentle kiss, every hug. Merlin doesn’t care they’re still in the wrong world because he has Arthur, and Arthur has him, and everything’s okay.

“All good?” Arthur asks, and Merlin can’t help but chuckle.

“You have no idea just how good,” he says honestly. “I’ve been waiting… It’s been long 1500 years.”

Grief fills Arthur’s eyes, and he immediately kisses his King about it. “Merlin- I’m sorry.”

“For dying?” Due to the years, he can speak of Arthur’s death freely now, especially with the man alive and lovely in his arms. It’s past them, and Merlin knows he’ll rewrite the very structure of the universe before losing him again. “Well, I am very cross with you about that.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling, and Merlin’s shocked by the contrast. This is still his King, the man he’s loved for almost as long as he’s been alive, but this Arthur is freer, his shoulders not burdened with a kingdom, with all the choices. He’s softer, yet more determined, filled with child-like wonder, but more mature. 

Maybe being in the 21st century just does that to a man.

“I’ll endeavour to never do it again,” Arthur promises.

Merlin narrows his eyes, squeezing the arms he has wrapped around Arthur’s waist. “I won’t let you.” It’s both a promise and a threat, and from Arthur’s eyes, he knows he understands.

They share one last kiss, a part of Merlin still shocked he just gets to do that, as if nothing happened, before parting and turning to their counterparts. The two men are standing with their foreheads pressed together, fingers tangled together, Excalibur bloody but still in Emrys’s hand. He can see the man’s magic returning after being stolen by the creature, the godling, for so long, and the world responds in kind, blooming back to life.

Arthur sighs happily, watching as the forest rapidly regenerates from the fire, new branches and leaves appearing, Emrys’ grave returning back to the ground, just a flat patch of unassuming flowers. Emrys himself smiles at Pendragon, their arms locking, hands laying on their forearms in the same place - likely their soulmarks.

“Told you I’ll be back,” Emrys says cheekily. It’s strange, watching himself, but Merlin can see the differences. This man is so young and innocent still, even though his hands are stained with blood. Merlin hopes he’ll remain like that forever. “Can’t get rid of me, prat.”

“Merlin…” Pendragon sighs. He sounds so much like Arthur then, heartbroken but happy, and Merlin aches for him. He knows what it’s like to live in a world without the other side of his coin, he knows what it’s like to have Arthur die in his arms. It’s the kind of pain that never goes away, simply fading away, but by bit, over centuries. “Don’t do it again.”

“Is this an order?”

“It’s a prayer,” the blonde says immediately. “I’m begging you, please don’t do it again.”

“Oh, Arthur…” Emrys pulls his King into a hug and Merlin tugs his own soulmate closer, suddenly aching. “You heard what I said - never again.”

“Okay.” The words are muffled from where Pendragon is attempting to bury into Emrys’ neck, and the warlock smiles. “Guess you’ll just have to find a way for me to keep you company.”

Merlin freezes. He knows what the King means, and he’s afraid of even thinking about it. Arthur isn’t immortal so he’ll die one day and he’ll be alone again, but here Pendragon is, asking for a way to remain by his soulmate’s side forever. He squeezes his eyes against the tears threatening to come, and takes a deep breath. He can’t think about it now.

“Are you guys okay-”

The world warps again, and he’s thrown into nothingness, clutching Arthur to him. Merlin is not letting him go ever again.

“Merlin!”

“Stop yelling, holy-”

Arthur jolts when he hears a reply, immediately trying to disentangle himself from long limbs, only to come face to face with the love of his life. Merlin is trying to frown at him, but his eyes are dancing, and Arthur can’t help but kiss him about it, immediately sinking into the touch. It’s novel and amazing, and it makes his blood boil, and he almost climbs right into Merlin’s lap if not for the hand on his shoulder. He snarls, turning around, and rapidly deflates when he meets Gwaine's familiar eyes.

“Hello, Princess, seems like you found your Prince Charming?” he drawls, though his gaze is locked on Merlin.

The warlock yelps, almost throwing Arthur to the side in his haste to get up and wrap Gwaine in his arms, both of them laughing. He’s helped to his feet by familiar hands, and he laughs, hugging his First Knight, easily sinking into the steadiness of him. Leon smells different, but feels the same, and it’s like no time has passed.

“Welcome back, Sire,” Leon murmurs against his ear. “You’ve been missed.”

“You too,” he replies wetly, not even ashamed of his tears.

“Hmm?”

Arthur pulls away to look at his oldest friend. “Leon, we’ve all looked for you for years,” he tells the man. “We all reincarnated, one after the other, and you and Merlin were just…gone. The rest lost hope.”

“But not you?” Merlin asks, coming close again.

He shrugs. “I’ve always been stubborn.”

“I’m the one who found you, actually,” Gwaine boasts, his eyes sparkling. It’s a startling difference, and Arthur didn’t even realise how much dimmer the man became over the years, missing both Merlin and Leon. “In a certain club in Florence.”

Merlin and Leon exchange a look before bursting out laughing. “We went to hunt a ghost there!” Leon recalls. “And we got caught on camera, wait-”

“We removed our faces, though, how did you find us?”

Several things become very clear, and Arthur groans, leaning against Gwaine’s shoulder. “Couldn’t you have waited just a few more hours?” he asks jokingly, locking eyes with Merlin. “You made us look like madmen in front of our friends.”

“What?”

“We found you on Instagram, but by the time we showed everyone else, you did your little magic trick and changed appearance. No one believed us,” Arthur says dryly.

“You mean... They’re all back?” Merlin asks in a whisper, wonder filling his tone.

Arthur immediately softens, reaching out to pull the man closer, cupping his face. “The Round Table Knights,” he confirms. “And Gwen. Lancelot is back.”

“Oh.” Leon and Merlin share another look, this time filled with tears and awe, and Arthur hugs Merlin tightly. He can’t imagine living forever, always waiting for them all to come back. He barely made it through a bit over 10 years, and it was hell. However, he had always known Merlin’s so much stronger than him. “Can’t wait to meet them.”

“They can’t wait either,” Arthur promises. 

“Well, we can only do that once we make our way out of whatever this universe is,” Gwaine notices, voice bright. “Any ideas where we got spat out this time? Oh, and Merls… Was it you who made us into tourists?”

“No, actually,” Merlin says. “I’m not sure what did, yet, but it feels a bit like the Isle of the Blessed.”

Leon hums, even though it makes no sense. “Like the Triple Goddess? Gods never took much interest in us.”

“Well, maybe the two of them appearing changed that.” Merlin shrugs. He looks lighter already, though Arthur can’t imagine the weight he's carrying, both from Camelot and his long years lived. He can’t wait to learn all about it. “We’re somewhere safe, though.”

“Aw, so no battle?” Gwaine whines playfully.

“You never know,” Merlin says with a bright smile. “I’m just saying, this world feels very peaceful and happy. Doesn’t happen often.”

“We’re still in the past, aren’t we?” Leon asks.

“Oh, 100%.”

Arthur looks around and comes to a sudden realisation. “And we’re back to being somewhat close to Camelot,” he says. “I recognise this place.”

It doesn’t take Merlin long to realise it too. “Oh, isn’t this where you killed the unicorn?”

“You killed a unicorn?” Gwaine asks.

Merlin laughs, and Arthur’s too thrilled about it to even be disgruntled over his past being spilt like that. They start walking in the familiar direction of Camelot as Merlin and Leon tell the story, Arthur tucked against his warlock’s side. Now that they’re together, he knows they can face anything that comes their way.

The first thing that does is a small cart being pulled by a donkey, a young girl with an older woman riding it. The woman notices them coming out of the woods and waves, bringing the girl’s attention. When she gasps in surprise, the leaves around them dance, and Merlin softens.

“Are you going to Camelot too?” she asks in that direct, pure, innocent way of the children.

Merlin laughs, flocking to her side, and Arthur’s violently reminded just how gentle and kind the warlock can be. This is a man who commands storms and kills without mercy, but he also coos over children and smiles at little girls like they’re the most precious thing in the world.

“Indeed we are, could we maybe keep you company on your way?” he asks with a wide smile.

“I can show you my magic!” she says with a smile.

Merlin’s gasp is appropriately amazed. “You can? What a coincidence, I can show you mine too!”

Her excited yell is muffled by the tenderness blooming in Arthur’s chest. During their time in Camelot, Merlin kept himself so firmly in the shadows that he almost forgot how to be himself, but here he blooms like a flower, all wide smiles and little magical butterflies. The girl, Elle, and her grandaunt Edith are travelling to Camelot, because Edith is a seamstress and Elle wants to learn magic.

“And the best magic school is in Camelot, everyone knows that!” she says with conviction. “King Merlin made it. He’s the best.”

The words make him trip and Leon’s hand is the only thing preventing Arthur from eating the dirt. He exchanges a wild look with Merlin, tinted with hope and desperation, and they both turn to look at Elle.

“King Merlin is the teacher?” Arthur asks, trying to ignore how good the title sounds. Merlin was made to be king.

“He’s the head of the school, but he only teaches special students! I wanna be special,” she muses.

“I think you will be,” Merlin chimes in, smiling at her with something knowing in his eyes. “You have great potential.”

“Do you know a lot of magic, mister?”

“I know some,” the warlock replies humbly. “Want to see?”

Elle yells her agreement and they walk the rest of the way to Camelot surrounded by magical butterflies and dragons made of fire, flowers blooming in the thin air. Merlin’s magic is so powerful and destructive, and Arthur will never forget the image of Merlin commanding lightning, but it’s also so beautiful and gentle, gorgeous in its innocence. He creates life out of nothing, letting it scurry all over Elle, he makes the grass greener, the flowers more colourful. He’s Magic itself, but so human and flawed, and Arthur loves him so much. He can’t imagine life without him anymore, not when they finally reunited.

Camelot emerges in front of them like an old friend, and something in Arthur finally rests. Next to him, Gwaine breathes out a sigh of relief but Leon and Merlin just stare at it, grief in their eyes. It’s yet another reminder of how different their experiences have been, but Arthur vows to learn all of it. He wants to share that grief, ease their burden. They deserve it.

“I almost forgot,” Leon whispers in awe. “She’s as beautiful as ever.”

They ride into lower town, and when no one looks at them weirdly, Arthur turns to look at Merlin, eyebrow raised.

“Want to share something?” he asks quietly.

Merlin grins at him. “Come on, was I supposed to let us be swarmed by guards for looking like the King and the Knights? I’m smarter than that.”

“You made us look different?” Gwaine asks.

“I made everyone else think we look different,” Merlin corrects, once again flooring Arthur with the scope of his power. “We still need to recognise each other, no?”

“Come on, that’s where the school is! They say King Merlin visits often,” Elle urges.

They make their way through Camelot, though it’s like no Camelot Arthur has known. He had been a good king, and he knows his people have been happy, but there’s this sense of joy, of freedom, in the air. Magic is everywhere: common, everyday magic, and Arthur smiles at the sight of it. This is what he hadn’t done, this is a world where he fulfilled his role, and although it hurts, it’s still good to see. It wasn’t him that did it, but there is an Arthur who became the Once and Future King, the one who brought magic back to the land. King Arthur and King Merlin, together.

Like they’re meant to.

The school itself is a huge building, bursting with life and students, a bit like a 21st-century university. It’s thrumming with magic, however, and it’s tucked close to the castle, knights and guards milling around, chatting with the students. At the top of the entrance, there’s a dragon in flight, surrounded by lightning - not a Pendragon sign, but one of magic, of Dragonlords. Arthur isn’t sure how he knows that but then he glances at Merlin only to find him staring at it, entranced, and everything makes sense. Seems like their connection runs deeper than mere universe jumping.

“It’s the sigil of Ambrosius house,” he says quietly. “The house my father came from. A silver dragon in flight, surrounded by lightning, on a purple background.”

It fits Merlin.

Arthur aches, because his Merlin never got to carry that sigil with the pride it deserved, never got to know his history. Although it hurts, he’s glad that in this world the sigil is flown proudly above the school, hundreds of people walking under it. The sigil of magic.

“Wherever we are, things are good,” he says quietly.

They get closer to the school, a guard already asking Edith a question, when someone exits the building, and Arthur stops once again. No matter how many times it happens, he’s always struck speechless at the sight of Merlin, especially one like that.

This Merlin is wearing the colors of his house - royal purple and silver, a crown on his head, laughter in his eyes. His cape is purple, with a small golden Pendragon sigil embroidered into it, but the rest of his clothes is all dyed leather and steel. He looks dangerous and regal, the way he’s supposed to look.

Next to him, his Merlin makes a small wounded sound. 

“He’s wearing a Dragonlord’s clothes,” the man whispers. “There’s- The leather is probably griffin, and the shoulder pads are dragon scale. He’s…”

Arthur pulls the warlock close and grieves with him. There’s nothing he could say to ease the pain, and some things are long lost to the years. All they can do is witness this and appreciate the universe for what it is.

“Ah, a new student!” King Merlin exclaims, looking at Elle. She giggles, reaching out to him, and he hoists her up on his hip easily, before his eyes slide towards them. Immediately, his eyebrows rise and he pauses for a second. “How about you go with my good friend Mordred, and I take care of your companions?”

Elle agrees easily and goes into the school, while the King remains, curious blue eyes trained on them. For the first time since this whole adventure has started, Arthur is looking towards what this world brings.

Merlin stares into a pair of eyes identical to his own, and something in him softens. Maybe if he was younger, more prone to anger, he’d be furious and bitter that this is not his world, that he had failed where this man clearly won. But he’s not that young brash man anymore, and he can only feel glad that this world has it all. The Golden Age, the Magic bursting from the ground, everyone happy and bright around them. This is the Camelot that he had never gotten to see, and it’s glorious. 

“Good job,” he says quietly, enjoying the way the other Merlin’s eyes widen. “You clearly got it done.”

The Dragonlord shrugs bashfully, looking so much lighter than Merlin remembers himself being back then. He doesn’t know what exactly happened here, but he knows much of the pain has been spared from this man. Once again he’s glad.

“I can’t take all the credit. Arthur was…amazing,” the Dragonlord says with a fond smile. “But I’m sure you know this already?”

Merlin knows the other warlock can see under the disguise. He’s maybe not quite as powerful as him, but he’s also Emrys. He could never fool Emrys.

“I wish,” Merlin muses. “Show us around? I promise we mean no harm.” Those dark blue eyes focus on all of them for a second, looking deeper, trying to sink into the magic of the world, and Merlin can tell the second Emrys finds what he’s looking for. Blue turns gold, and Merlin chuckles. “It’s a bit of a long story.”

“You’re immortal,” Emrys breathes. He sounds awed but terrified, and Merlin can’t blame him. He had made peace with his immortality a long time ago, but it’s not easy still, not even with Leon by his side. How much worse would it be for a Merlin who got to have Arthur this way? Who got to marry him?

“I hate to be the bearer of the bad news but yes, I’m afraid so,” he says with a wince.

Leon comes to stand next to him, squeezing his shoulder, and they share the grief between them, easing the weight of it. Burden shared is burden halved, after all.

“It had its moments,” his oldest friend says. “But that’s not important now. We’ve been travelling around for a while, in different universes. Care to show us what world we ended up in now?”

He enjoys seeing the pride and amazement in Emrys’ eyes as he nods and tugs them along, desperately trying to pretend he’s not looking at Gwaine and Arthur. His King tangles their fingers together and it bring Merlin even more out of his pain and memories. As always, Arthur’s a wall of strength next to him, and Merlin leans into him gladly. It hasn’t been easy without him, and he intends to take all he can now.

“Arthur and I united Albion, for the most part,” Emrys is saying as he leads them through the crowds, right into the castle. Just seeing all the casual magic around them makes Merlin’s heart skip a bit, and Arthur squeezes his hand, grief in his eyes. They both know how things had looked in their world, and it hurts, but it’s worth it. “It wasn’t easy and we lost a lot, but… The Golden Age is here.”

“You and your prophecies, I swear, Merlin,” a familiar voice calls, making all of them turn around. 

This world’s Arthur is coming down the stairs, hair golden and longer than Merlin remembers them, his cape Pendragon red but with an Ambrosius silver dragon embroidered into it. The two Kings embrace, a sweet kiss exchanged, and Merlin leans against his Arthur. He didn’t have time to process what happened, the kiss and the unspoken confessions, but they have time now. 

It doesn’t sting, seeing another version of himself kiss his Arthur, not when he knows how those lips taste like.

“Don’t pretend like you haven’t spent hours listening to Druids tell all the versions of it before,” Emrys scoffs. “You can’t lie to me.”

“A terrible thing, really.”

“One more word, and I will turn you into a toad.”

The King scoffs. “Then who will rule the Kingdom?”

“I will,” Emrys replies with a sweet smile. “Forgot you married me already? You worry me, Arthur.”

Merlin watches as the other warlock pats the King’s cheek patronisingly, and tugs him back up the stairs, gesturing at all of them to follow. Gwaine does so with a loud laugh.

“Is this what I have to look forward to? Endless bickering but you two kiss instead of punching each other?” he teases.

“Hey!” his Arthur protests, before taking a second to think about it. “Okay, fair enough. But we’re not that bad. They’re married!”

The King throws them an amused look over his shoulder, and Gwaine just shakes his head.

“You two might as well have been married back in Camelot, I think you’ll only be worse now. Soulmates, ey?”

Arthur blushes a pretty pink, and Merlin has to lean slightly down to press a kiss to his jaw. He still can’t really believe what happened, and the tattoo is gone, but Arthur remains cradled between his ribs, anchored in his magic. Their souls are partly fused together, and it’s chasing off the cold loneliness of the last 1500 years. Merlin already feels better, parts of him he didn’t realise he lost over the years returning to him. 

“You’re soulmates?” Emrys asks as soon as the door to Arthur’s private chambers closes.

Merlin shrugs. “We visited a world where soulmates were an actual magical phenomenon. I didn’t have time to study it, but people seemed to be connected by a tattoo they shared, in the same place, reflecting both of them.”

“What was yours?” this world’s Arthur asks curiously.

“Ours was different than that world’s Merlin and Arthur’s, I think,” Arthur replies. “Ours was on our side, a huge Excalibur surrounded by lightning. They had something on their forearms.”

“A dragon wrapped around a crown,” Gwaine chimes in. When they all turn to look at him, he shrugs. “I protected Pendragon’s ass during battle, even got to wrap his arm when he got injured. I saw the tattoo.”

“Ours was cooler, then,” Arthur decides with a smile. Merlin laughs and they meet in a kiss. It feels so natural, even though over 1500 divides them, all the grief and pain and secrets. It’s like none of it matters now. Merlin can’t get enough of it. “I’m not exactly surprised we were soulmates, even with my limited knowledge.”

“Limited knowledge?” Emrys echoes. “Of what?”

“The prophecy and all of that.” Arthur waves his hand. “I died before Merlin could go in-depth.”

The silence that follows is so profound, they can all hear someone scurrying down the corridor outside of the chambers. Merlin watches as Emrys and the King exchange looks, gold suddenly blazing in the warlock’s eyes.

“What.” It’s not a question and Arthur swallows heavily as Emrys turns to look at him, one hand wrapped around his Arthur’s wrist. “You died?”

“I- Fuck, that wasn’t…”

Gwaine snorts. “Subtle as always, Princess,” he murmurs. “Yeah, our world sort of sucked by the end, Arthur died, I got tortured to death, Perce died… A lot of people died.”

It doesn’t hurt as much, after so many years, but Merlin still inches closer to Arthur and Gwaine, letting his magic envelop them. Both men shudder but lean closer.

“Except for Leon and me,” Merlin adds. The ginger knight shrugs once everyone turns to look at him. “Cup of Life,” he says as an explanation.

“I never expected to live forever, but I can’t say I hated every second of it,” Leon says.

In front of them Emrys and Arthur get lost in each other’s eyes, a sudden thunder sounding in the distance. Merlin can feel the warlock’s magic swelling, uncontrollable due to all the emotions and revelations, and he curses them all for their lack of common sense. Just because they all lived it, doesn’t mean it’s still not shocking and traumatic to other versions of them.

He takes a deep breath and lets his magic slowly envelop Emrys’s, smothering it just a tiny bit. Wild gold eyes meet his, but Merlin stands tall, keeping a tight lid on the power even as the younger warlock fights against him in growing desperation.

“Calm down,” Merlin growls, another thunder sounding, this time further away. “You can’t allow yourself to let your magic loose in Camelot. You’ll level the citadel.”

This seems to be enough to bring Emrys back to his senses, and the man sags into his Arthur’s arms, the sudden swell of magic falling back down. Merlin breathes out a silent sigh of relief, and shoots his Arthur a little glare, softening at the sight of his sheepish expression.

“Apologies for that,” the blonde mutters, a charming flush on his cheeks. “It’s- Yeah, not my best moment. You two are fine, it’s clearly all passed and went differently.”

“It’s not every day you learn another version of you has died,” this world’s Arthur says, voice deadpan, hiding his emotions. Emrys wraps an arm around his waist and they support each other. “But you’re clearly alive.”

“Thanks to this neat thing called ‘reincarnation’,” Gwaine says. “We all came back. Well, aside from Leon and Merlin, obviously.”

Merlin shoots his oldest friend a smile. They’re both a bit off-kilter from being in this world, but the expected bitterness doesn’t come. He’s just happy that there are versions of their story where everything went right, where he and Arthur brought the promised Golden Age of Albion, found happiness together. 

Royalty looks good on Emrys, with his straight shoulders and the fire in his eyes, the stubborn set of his jaw. Merlin never enjoyed leading, but he had learned over the years, and it’s good to see another version of himself take to it so easily. This is exactly what they deserve.

“You don’t have to worry,” Merlin promises, feeling for the fabric of the universe. There’s an echo of Camlann, but it’s mainly gone, not tinted with the tragedy that followed him for 1500 years. “The prophecy came and went, at least the first part.”

“There’s a second part?” this Arthur asks.

Merlin shrugs. “Who knows,” he replies honestly. “Prophecies are fickle things, and I know better than to live by them, now.”

“Now?”

“I used to be a fool,” Merlin says. “And I lost a lot because of it, though I can’t claim full credit. Maybe we were cursed.”

It’s something he had considered again and again, Leon and him exchanging theories for why everything had gone so spectacularly bad in their world. They’re no closer to an answer, but it is a theory that could be true.

“But we’re not,” Emrys says.

“Well, you’re a King, and magic is back in Camelot. I’d say you’re doing a pretty good job,” Merlin says with a smile. “I’m proud of you.”

They both blush like schoolboys, exchanging smitten looks, and Merlin allows himself to breathe. No matter the horrors he had experienced, they all had, at least there’s this world, this happiness. It’s almost worth it.

The burn of guilt is still there as a commotion outside draws all of their attention. Arthur stays back as Emrys runs towards the window, something large and white screeching for attention, and next to him, Merlin gasps.

“Aithusa,” he whispers.

Emrys turns to look at him with a smile. “You met her too?”

“I hatched and named her, as is my right,” Merlin says. “Failed her, in the end, but… I still love her.”

The warlocks exchange smiles, before this world’s Arthur rolls his eyes and gently pokes Emrys in the side. “Your daughter demands your attention, Merlin,” he drawls.

“I think you meant our daughter. Come,” he throws in their direction, leading them back out.

Merlin tangles theyr fingers together as they walk, Gwaine and Leon flanking their sides. It feels right, walking Camelot’s corridors together, even if the man by his side is a lightning in a bottle, power jumping under his skin. Arthur loves him anyway, so much, and he’s happy to know he married him in this world.

At least there are versions of them out there that got to be happy with no tragedy.

“Father!” The voice is melodious and booming at the same time, pale blue eyes pinning them in place as the white dragon, Aithusa, clambers for Emrys’ attention. The warlock laughs, tugging his husband with him as they pet all over the dragon, cooing over her. Then, she cocks her great head to the side, thrilling in confusion. “Father?”

His Merlin laughs a bit wetly and comes closer to her, his hands gentle as they rub over her nose and cheeks, pressing his forehead against her muzzle.

“Welcome, my daughter,” he murmurs, voice deepening, and whatever he says next is in a weird, grating language, different from the one of Old Religion. Whatever it is, it makes Aithusa narrow her eyes in pleasure, Emrys coming closer as well.

“Our little pearl,” Emrys murmurs. 

“More like a pest,” the King says under his nose. It’s not quiet enough, and Emrys turns his furious gaze at his husband. “Oh, you know I love her! But she burned half the southern wing that one time.”

“She was sick,” Emrys hisses. “And she apologised. Don’t listen to him, sweetheart, he’s just grumpy.”

Aithusa laughs, and it sounds just like Merlin, before turning to muzzle against King Arthur. “I know,” she purrs. “I love you, Father.”

Immediately, the King softens, leaning against her. “I love you too, Aithusa,” he says, uncaring of the attention they’re drawing. “Even if you’re being a pest.”

“She takes after you, sometimes,” Emrys nods.

They dissolve into bickering, Arthur spying many Knights and commoners exchanging amused smiles at the sight of their Kings fighting like an old married couple. Merlin doesn’t leave Aithusa’s side, before speaking up.

“What would you say about a younger sibling, little pearl?” the man asks, immediately drawing the pair’s attention. 

Emrys’ eyes glow. “More dragons…?” he breathes in awe.

Merlin smiles bitterly. “So many more,” he promises. “I can show you where, and you could hatch them. There are other Dragonlords out there, if you look hard enough. Uther didn’t manage to kill us all.”

The other warlock has a look of pure awe on his face, his husband wrapping an arm around him and tugging him closer. Emrys goes easily, hands trembling as they clutch the other man’s clothes.

“I’m not alone, Arthur,” he whispers shakily, and they all look away to give them an illusion of privacy.

“I know, love.”

“There aren’t many, but they’re out there,” Merlin says warmly. “And about 4 days of riding from here is the Dragon Mountain, the heart of Dragonlords in those lands. I think Aithusa could get there in a few hours.”

“Where?” Emrys demands.

Merlin smiles and closes his eyes, the other man’s face going slack for a second. 

“They’re speaking in their minds,” Leon chimes in. “It’s easier than to explain how to get there.”

“Useful,” Arthur muses.

Aithusa refuses to let them all leave for a long while, but Emrys stays distracted, hands trembling a bit, his husband sticking close to him. Arthur waves them away when they apologise for lack of care, but they end up with a room to share anyway, right in the family wing. 

“Come on, I want to see Camelot in all its glory,” Merlin says the moment the doors close behind the Kings. Gwaine raises an eyebrow. “We probably won’t stay the night, the magic won’t let us, but we can do a little sightseeing.”

“Where?”

“Glad you asked,” Merlin says with a glint in his eyes, before snapping his fingers.

Everything warps for a second, and then cool wind is whipping against his skin as they stand on the castle’s tallest balcony, the one no one has access to. Arthur hisses, grabbing Merlin’s arm for balance, but he can’t even be angry as the sun starts to set over Camelot. Below them, people are happy and thriving, and the sunlight shines off of Aithusa’s scales as the dragon loops around in the air. This is a world they never got to see, the Camelot Arthur never got to rule. It hurts, but as he leans his head against Merlin’s shoulder, the ache fades a bit.

“I have to say, this is my favourite universe so far,” Gwaine says, and he’s trying to sound nonchalant but Arthur can hear the emotions in his voice. “Though the one where Merlin was an assassin was cool.”

Leon snickers. “It’s not far from the truth, in a way.”

“Leon!”

“What?!”

Arthur and Merlin exclaim at the same time, as he turns to look at his soulmate. The warlock is flushed, stubbornly looking away, but Gwaine’s crooning in delight, tugging at his arm.

“C’mon, tell us, tell us, Merls! That’s badass as fuck!”

Merlin whines, leaning more into Arthur, and for a second, everything else fades away. It’s just them, teasing each other bathed in Camelot’s sunlight, the kingdom stretching in front of them. No matter what, at least he has this moment, those people. Arthur’s finding out, much to his surprise, that he really would give up his kingdom for his people, his friends, for Merlin. Without hesitation.

He doesn’t know what they’ll face when they get back to their time and world (and he knows they will), but he knows it’s going to be okay. Their time in Camelot has passed, but they can make different memories, change the world once again. This time together.

It’s like the world flickers for a second, everything around them glowing gold, and it’s Aithusa’s screech that follows them as the universe takes them away, spitting them out onto a cold, hard ground. They all groan, Arthur’s eyes immediately looking for Merlin, sighing in relief when their gazes meet.

“Wait…” Leon says slowly. “We’re back.”

“What?” Gwaine gasps, scrambling to get up. “Is this-”

“That’s our university,” the former First Knight notices. “And it’s later. Dark outside.”

Arthur stays silent as his hand meets Merlin’s, and they tug each other upright, sticking close together. He can feel the warlock’s magic working, seeping into everything around them, coming back joyful.

“Leon’s right,” Merlin says. “We are back. It’s our world and our time, just a few hours later.”

He tries to think about it for a second, before deciding to fuck it and throwing himself into Merlin’s arms, kissing his warlock deeply. The other man grunts but quickly melts into it, arms wrapping around Arthur’s waist, and it’s just the two of them, together.

The journey was almost impossible to fathom, but Arthur found him, found them. Gwaine’s laughing from where he’s hugging Leon, and he doesn’t know what happens next, but things are alright again. Merlin is back, the other side of his coin, his soulmate, the man he loves. Arthur couldn’t ask for anything more, especially with Leon’s sure presence behind them, rolling his eyes at their affection. 

Whatever comes their way, they can weather. And Arthur can’t wait to reveal to their friends that they were right, reuniting the immortals with the rest of the Round Table. The prophecy is unclear but it doesn’t matter. People matter, and Arthur has everyone that makes his life whole. It’s okay.