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It had been a life or death scenario, like they always were. It was either let Arthur die, or use magic and help them escape. Merlin didn't know it'd end up so horribly. He thought, for a moment, that there may be a chance Arthur would react with less hatred, and more of anger, or frustration. They'd been friends for long, he'd hoped that perhaps that would alleviate some of the distress. But it was more disgust, hatred, and everything in between that Merlin received as they trudged through the forest. The silence had been tearing them apart from the inside out ever since Arthur saw Merlin perform magic.
He refused to call him by name, only by "sorcerer" or "liar" or "traitor", and Merlin took each word to heart, despite not showing it.
But then, later, there had been an attack as they tried to escape. They came from all directions, and in the chaos one of their horses had disappeared. Arthur, slashing away at the bandits surrounding them, was completely unaware of the one running from his back. Merlin raced towards him on instinct, jumped between the man and the king, and intercepted the wide swinging blade.
Arthur didn't seem to notice this, either, completely ignorant to having been saved once again. The sword tore into Merlin's side, opening a great cut along the left of his torso. He felt the sharp pain etch into him, A wound that was long and deep on the left side of his body. Eventually, he resorted to magic to stop them. Though they had defeated the bandits, Merlin had a fear that the cut could prove to be fatal, if he didn't care for it properly.
Afterwards, Arthur was berating him over using magic to defend them and he realized that he wouldn't have the chance to escape to tend to it. Eventually, the king grudgingly left for the stream, leaving Merlin to try and staunch the blood flow.
Two days later, the anger rose in Arthur once again, sharp and sudden. They were arguing over why Merlin could have even thought to practice magic when it was evil and wrong and vile. The rage and frustration and pain erupted from him like a flood.
"And what difference does it make, a sword and magic? You've slaughtered people who were like me, you and your father before you!" Merlin bellowed, standing up abruptly despite the agony the movement caused. "I was born this way, I've had it my whole life and was forced into this destiny that I didn't even want with magic running in my veins from the moment I was born. What do you possibly think I could have said when you went to condemn all people who possessed magic and turned away those who were most loyal to you? You watched Gaius get put on a pyre, you saw Gwen get imprisoned for magic she didn't even have. You turned people who were loyal to you for Agravaine!"
"You shall never speak to me of loyalty, you liar," Arthur spat. "You, who betrayed my trust for nearly a decade--"
"WHAT COULD I HAVE SAID? YOU HATE MAGIC. YOU'VE HATED MAGIC ALL YOUR LIFE," Merlin shouted, feeling a rage he hadn't felt before. "I WANTED TO STAY BY YOUR SIDE AND PROTECT YOU WITHOUT HAVING TO BE MURDERED FOR IT."
"PROTECT ME? IS THIS WHAT YOU CALL PROTECTION? Morgana's threatening Camelot and we've barely escaped with our lives. For all I know, you've been helping her and I should have you executed for treason," Arthur spat.
"Kill me, then," Merlin hissed, and the air seemed frozen with the words. It was a challenge if there ever was one, sure and strong and authorative. Merlin scowled at Arthur, not a single ounce of fear lingering in his body. "Kill me. I dare you."
Arthur, blind with rage, surged forward and shoved him against a tree, pressing Excalibur to Merlin's throat, snarling and glaring with such a furious hatred it was a wonder Merlin didn't even flinch. And he didn't, there was no sign of fear, only defiance. Arthur held the blade against Merlin's throat, watching as the sword drew droplets of blood from the cut that he had pressed into his manservant's skin. How it delved deeper and deeper into the pale skin and the breadth of it grew wider along the length of the blade, trapping him against the tree. Merlin stared at him coldly, in challenge, anticipating the feeling of his throat being slit open in just a moment. He didn't dare move, didn't swallow, knowing that it would only bring his death quicker.
After several moments of staring at each other with blatant disdain, Arthur pulled away and all the fight drained out of Merlin's body as the king sulked off.
The next few days went like this as they trudged through the forest. They managed to avoid any of the Saxons, seeking refuge in dips in the ground, fallen trees that provided shelter. They managed to scrounge for food, though it was not nearly enough to tame the painful gnawing in their stomachs.
Still, Merlin had not had the chance to tend to the wound along his side, not long enough to bandage it but enough to apply herbs he recognized from Gaius' apothecary. Arthur insisted on him retrieving all of the supplies under his watchful eye. At one point, Merlin winced audibly as he bent to collect the firewood, and Arthur turned to glare at him. "What is it?"
"My side," Merlin managed. He sat down on a log for a moment to rest.
“What are you doing?” Arthur snapped, looming above him. Weakly, he looked up at the king, hoping that there may be an ounce of pity in his eyes when he met them. Please believe me, just this last time. But, there was only cold hatred that burned there.
“My side,” he repeated through gritted teeth. “It hurts. I think the wound is—”
“A wound? You'll be fine,” he said dismissively. “You should stop complaining about injuries. You’re a sorcerer, after all. Just fix it yourself.”
“But I—”
“Enough,” he said sternly. “We have to go.” Merlin watched as Arthur continued on, ignoring him completely other than choosing to send him disgusted glares. His shoulders sank and with a painful wince, he forced himself back onto his feet and trailed after the king deeper into the forest.
The next morning, Arthur woke to find Merlin still asleep across the remains of the fire. He was furious, initially, as he had been for the past few days, but he was extra furious as to why the sorcerer hadn't woken him up as he instructed him to. But, when he approached the sleeping form, he realized that he wasn't truly sleeping at all and was entirely unresponsive to all of the insults that were thrown at his face. Eventually, the anger ebbed into concern and Arthur noticed the clammy, pale skin and sunken cheeks. He gingerly checked for injuries, and found the source of what was causing Merlin to remain unconscious.
It came from somewhere along Merlin's side. He remembered how Merlin had winced the other day, telling him how it was causing him pain. My side, he'd said, struggling with anguish. He pulled up the red tunic that was stained crimson, hardened blood that had dried during their trip. When he revealed the cut, he swallowed down the urge to vomit.
The infection was ghastly: it spread from the long, deep cut along Merlin's side and towards his heart, deep red lines traveling through the passage of his veins. The cut was oozing a yellow-green puss, trickling slowly down the pale skin. The wound was several days old, much older than the cut carved into Merlin's throat by his hands. It was far beyond anything Arthur's basic skills of medicine could begin to repair.
Arthur dragged an unconscious Merlin to the nearby tree, propping him against it, one hand gripping his shoulder while the other placed pressure on the wound. Arthur tapped at his cheek repeatedly, shouted at his name, until at last Merlin's eyes fluttered open.
"Sire...?" His voice was barely a croak as he lifted his head with a great effort, only to have it loll to the side, eyes falling closed once again.
"Merlin, you have to stay awake," Arthur urged, bordering desperate now. "The wound is..." His voice trailed off, and he was unable to think of a proper description for the horror that was Merlin's injury. "Can you heal yourself?"
"I... I can't," he croaked. "Healing magic is hard for me, even when I'm..." Strong, and not taking my last breaths.
Arthur felt the panic rise quicker at that, knowing there was nothing to fall back on. "That's alright, you need to save your energy anyways," he said reassuringly, not knowing whether or not he was trying to comfort himself or Merlin. Now that Merlin truly was on the brink of leaving him, he felt a panic and a great fear of losing him for good. Barely any anger remained and all there was a deep, torrential fear of Merlin's death. "Just stay awake. Please."
"You don't have to pretend," Merlin mumbled, tongue numb, expression full of exhaustion.
"Pretend?" Arthur asked, confused. His hand was still holding up the tunic to examine the cut.
"I'm still the same person, I still... I know that you don't care. Leave me here." It was a request, almost, from Merlin's tone. So quiet and so innocent. So sad.
"Merlin, now is not the time for jokes," Arthur said sternly. "I'll drag you if I have to."
Merlin shook his head and raised it with a great effort, looking at Arthur with empty eyes. "I'm so tired, Arthur," he said with defeat. It was so unlike him to be so hopeless, and Arthur felt the regret growing within him.
"I know, but you just have to hold on for a bit, and then you'll get to rest as much as you'd like." Arthur initially thought of placing a joke in there, about how he would be fighting fit enough to return to polishing his armor, but knew that they had gone beyond bantering, and he had taken his neglect too far. "You're going to be alright."
Merlin shook his head again, but his eyes met Arthur's and they were so full of despair his heart ached at the sight. Gone was that bright, cheerful, lively friend, and in his place was a shell hollowed out by burdens and sorrow. "You should let me go," Merlin managed.
"You want me to let you escape? You're in no state to do so," Arthur said flatly.
"No," Merlin said weakly. "No, I don't want to escape." He gave Arthur a knowing look, and after searching for the answers in Merlin's eyes, he understood.
Let me go.
Oh.
Oh.
"It's easier than... building a pyre," Merlin continued. "This way, you won't be judged for having magic... so close to the heart of Camelot." That way, you'll have an excuse to let me die, Merlin thought to himself. I know how much you want to. His eyes stayed steady on Arthur's. "Will you send word to my mother when it's done? Please tell her that I love her."
"Merlin..."
"I know how you must hate me, but I have only one last thing to ask from you."
"Alright," Arthur said, afraid of what he would say.
"Anything but the pyre. Please, Arthur." Give me an ounce of mercy.
"I'm not going to..." Arthur's voice trailed off at the thought of it, feeling sick to his stomach. "We'll talk about this later. But you have to stay with me," Arthur said softly. Merlin didn't respond, eyes teary and full of sorrow.
"I can't," he breathed, too quiet for Arthur to hear.
He'd assumed he had just been exhaling, but as he checked Merlin's wound, he realized that the shallow rise and fall of his chest had ceased. "Merlin? Merlin," the king said sternly, shaking him. But Merlin's eyes had been completely drained of any ounce of life, entirely empty with a far away gaze. "Merlin. Please, please don't leave me, please. Merlin... Merlin, MERLIN." His fingers searched for a pulse along the pale neck, past the sliver of open skin he’d sliced through a few days ago. He recoiled slightly at the sight of it. Arthur dropped his forehead to Merlin's shoulder when he found no thrum of a heartbeat, sobbing, "Please come back to me."
The king refused to think of Merlin as a corpse, a lifeless thing. He righted him on the horse, sitting behind him as he fought back the swell of sorrow blooming in his chest. The cold form was leaning against him, a complete deadweight as Arthur bracketed the hollow body. He held him firmly, afraid he'd fall off, afraid he'd lose him again. They made their way back to Camelot as the sun began to set.
Once they arrived, there was a flurry of events. The knights, who had returned from their escapade, took Merlin off the horse and hurried him to Gaius' chambers. They were careful not to ask questions, from the lost expression on Arthur's face, and worked quickly to transport Merlin.
"This way, sire," Leon said gently, and Arthur followed him mindlessly to his chambers.
Another servant had remedied a bath for him, and Arthur cleaned the dirt and grime and blood from his body before dressed, feeling numb and dizzy with the jarring contrast in realities he'd been torn between. Every time he blinked, he had returned to the forest, watching as Merlin lay dying, propped up against a tree. He saw the flash of gold eyes, the glint of a sword against a pale neck. Opening a wound just above the neckerchief he'd once tugged just to tease the wearer about making inappropriate weight jokes.
The realization hit him horribly. He had nearly slit Merlin's throat open.
Merlin's last thoughts were that he didn't care, last words pleading to be exempt from burning on a pyre. Merlin had asked to be left there to die.
I should have known you were in pain, Arthur thought. I should have seen.
He sat on the edge of his bed and wept.
Eventually, he did gather the courage to visit the Physician's Chambers. It was a day after he'd returned with Merlin. Gaius was sitting at Merlin's bedside with his head in his hands when he arrived, fingers grasping at one of Merlin's hands as though praying. Arthur heard muffled sobs coming from him.
"Gaius?" Arthur said tentatively. The old physician raised his head, looking utterly worn and heartbroken.
"Sire," he said quietly. Arthur glanced at the body on the bed, the sickly paleness. The blanket was pulled up to his torso, and he'd been washed and cleaned and was wearing a fresh tunic. He was grateful that his eyes were closed, He didn't think he could cope with seeing them so void of life again. Almost, Merlin could be mistaken for asleep.
"Is he...?" Arthur couldn't bare to finish the sentence aloud. The tears in Gaius' eyes and the hunch of his shoulders were indication enough of the answer.
"I... I do not know how it would have gotten to this point," Gaius murmured. "The infection had had several days to worsen. It was too late, possibly already a day too late, before you arrived here."
Arthur swallowed at the implications of it. If he had just listened to Merlin, he'd be alive and breathing and here. "I know he has magic, Gaius," Arthur said at last. Gaius' eyes looked heavy as he turned towards him once more. Merlin had already said that Gaius knew.
"I know that you know, sire."
Arthur choked back on a word, then asked, "How?" Gaius looked at Merlin's body once more. Arthur followed his eyes, saw how they landed on the cut at the base of Merlin's throat. Arthur swallowed the guilt, and was grateful that Gaius did not turn to meet his gaze. "I will leave you now, Gaius. Good night," he said quietly.
It was strange, this emptiness that carved within him. There was no warning for it, no preparations that could have been made. There were nightmares, too, that had lapsed in the following days. Nightmares of bloody smiles carved into pale skin, crimson stained neckerchiefs and lifeless blue and gold eyes. Nightmares of infections, and friends, and loss.
Guinevere was in a constant state of despair, Gwaine spent more time in the taverns, accompanied by Percival who always had to drag him home. Gaius had remained in sullen silence in his chambers.
Arthur woke to the voice of a different servant a week after he'd returned.
"The Court Physician has asked for you, sire," the boy said. Arthur rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
"Gaius?" Arthur cocked his head curiously, knowing that Gaius blamed him for the state that Merlin was in. For letting his ward die.
The serving boy nodded. "Yes, sire. He has asked you to visit him."
"Why?"
"He says that Merlin is alive."
The words were... heavy. They swelled with a possibility that he'd been hoping for but was afraid to give the idea too much thought. Arthur jumped from the bed, going immediately to his wardrobe. "Thank you," he choked out. "You're dismissed for the day. Go get some rest."
If only he'd afforded the luxury of rest to Merlin, just days ago.
He didn't care for propriety as he nearly sprinted down the halls to Gaius' chambers, tearing the door open and stumbling inside. Gaius looked up at him, surprised by the state he was in and the suddenness of his entry.
"My lord."
"He's awake?" Arthur croaked, voice weary.
"Yes, but I do not believe he wishes to speak with you," Gaius said coldly, "sire," he added spitefully. Merlin must have told him what happened, then. All of it in its entirety, to draw such a cold tone from the old man. He must know how Arthur had been so willing to drag Merlin around and treat him so horribly, even in his dying moments.
Arthur knew that he wholly deserved the bitterness and venom in the physician's tone, hanging his head. "I would only like to see if he is alive. I... I need to see that he is alive."
Gaius gave him a calculated look, narrowing his eyes before relenting. He nodded his head towards Merlin's room.
When the door opened, Merlin raised his head to see who was entering his chambers, and his eyes met Arthur's for a brief moment before he dropped his gaze once again, fixating on the sheets. Arthur's breath caught at how pale he was, how he didn't look like he'd gotten nearly enough sleep. He had grown thin, back to how he had been before he'd become muscular in a lean sort of way, and his clothes hung off him. Arthur noticed how he wasn't wearing his neckerchief, and then he saw the shiny salve at the base of his throat that coated the cut Arthur had placed there.
"Merlin," Arthur breathed with relief, because he was relieved. Relieved that Merlin was alive, that he was here and breathing and his heart was pumping blood into his body, how he was sitting up as he leaned against the wall behind his bed.
Merlin hesitated for several long moments before he finally muttered, "Sire."
"I'm glad to see you alive," Arthur said softly. He could see how Merlin very nearly scoffed at that, face hardening as he turned to the window.
"I hope that you didn't bring me here for an execution," Merlin said, "but I would not be surprised if that were so."
Arthur blanched at the words. He was surprised Merlin could even say so much, considering he had just come back from the dead. "I wouldn't hurt you," he said, then glanced at the cut upon Merlin's neck that was just beginning to heal. Merlin's eyes teared up involuntarily at these words, knowing just as well they were a lie. He cursed himself as his shoulders sagged. "I'll leave you to rest," he said at last when Merlin didn't respond.
Merlin had been trapped in sullen silence ever since he returned. Gaius, Gwaine, and Gwen had been the only three to coax words out of him. Every time Arthur came to see him, he stiffened as though preparing for a blow to the head, or a swing of a sword directed at his throat. It wasn't misplaced fear, either, he knew.
One day, Arthur gathered the courage to remain in the room, even though Merlin hadn't said anything and he would typically take this as his cue to leave.
"I'm not going to execute you," Arthur said into the quiet. Merlin's jaw tightened as he leveled Arthur with a suspicious look. "I won't. I swear it." He sighed when Merlin remained quiet. He so desperately wanted to ask, Why didn't you tell me? but the answer came in the form of the scar that lingered on his throat. "I'm sorry," he said at last. "I'm sorry for how I've treated you. It was wrong, I was wrong, and I shouldn't have said or done what I had." He waited for a response, but when he didn't receive one, he continued, "You're right, about the magic. The crimes against people who are like you are... horrific, and tragic, and I aided in them and I'm sorry that you've suffered so much because of it."
Merlin gave him a tired look. "Where is this coming from?" he said at last. "Have you been enchanted?"
"What? No," Arthur said indignantly. "No, Merlin."
"Then why are you here?" he asked. It wasn't accusing or angry. Just curious, and wary.
Because I miss you. I'm sorry, and I love you, and I miss you.
"I told you. It's because I'm sorry." Merlin hummed in acknowledgement, considering.
Instead of saying anything in response to that, he said, "The sword was meant for you," he said defeatedly. "He was aiming for you." Arthur felt his whole body seize at this, the guilt latching itself onto his veins and drawing them tight. "I know you hate magic, and therefore me, but I was still born to serve you. And I was proud of that."
"Was?"
"Was," Merlin agreed. Arthur hung his head, looking at the patterns on Merlin's sheets. "I think that it is no longer my destiny to be here," he said. "You're the once and future king, meant to unite Albion. I think it's time I leave you to fulfill your destiny."
"What? But..." But I can't do this without you.
Merlin's eyes flickered away. "I hope that one day, you'll see how much people care for you. How much you should care for them."
Arthur wanted to take Merlin's hands in his, to feel the callouses against his fingertips and beg for forgiveness.
"I'm tired, Arthur," he said, and it took him back to the days in the forest, watching Merlin wither away before his very eyes. Watching him die from infection that came from the swing meant for him. The hopelessness wasn't there this time, but there was resignation, and despair.
"Right, of course," he said softly. "I've kept you long enough. Get some rest."
Arthur crept to the door of the physician's chambers, hearing the quiet hum of conversation inside. "I'll miss you," said Merlin's voice, stronger and more certain that it had been for so long. Arthur peered inside, seeing a small group of people gathered around Merlin. He was embracing Gwen, who was teary-eyed and smiling sadly. "I'm grateful for you, grateful for all that you've done," Gwen said, nodding appreciatively, obviously fighting the onslaught of more tears. It seemed as though Gwaine had already made his goodbyes, and now Gaius was hugging Merlin and telling him how proud he was of the young man. Arthur felt emotion swell in his throat, and retreated before he could hear anything more.
As expected, Merlin had disappeared the next day. Weeks had passed since that day, and then the weeks began to bleed into months. Arthur felt the gaping hole within him every time he went anywhere, the kitchens, his chambers, the throne room, the training field. There was nowhere in the entire kingdom he did not see the ghost of Merlin haunting him.
He tried to distract himself, tried to carve that part out of him by keeping busy. There were council meetings, round table meetings. Morgana was nowhere to be seen, not for a long time, not after Merlin had left. It was strange, this temporary peace. Arthur couldn't help but wonder if it was because of Merlin. But, then again, everything and nothing seemed to be because of Merlin, now.
It took too long for Arthur to gather the courage to make a trip to Ealdor. He'd remembered going there, once after Morgana had taken Camelot with Agravaine, and another, long ago, when they'd gone to help Merlin's mother against who had been stealing their food. He made his way to the house he recognized, and realized how easily he had identified it despite it looking like everything other house around. How quickly the feeling of home had taken place.
The people were milling about, giving him wary glances. He tethered his horse to a tree, then made his way along the dirt. He was grateful he'd chosen to wear his day clothing, and though he still did not blend in with the others the dark blue tunic and the black pants weren't nearly as discernable as his chainmail armour.
Arthur swallowed before knocking, clearing his throat. Eventually, he raised his fist and knocked three times.
A few moments later, Merlin's mother appeared. "Your highness," Hunith said in an uncomfortably cool voice when she opened the door. A freezing rage was suppressed in her eyes. Arthur swallowed nervously.
"My lady," he said, bowing his head. "I would like to speak to your son, if he is present."
Hunith narrowed her eyes at him, hand tightening on the door, as though considering slamming it in Arthur's face. "Merlin is currently busy in the gardens."
"I understand," Arthur said softly. "I will wait for him." As long as it takes. Hunith's expression softened by a fraction of a degree and she held the door open wider.
"Do not take long," she muttered, giving him a sharp nod to direct him inside. "I do not care if you are the king, I will poison your food if need be."
Arthur's breath hitched when he saw Merlin's back as he worked at the fields, plowing the dirt quickly. He must have heard him coming, because he called, "I'll be in in a moment Mother," and glanced over his shoulder. He staggered when he saw Arthur standing there and straightened immediately. "Oh."
"Hello," Arthur said, feeling uncharacteristically sheepish.
"What are you, erm, doing here?" Merlin managed, still reeling with surprise but trying to maintain civility as there were people milling about tending to their daily chores. He couldn't very well shout, get defensive, or flee, but his eyes were guarded and wary, like an animal caught in a trap. Bracing for an attack. He glanced at his house, then at the woods, as though he were seeking escape. Or perhaps, wanting to protect Hunith.
"I wanted to see you."
Merlin frowned. "Did it take this long for you to realize I'd gone?" He sounded hurt, Arthur realized. He seemed to think that Arthur wouldn't have noticed, when nearly a year had passed.
"No, of course not," Arthur said indignantly. "I knew the day you left, but I've just been... afraid."
"Afraid?" Merlin echoed, sounding evermore wounded despite how hard he was trying to hide it. He took a step back, leaning on the plow. "You know I wouldn't hurt you."
Arthur shook his head quickly, feeling guilt all over again knowing he had hurt Merlin. Had hurt him more than he knew. "Not afraid of the magic. Afraid of... facing you, after what I've done to you. What I've done wrong. I was afraid to see you."
"I didn't think you'd want to see me," Merlin admitted. He ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry I didn't give you a proper goodbye." He hung his head in shame, and Arthur was momentarily fascinated by the way his hair had grown long, and had curled past his ears that were just a bit large but endearing. He'd had words prepared, a great number of very serious words, but he seemed to forget them entirely because Merlin was standing in front of him, looking just as devastatingly handsome as ever, even though he was wearing an unfamiliar old beige tunic that was stained with sweat and dirt. He'd neglected the neckerchief as well, and his sleeves were rolled up, and when he looked up at Arthur again his eyes were just as piercingly blue as they had been before.
Arthur swallowed. "It's alright, I hardly deserved one," he said, trying for a joke. It ringed with truth and Merlin's expression hardened, becoming difficult to read. More difficult than it already was. "Are you well?" he asked.
Merlin nodded slowly. There was still tension between them, a great canyon of trust issues and lies and apologies that hadn't yet been said. "Yes, I've healed quite remarkably. Just a few scars, is all," he said dismissively. When he saw Arthur's expression sadden, he managed an awkward, apologetic smile. They lapsed into silence again before he asked, "How is Camelot?"
"Well. We've had peace for a long time, it's quite... nice." Arthur wasn't entirely sure that was the right adjective, but he chose it nonetheless.
Merlin cocked his head curiously, eyebrows furrowing. "You sound disappointed."
"I miss the adventures, sometimes. The thrill of going on a quest." The thrill of being with you, by your side, having you by mine. I miss you. Merlin nodded pensively. His eyes wandered to the house across from his, and Arthur saw how sad they were. "Are you happy?" he asked. Merlin gripped the plow a bit tighter, like the question had hit a sensitive subject.
"Yes," Merlin said at last, guiltily. But he looked like he meant it, too, that he was entirely more content farther away from a land that would have him killed for being who he was. It stung a bit, but Arthur understood. Then, Merlin continued, "Yes, and no. I miss the liveliness of Camelot, the markets and Gwen and the castle sometimes. But I don't miss..." His voice trailed off and he obtained a faraway look Arthur had seen at campfires when he was deep in thought. Thoughts about attacks and bandits, betrayals and pyres. The shift in the tone was a bit jarring, but Arthur was somewhat glad he'd possibly be able to stick to the plan he had constructed before coming here. "It's been a long time."
"It has," Arthur agreed quietly. Merlin looked sad once again, and he sighed deeply.
"I don't know what you're doing here," he murmured, tone deeply serious now. "I don't know if you've forgiven me for lying, but I don't think I've entirely forgiven you for... for." Arthur nodded in complete understanding, knowing that he may not ever receive forgiveness for what he'd done.
"I was wrong," Arthur breathed. "You're my closest friend. I shouldn't have hurt you. I should have trusted you that you would never betray me."
Merlin shook his head as though trying to clear water from his ears. "You're saying you're sorry but I just don't... I can't do this Arthur, it's not... it's unkind for you to just come here saying things you don't mean. You should go. Thank you for visiting." He turned to return to his work. Arthur blinked in surprise, and disappointment, and he made to turn away before he thought better of it.
"I legalized magic," Arthur blurted out, then promptly cringed because of how he'd just thrown the news in Merlin's face. There had been a thousand different ways he had practiced it going, and this was not one of them. "I legalized magic. Everyone seems happier because of it, the place practically sings with it. I want to say that it was for the good of the kingdom, but it honestly came down to you. Because of how sorry I am, and how badly I wanted to make things right."
"You-- you what?" he stammered, turning slowly to face Arthur once again. He seemed to be shaking, limbs trembling where he stood.
"I legalized magic. Or the council did, really. But I told them that it was necessary, because of how much you've done for me, and how much people have suffered, and that my father was wrong--"
Merlin surged towards him and tackled him in a hug, so sudden and so unexpectedly rough Arthur was knocked backwards into the dirt as Merlin crash landed on top of him. "Gods, I love you," he said breathlessly, smiling like a fool. "I've been waiting for so long..." Merlin looked wistfully at him, as though all the stars were hung up in the sky because of him. Relief ebbed and sang in his veins and heart at the mere idea of it, at the idea that at last he was free. He looked so entirely happy. Arthur blinked up at him as Merlin realized what he'd just said. "Oh. I meant, I'm grateful for you. Sorry, that was. Um." He quickly retreated but Arthur grabbed his wrist as he pulled away.
"I love you," he whispered. And he meant it, entirely. "I love you, and I'm sorry." Instead of responding, Merlin hesitantly bent down and placed a tender kiss on his lips, and he could feel him smiling tentatively, tasting the sweat from his earlier exertion. It was sweet, quick, intimate. When they pulled away, they looked at each other and burst out laughing, and Merlin sat back so he could sit up again. Arthur immediately wrapped his arms around him.
"Thank you," Merlin whispered into the crook of Arthur's neck. Arthur breathed in the scent of him, familiar and foreign. Wisps of Camelot and the minty aroma of the Physician's Chambers still seemed to sew themselves into Merlin's skin, no matter how masked they were by the smell of dirt and pine needles. It was absurd, really, how things had changed. How things hadn't, in a way, because he was sure that the love was there from long, long ago.
"You were so right, and I was so wrong and violent. And I didn't get to say it before, but I shouldn't have hurt you or treated you the way I did because it was awful of me, and I'm sorry."
Merlin pulled away, looking at him with a slightly troubled expression. They were sitting in the dirt now, and Arthur watched him carefully. "I always believed one day you'd be a great king. It was shocking, your reaction. I thought you'd matured a bit and grew to be more accepting of it, slowly. But I was wrong."
"It's not something I should have to accept, people with magic shouldn't need my permission to be who they are. It's like asking them to be accepting of the colour of my hair, or your eyes. It's not something that others should have to give permission to have." Merlin looked at hm with wonder, and he began to smile. "Will you come back to Camelot?" he asked hopefully. Merlin considered a moment.
"I... I like the peace here, Arthur. I miss the people in Camelot, but I'm not sure about Camelot itself. I'll pay a visit, for a short time. I quite liked traveling on our hunts or to different kingdoms. Maybe I'll do a bit more of that before I truly settle down and have my own farm."
"Wonderful. I always wanted to be a farmer," Arthur said thoughtfully. "To get a small patch of land, go where no one knew where I was." Merlin looked at him, perplexed.
"I can't imagine you actually doing something," Merlin teased. Then, more seriously, "But what about destiny? Your kingdom? There's still so much we have to actually talk to each other about. And Morgana, she hasn't attacked recently. What if she does? What if Camelot is in danger again? What do we do, then? You have so much--" Arthur nuzzled his ear with his nose playfully and Merlin finally gave in and nuzzled back. There was much to discuss, Merlin was right, and he had much to atone for even if he didn't know what it was yet. But as long as he had Merlin in his life, there wasn't anything he couldn't face. Arthur smiled at the idea of it, a secret, happy thing, and interlaced Merlin's dirt covered fingers with his.
"I've already brought magic back to Camelot. All we need is to unite Albion, and then we'll go wherever you want," Arthur said simply. He looked out at the horizon of Ealdor, feeling a comfort that Camelot was beyond it. That he would return, eventually, and make things right.
"We?" Merlin said, bewildered. He looked at Arthur, a hint of a smile on his face. Arthur pressed a kiss to a cheekbone carved high, light and fluttering. He pulled away, and looked at the gold of the sunset reflecting in Merlin's blue eyes, so like the way his eyes flashed with gold when he performed magic.
"We," Arthur confirmed, tightening his grip on Merlin's hand. Merlin squeezed back, tentative and hopeful. "You and me against the rest of the world. We'll figure it out together. What could they do, with a mighty sorcerer and the Once and Future King by his side?"