Merlin’s eyes fluttered open, struggling against the haze of unconsciousness that clung to him like a shadow. He felt the unmistakable sensation of warmth coursing down his neck—sweat. His body ached, a dull, gnawing pain that made it difficult to distinguish reality from the disorienting fog that shrouded his mind.
In the distance, a familiar voice echoed, though it was wrapped in uncertainty. Was it truly Arthur? “Mmh… Arthur?” Merlin’s voice emerged as a raspy whisper, barely breaking through the weight of his exhaustion. He blinked slowly, the light filtering through the room revealing the familiar figure of Arthur sitting on a stool beside him. Yet, the surroundings felt unfamiliar, a blur that his mind couldn’t quite grasp.
Arthur’s eyes widened as they locked onto Merlin. Panic surged through him, and he rushed to his friend’s side. “I’m here, Merlin… I’m here,” he said, his voice a soft, soothing balm amidst the chaos swirling in Merlin’s head. He tenderly took Merlin’s hand, his grip warm and reassuring.
“Arthur… Arthur, what—” Merlin attempted to ask, but Arthur gently cut him off with a firm yet tender tone. “Don’t speak… you’re too weak. Just rest now.” The words felt like a cocoon, wrapping around Merlin, urging him to surrender to the fatigue that weighed heavily upon him.
Merlin’s eyes began to droop again, the world around him fading as he succumbed to the stillness that enveloped him.
Hours seemed to stretch into an eternity as Arthur stood, pacing the small room with restless energy. The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the walls with a warm, golden hue, casting long shadows that danced in the dim light. Every flicker of movement kept Arthur acutely aware of Merlin’s fragile state.
Eventually, Merlin stirred, a soft sound escaping him as Arthur recalled the cauldron where he attempted to cook some soup for his ailing friend. With purposeful steps, Arthur moved to the makeshift meal, his heart aching with the desire to help. He returned to Merlin’s side, crouching down and gently placing a hand at the back of his neck. Carefully, he lifted Merlin’s head, tilting it slightly to offer the bowl to his pale, chapped lips.
“Drink, Merlin… drink,” Arthur urged, his voice imbued with a blend of hope and concern. A slight wheeze escaped Merlin’s mouth, but he trusted Arthur, feeling the warmth of friendship radiating from his companion. With that, Arthur coaxed him to take the nourishment, embodying the strength and love that had always defined their bond in the face of adversity.
Arthur moved the bowl away as soon as he heard Merlin begin to cough. Though relief washed over him, he was keenly aware that Merlin was not seriously injured—just utterly exhausted from the immense power he had wielded to defeat Morgana. With great care, Arthur lowered Merlin’s head back onto the pillow of the ancient hut, a place that stirred echoes of Gaius’s home within Merlin’s mind. It wasn’t Gaius’s cottage nor the meadow they once cherished, yet it carried a comforting familiarity.
Settling back onto the creaky wooden stool, Arthur fought to concentrate, but his thoughts were ensnared by Morgana’s words. “You are not the one I want… but him, because he is king.” The phrases echoed relentlessly in his mind, a disturbing refrain that sent a chill down his spine. Merlin was not a king; he was Arthur’s loyal servant and his closest friend. No one in all of Camelot would ever dare to label Merlin a king, would they?
Yet the thought wouldn’t leave him. It lingered like an unwelcome shadow, unsettling him in ways he could not fully understand. Arthur’s brow furrowed as he wrestled with the implications of Morgana’s statement. Something about it felt profoundly wrong, but also strangely right—like a puzzle piece that almost fit. As he sat in the quiet of the hut, the weight of his thoughts pressed down upon him, refusing to allow him the peace he so desperately sought.
A few days passed in a haze of silence and healing, and finally, after what felt like an eternity, Merlin began to stir. He opened his eyes to the unfamiliar light of the room, blinking against the brightness and eyeing the surroundings with a mixture of confusion and suspicion. Memories of how he had ended up there danced just beyond his reach, elusive and frustrating.
As he sat up slowly, a wave of dizziness washed over him, and his breath came in heavy, uneven gasps. Panic tightened in his chest, and he barely managed to call out, his voice hoarse, “Arthur?”
The sound barely escaped his lips when Arthur burst through the door, a radiant smile illuminating his face. “You’re awake!” he exclaimed, his voice filled with a mix of relief and joy. He dashed across the room, his heart racing as he wrapped his arms around Merlin in a tight embrace.
Taken aback for a moment by the unexpected warmth of Arthur’s hug, Merlin felt a sense of comfort wash over him, dispelling the remnants of confusion and fear. He wrapped his own arms around his friend, grateful to find himself in familiar arms once again and under far better circumstances.
“Arthur…” he mumbled, his voice muffled against the fabric of Arthur’s chest, feeling the steady heartbeat beneath. In that moment, with the world around him fading into the background, he knew he was safe.
As Arthur pulled back slightly, concern etched across his features, he gazed deeply into Merlin’s eyes. “Oh, Merlin, how are you feeling?”
Merlin blinked, slowly coming to terms with the world around him. “I’m feeling a lot better… I don’t understand. What happened to Morganna? Where are we?” His voice trembled, still caught in a haze of shock, but he wasn’t ready to let go of Arthur just yet.
A reassuring smile spread across Arthur's face as he gently pulled Merlin from the cot, enveloping him in a hug that spoke of warmth and safety. “Merlin, you defeated her. You used a lot of energy. I’ve never seen you so frail. You collapsed.” He paused, his tone softening. “As for where we are, Kilghara flew us to a hut where he said you grew up.”
Merlin’s eyes widened in realization, a flood of memories crashing over him like waves against a rocky shore. Tears threatened to spill as he looked around the familiar, rustic interior. “Of course… No one, I couldn’t place it… This was my mother’s hut…” His voice cracked under the weight of nostalgia as he pulled back slightly, taking a deep breath. The old, faint scent of home still lingered in the air, a poignant reminder of the past, even after a thousand years.
He closed his eyes for a moment, allowing the memories to wash over him, feeling the presence of his mother in every corner of the space, as if she had never truly left. The warmth of Arthur’s embrace grounded him, a beacon of comfort amidst the turmoil of his thoughts. In that moment, he was no longer just a warrior or a sorcerer; he was a son, connected to a history that shaped him, surrounded by the echoes of his beginnings.
As the days slipped by in a blur, the world around them shifted from the warmth of spring to the chill of winter. With each rising sun, Merlin felt himself growing stronger, the remnants of his previous struggles fading like the morning mist. He reveled in the newfound comfort of his existence, savoring the simple joys of life that had once seemed so elusive.
Yet, amid this tranquility, Arthur grappled with a storm brewing within him. The echoes of Morgana's words haunted him, relentless and unyielding. “You're not the one I want. Merlin is king.” Those phrases twisted and turned in his mind, a cruel riddle he couldn’t escape. They stole his peace, leaving him restless and agitated as he watched Merlin thrive beside him.
On a particularly tranquil evening, the sun dipped low on the horizon, painting the sky in vibrant hues of orange and purple. Merlin, captivated by the beauty of the fading light, stood on the wooden porch outside the hut where he grew up a thousand years ago. The world bathed in a golden glow. It was a moment of serenity—a fleeting pause in the chaos of their lives—when Arthur approached, his heart pounding with an urgency he could no longer contain.
“I know you have a secret…” Arthur’s voice was barely louder than a whisper as he stood beside his friend, the weight of unspoken truths thick in the air between them. The words hung there, a challenge and a plea, as the twilight deepened, wrapping them in shadows and uncertainty.
Merlin turned to Arthur, a flicker of concern in his eyes. “What do you mean?” he asked, feigning ignorance, though he sensed the storm brewing within Arthur.
“I can see it in your eyes, Merlin. You’re different now.” Arthur’s gaze bore into him, searching for answers that eluded even the wisest of seers. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”
The shadows danced around them, mirroring the turmoil in Arthur’s heart. Merlin hesitated, knowing that revealing the truth would shatter the fragile peace they had built. But Arthur had the right to know.
Taking a deep breath, Merlin finally spoke, “It’s complicated, Arthur. But what you heard… it wasn't meant for you.”
As the last sliver of sunlight disappeared behind the hills, Arthur clenched his fists, the struggle within him manifesting as an undeniable tension. “Complicated doesn’t cut it anymore, Merlin. I need to understand… to know what path lies ahead for us both.”
And as the stars began to twinkle above them, illuminating the night with their distant light, the two friends stood on the precipice of a truth that could change everything. The weight of destiny loomed large, and with it, the promise of a revelation that neither could escape.
Arthur stood before Merlin, the weight of centuries pressing heavily upon his shoulders. “Merlin,” he began, his voice trembling with emotion, “I died… I was dead for over a thousand years. I still can’t even grasp that.” He paused, struggling to find the right words. “You have been alone, watching as our friends faded away, one by one. The year is now 2025.”
He took a deep breath, the pain of regret welling up inside him. “I’m sorry for leaving you. For not understanding.” Arthur stepped closer, his gaze unwavering, locking onto Merlin’s eyes with an intensity that demanded the truth. “You have been by my side, never wavering, even in death. When I returned, you brought me back to health. You helped me understand this new world, and when you stood beside me in battle against Morgana, I felt a surge of hope… Until I saw you fall alongside her. It terrified me, Merlin.”
A silence hung between them, thick with unspoken fears and unaddressed feelings. “I had to help you,” Arthur continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “You're my best friend, Merlin. But I know you’re lying to me.” He could see the conflict in Merlin’s expression, a flicker of uncertainty clouding his usually steadfast resolve. “You don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready, but I think you should. I need to know, Merlin.”
His plea hung in the air, raw and vulnerable, as he sought the truth buried beneath layers of unspoken thoughts. “Please.”
Merlin nodded gravely, his gaze fixed on Arthur as the weight of his words began to sink in. “I know… Gods, I know,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “When you died, Gwenivere made magic legal in Camelot. It was a time of hope, but she grew old, as everyone does…and eventually, she passed away, just as I told you.”
He hesitated, the shadows of the past flickering in his mind. “But I left out… I left out an important part… and I’m so sorry for that.” Taking a deep breath, he continued, “On Gwen’s deathbed, she… she asked me something unimaginable. When she died, would I take over Camelot? Would I be king?”
Arthur’s eyes widened, and Merlin could see the confusion etched on his face. “I refused at first, Arthur. I truly did. But she was so frail, and she kept begging… so I took over.” The memories swirled, bittersweet and haunting. “But my reign didn’t last long. Camelot fell shortly after Gwen passed. I couldn’t do it. I don’t know why Morgana was saying I was king. I swear I have no idea what she was talking about.”
He paused, his expression pained. “I was… I was king of Camelot for a month over a thousand years ago. That would be of no use to Morgana now. I mean, even if she… You know, hurt me… she would have no tie to the throne.”
Silence hung heavy between them, the enormity of what Merlin had revealed settling in the air like a shroud.