Chapter Text
“I’m dying, this is it, that’s where my immortality ends.” Merlin groans from his spot on the sofa, hiding his head under the weighted blanket Leon got him for Christmas.
The latter raises an eyebrow, not a spark of compassion in his entire self; he quickly returns his attention back to his phone, where, after a few pings, a duolingo ad starts playing.
“You can give my chocolate supply to my students. Tell them the tragic tale of what defeated the mighty Merlin. My wardrobe has to be buried with me, though. There isn’t a single person worthy of my prada collections.” He continues, whining and sulking.
“The owner told you they were closing for the repairs a month ago. And she did it in person! Honestly, you’re probably paying for all her rent and bills at this point.”
“My tea, Leon! Just because you have barbaric taste doesn’t mean that sophisticated people don’t exist.”
“I regret meeting you in that tesco. I was doing better before that.”
“You were buying seven wine bottles. You weren’t doing better, you were an alcoholic.” Leon throws his slipper at Merlin’s face. He’s not quick enough to dodge, and it smacks him right in the forehead.
Their days of Camelot are far behind them; all of it nothing but a telltale - and a crappy TV series that Merlin wrote because he lost a bet - but they both stayed, same and different at the same time.
When Arthur died, Merlin wouldn’t leave the lake for another two months until he gave up and, heartbroken, went back to Camelot, his soul heavier than before, as if all his sins just caught up to him.
Gwen greeted him with open arms, and when he accepted the hug - half expecting to be run through with a sword, his paranoia screaming at him for letting his guard down - she collapsed onto him, sobbing her heart out. He tried to tell her about the magic, but she interrupted him after he choked out “I failed to save him” with a soft but stern “you tried. What more could I ever wish for?”.
It was never spoken aloud between them; all his deeds, all of his power. He would stay by her side just like he stayed by Arthur’s, and she would just nod at him if the chalice that was half empty suddenly became full, or if her favourite dress was mended so well as if there never was a hole in it in the first place.
Years passed; Gaius died, even in his last days trying to guide Merlin. Then Hunith started growing older, and each time Merlin visited her it seemed as if decades were passing for her between every of their monthly visits. And one day Merlin didn’t have a childhood home to return to anymore.
He buried her in the same place where he buried Balinor, decades before. It was hard to find the resting place of his father, but he believed that his parents belonged together, at least in death.
Then Leon disappeared. It was a patrol to the border gone wrong - none of the knights returned, some taken by the Saxons, some killed or tortured beyond recognition.
Percival got wounded a year after that, and, just like that, only him and Gwen remained. It took him a few years to realize something that made his heart drop.
He didn’t change. He didn’t look a day older than twenty five, not a single wrinkle on his face.
And Gwen started growing older without him.
She realized it earlier than he did, but, just like his magic, she never brought it up aloud, at least not until her final days.
Merlin made sure she died of old age, after living a beautiful life - he took it upon himself to carry all that grief and sadness on his shoulders, so she could feel more free than he could ever be, with his destiny still hanging above his head like a noose.
She held her hand in his, wrinkled in youthful, and asked him if he remembered how smitten she was with him when they first met. They joked about their youth, about making fun of the nobles, about spending their free days together, drinking wine and singing until they lost their voices.
And then she, too, passed, leaving Merlin alone in a kingdom haunted by his mistakes and sorrow.
He left a few years later and, like a nomad, walked through the Albion without a plan or a future; his only purpose was to wait.
It took him three hundred years of self isolation and grief to try to move on. Maybe Freya was at fault, because one day he woke up far away from Albion, on the border of a nordic country. The people there were loud and courageous, and, after a week of sulking, he joined them, half expecting to be put in a dungeon or tied up.
Instead, they welcomed him, telling him of a woman who said a great physician will join them.
It took Merlin decades to accept that everything was temporary, and he was forever. It was terrifying, to slowly forget his friends’ faces and voices, to not remember a way home, to realize there wasn’t any Camelot anymore, and it became a legend spread between warriors and nobles.
But the world changed, it became different, and he was there to experience it. And, as he saw the Hundred Year War end, he realized he wasn’t really waiting for Arthur anymore.
Instead of awaiting his destiny, of being nothing but a pawn in a game of gods, he decided to enjoy the time he had to spend on Earth. Kilgharrah was wrong about so many things, and following his advice only worsened his paranoia and trust issues, and trying to change destiny ended up making it happen.
So, Merlin denounced it. He decided that he will live for himself. Almost a millennium of waiting was enough for him to get over all of what happened.
His time in Camelot was nothing but a speck on his immortality. He had known Arthur and others for a few decades; it was nothing compared to the centuries he lived without them.
He lived through the highs and downs of history - through the events that made his heart soar and ones that made him doubt if there were good people there at all.
And then, in the gods-forsaken year of nineteen-thirty-seven, he came across Leon in his local Tesco.
“Seriously, it’s just tea, and the shop will be open by the end of the month.”
“Just tea? And you’re supposed to be Camelot’s first knight? How dare you disrespect our british heritage like that-”
“We’re not British.” Leon scrolls through his phone and reaches for his mug with coffee. When it starts floating away, he grabs another slipper and throws it at Merlin’s face. “And you’re behaving like you’re a pirate out of opium for three days.”
“I deeply regret ever confessing to you about that.” Merlin mumbles, then smiles broadly. “At least I wasn’t sporting a hobo beard during the twenties. If not for your curls, I wouldn’t have known that it’s you in that Tesco.”
“At least I was sporting a beard and not a super-villain type mustache.”
“THEY WERE POPULAR IN POLAND!”
“I can see now why their history looks the way it does.” Now Leon is hit with a slipper.
Merlin lifts his hand up and his phone floats right into it; there’s not much in there, just a couple of emails, some fanfiction updates and a notification about a new series on netflix.
He scrolls down and stops at an email from the traveling office.
“My tickets to Cuba came in! I’m leaving this Tuesday!” He collapses back onto the sofa, his tea-induced depression over. “Finally, a vacation. I’ve waited for so long.”
“Your students will miss you.”
“And I won't miss them!” Merlin snaps his fingers, a Hawaiian shirt, colorful socks and a pair of fancy glasses replacing his pajamas. “Miss Morgan can deal with the history class for next month. I'm going to sip on margaritas, sunbathe and swim in a pool until I become one with the water.”
“And you’re sure you don’t want to go to Bratislava with me?”
“Leon, look at me. I am already so pale I may be mistaken for a vampire. I’m going to Cuba and enjoy the sun, because otherwise I’m going to use my magic to make Glasgow into a tropical paradise. And you know what happened the last time I affected the climate because it was too cold for my car to start.”
“Noted.” Leon chuckles. “Well then, I’ll leave you to your depression. I promised my teammates an evening match of League-”
“You’re a disgrace.”
Leon squints at him, but when a slipper he tries to pick up starts floating, he just sighs and shakes his head.
“Well then, have fun in Cuba.”
“I will! Five stars hotel, business class seat in the aeroplane- I’m thriving, Leon. Thriving.”
He was not, in fact, thriving.
“Owwww fuck, my head hurts.” Merlin groans, trying to stand up. He stumbles, and goes right into a tree. The wind is cold, unusual for such a tropical place. “Mixing arsenic with alcohol to make it slap is a bad idea.”
He shifts his weight, trying to check if all of his limbs are still intact. The last thing he can remember was trying to juggle and breaking something at the beach.
Only then he realizes that instead of palm trees, he’s met with an oak. And instead of the calming sound of the ocean he’s near a stream.
And his Versace blazer is replaced by a scratchy fabric of a linen shirt.
“Not again.” He buries his face in his hands; at least his immortality got rid of his hangovers (though its mostly because of the arsenic, he never came back sick after he ‘died’, but instead spawned back into conciseness fully healed). “Where the hell am I?”
He’s in a forest, that much is clear. The air is fresh and crisp, not tainted by the smoke, as if it’s untouched by humans and their industrial era.
He hadn’t breathed air so clean in centuries; nowadays smoke clings to everything.
He notices how old his clothes look - they’re ratty and dirty.
“Oh no. I’m at a renaissance fair again.”
It happened twice before, and both times it was Leon’s bright idea of a prank.
Well… The second, actually, was both of their fault, because they had a bit too much vodka, woke up in Lithuania in an armor stolen from a British museum and had several new friends from a local fair added on Facebook (and several pictures of them having a duel on the fair’s fanpage).
“Well, at least I did my Duolingo before I blacked out.” Merlin mutters; he has three free freezes, but he doesn’t want to waste them now. Leon always tells him he has a bit of a hoarding problem, but that’s because he’s jealous of all the things that Merlin keeps just in case. He can’t use that sheet of stickers his student gave him, what if he doesn’t like the placement?
“Merlin? MERLIN?” A panicked voice sounds from somewhere in the forest. Merlin frowns.
His stomach grumbles, and, after looking around and making sure he’s not in view of any human, he calls for a bird to come and save him.
A partridge runs towards him, and Merlin pets it on the head before he snaps his fingers.
Now holding a box full of partridge nuggets, he hums happily, taking a slow stroll in the direction of the panicked screams of some man.
His first thought when he sees him is, how realistic do those cosplayers get? and the second is a simple woah.
“Merlin!” The man - a lovely brunette with big brown eyes - runs towards him, stuttering. “You- what? How- You’re meant to be dying.”
He’s speaking in a language that should be dead. He’s not sure when was the last time he heard common brittonic be spoken aloud - not counting his gossip sessions with Leon, because it was ridiculously funny to use a dead language to communicate in a room full of people.
“Sorry.” Merlin shrugs and eats another nugget. “Do you want some? You look like you’re going to faint.”
The man makes a swing at him, but Merlin dodges.
“Oi, watch out, I’m eating here!”
“Merlin, we have to get going.” The man says, and he has a stubborn look on his face that Merlin faintly recognises.
“I’m pretty sure we don’t have to. I’m good staying here, actually. You can go where you want to be.”
The man shakes his head, amused.
“Arthur’s right. You never do as you’re told.”
Merlin freezes and looks at him closely. He spent the last ten years getting a degree in history (he got bored of medicine and pharmacy, and his days as a politician weren’t that good) and took it upon himself to write a book about armor in the late fifth century.
The armor that man is wearing.
The armor that looks fresh new, but is unmistakably real.
The stranger bents down to pick up a cape - red, with a royal crest that knights wore to be recognised on the battlefield.
A crest that looks painfully familiar; one that he and Leon used for the cover of their book of Arthurian myths.
“Sorry, who are you again?” He asks, his throat suddenly feeling dry.
The man stops gathering his things, a frown appearing in his face. He squeezes the handle of his sword and looks up at Merlin, paling slightly as he notices the lack of recognition in his eyes.
“Are you alright? Merlin, it’s me.” He takes a step closer, but Merlin shakes his head. “We were going on a journey to close the Veil, but the Dorocha got to you. We were going back to Camelot while Arthur and the others take care of it. It’s me, Lancelot-“
“Okay, is this a joke? If that’s a prank- it’s great. Nicely done, you can stop now. I have a vacation to get back to, my hotel room must miss me-“ Merlin glances at the man and notices how somber he starts looking with his every word. He shakes his head. “Lancelot. Lancelot du Lac?” He asks, and the man nods.
He bites his lip, because how. Did he perform necromancy now? Shit, does he owe Leon twenty dollars for their little bet over what he can do?
But- the Veil. That sounds familiar.
“You can’t be Lancelot. He died long ago-“ he stars, but the stranger shakes his head.
“We should go back to Camelot. Gaius will help.“
“No.” Merlin swallows. “The Veil, you said something about the Veil. We have to close it, right?”
“You’re in no shape-“
“I need to close it. Then we can go and… talk to Gaius.”
Lancelot doesn’t look convinced, but Merlin flashes him a smile and it seems to be enough for him to let it go.
They ride through the forest, but after some time, Merlin notices that their horse is starting to get tired, so he jumps from her back and pets her belly.
“You should save that energy.”
“She’s too tired to hold us both. I can walk, that’s what I have legs for!”
He pokes at a tree and opens his hands; a perfect apple falls into his palms, and he takes a bite.
“Have some to spare, my friend?”
He nods and grows one for Lancelot-wannabe - it falls right onto his head, and he yelps in surprise when it hits him, but manages to catch it before it drops on the ground.
“Good to see that no matter what, you still have your spirit.” He jokes. When Merlin doesn’t respond, he shifts on his horse, sitting so he can have a better look at him. “What’s on your mind?”
“I’m trying to convince myself that you’re not a hallucination.” Merlin admits, plain and honest.
“I think I’m pretty real.”
“You are pretty, but I don’t know about the real part.”
Lancelot barks a laugh, and nudges Merlin with his foot, almost knocking him over.
“Let’s hope we can deal with this Viel soon enough. It’s going to be fine.”
“You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself, not me.” Merlin deadpans, then sniffs at the air. It became colder.
He summons a ball of light to his hand, shaping it until it looks like a dragon; he lets it fly around them, lightening up the path and keeping them warm.
“I didn’t know you could cast a spell like that.” Lancelot says after a while. Then, quieter, he adds “I’ve never seen you use your magic so freely too.”
“Well, it’s useful, so might as well take advantage of it. Mother Nature didn’t bless me with this for me to waste it.”
“I like your way of thinking.” Lancelot laughs again.
The sunset is coming closer, and although Merlin doesn’t remember much of the Dorocha, he knows they can be banished by light; that’s why they didn’t have to worry about traveling during the day.
“This might be a good place to spend the night in.” Lancelot points to an abandoned wooden hut, and Merlin grimaces.
His taste for luxury really took over as soon as he slept on a real mattress.
They go inside, and, as Lancelot sets their sleeping rolls, Merlin casts a spell and suddenly a mattress appears in the middle of the room.
“Merlin!” Lancelot sounds amused, so he grins at him in response.
“We had a long walk, we deserve a good night's sleep.”
“I don’t know if we’ll manage, with the chaos around. But, I’m not opposed to it.” Lancelot climbs on it, and Merlin can see the realization hit his senses. “It’s so soft- Can you conjure up something like this in my living quarters once we’re back?”
“Only if I decide you’re worthy of it.”
Something inside Merlin is gnawing at his insides - it’s been a Millennium and a half, he’s definitely forgetting something important.
They’re laying on the mattress, ready to fall asleep; the light Merlin made is floating above them in lazy circles.
Lancelot’s brown eyes are focused on him, so he turns to the side with a cheeky smile.
“What?”
“It’s good to see you so free, my friend. I haven’t seen you like this in ages.”
“Well, that’s one thing we have in common, then.” Merlin mutters.
“One day Arthur will see how amazing what you can do is. One day you won’t have to hide anymore.”
Arthur. Right.
Merlin turns to the side and sighs, before closing his eyes. He can feel Lancelot shift under his blanket to get cozier.
They’re woken up in the middle of the night by the sudden cold; the light disappeared, and a terrifying screech is coming closer.
“LANCELOT!” Merlin kicks him off the mattress. The knight groans but when he sees his panicked face, he jumps uprights and grabs his sword.
Merlin doesn’t wait for him to get ready; as soon as he sees the Dorocha, he breaks the door down with one kick and tugs Lancelot to run along into the woods.
The screeching is coming closer, and the overwhelming cold is sending shivers down Merlin’s spine.
He’s forgetting something.
He turns, and the ghostly figure is reaching towards them, pale, half invisible hands spread out-
Merlin takes a deep breath and breathes fire at it. The rest of the Dorocha coming after them screech and flee away, some disappearing into the morning mist as the flames touch them.
“You can breathe fire? Where did you learn that?”
“Oh, it’s from Uncle Iroh from Av- never mind, we have to go.” He casts another spell, and little flames start surrounding them, blocking the Dorocha from reaching them.
After hours of marching in general silence, besides a few jokes from Lancelot that Merlin would make a great dragon - to which Merlin responds that he can actually shapeshift into one if he desires so - the sunrise greets them.
And, with it, few voices. Lancelot nudges Merlin and nods at the flames following them.
Merlin stops the spell and follows his lead.
There are knights - again - and they’re looking around, pretty panicked and definitely tired.
“Lancelot! Where’s Merlin?”
“About that, I have some bad news-“
Merlin jumps out from behind a tree, making a theatrical bow at the knights. The blond guy Lancelot is speaking to freezes, before his expression softens and a smile appears on his face.
“ Mer lin!” He grins, sighing with relief. Other knights start walking towards him, clearly with an intention to hug him, but Merlin can’t recognise any single one of them besides Leon-
Merlin shoots Leon a death glare, trying to communicate to him that while he had some fun with the boys, he had to sleep in an abandoned building in some ratty clothes and transform a partridge into chicken nuggets because there’s no McDonald’s in sight.
“Which one is Arthur?” He whispers, leaning to Lancelot, but he must’ve done it too loudly, because they all pause.
“That would be the one that looks like he’s in crisis.” Lancelot whispers back, but he actually does it so quietly even Merlin has trouble hearing him.
“They all look like that. Do you see what they’re wearing?”
“Merlin? Lancelot? What’s wrong?” The blond steps out of the group. “What happened?”
Lancelot looks at Merlin, then back at him.
“I’m not sure.”
“Well, there’s clearly something really wrong if Merlin can’t recognise Arthur.” One of the men - one with longer brown hair and a slight stubble - voices.
“I’m fine. Everything is fine.” Merlin frowns, crossing his arms over his chest. They don’t look too convinced.
“You don’t know who we are?”
“No, I know who you are. I just. I’m not the best at remembering faces.”
“He thought I died. A long time ago.” Lancelot chimes in, and Merlin turns to him, scowling. A traitor, that’s what he is.
“Can this be the result of the Dorocha attack?”
“Nobody survived it before. Maybe it did something to Merlin.” Leon says, and, thank gods, he must be playing along.
“It’s related to death, right? Maybe it showed him his last moments-“ the muscular knight mumbles, and Merlin has to keep himself back from laughing.
Last moments. Sure.
“Doesn’t matter! I know who you all are, I just need a little. Nudge in the correct direction. Look! That’s Leon! Hi Leon!”
“You can point out Leon but not Arthur?”
“I can’t be bothered remembering Arthur, he doesn’t pay me enough.”
“I pay you fairly!”
“That’s Arthur!” Merlin points at the scowling blonde, then pinches his lips. “Yeah, you look like you’re a part of the bourgeoisie. You have that annoying rich vibe.”
“Excuse me?”
“Besides, I’m good, just a bit rough around the edges! Let’s go close the Veil and then Gaius can fix this because I can’t be bothered to!”
They all look to Arthur, who stares at Merlin, clearly worried. But the warlock holds his gaze, almost as if he’s challenging him to try to make him leave.
“Merlin’s right, as rare as it is. We’re too close to the Isle of the Blessed to turn back.”
And so it begins.
Merlin is going to murder whoever decided it was a good idea to interrupt his vacation, as soon as he can.