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Merlin hangs his head low, taking a deep breath, before taking another swig of his drink. Either he’s really drunk, or this wine does taste exactly like something from the kitchens of Camelot. The taste isn’t his favorite, but it reminds him of home.
Merlin lets the guilt consume him. Over the past century, he’s been trying to teach himself to not spend every waking moment overrun with grief and guilt, but today is the one day he allows himself to feel it all. He knows it isn’t healthy, but as much as Merlin hates to admit it, he needs it. He needs this time to mourn Arthur in the only way he knows how: wallowing in self-pity, self-loathing, guilt, and drinking all of his pain away.
He reruns the events leading up to Arthur’s death over and over in his head. Over the years, he has come up with thousands of different ways he could’ve handled the situation differently to save Arthur. He had been too blind, too stupid, and consumed by fear and love to take the time to devise a better plan.
It’s my fault. It’s my fault. Arthur’s dead because of me plays on a loop in his head, like an old broken record. He feels the tears start to build up, and he doesn’t even bother to stop them. Merlin lifts his head and stares out at the lake, choking on a sob. Every year, for one fleetingly hopeful second, Merlin believes that Arthur will finally emerge from the lake. A few times, he had such intense hallucinations, caused by his grief or the alcohol he didn’t know, where Arthur had walked out of the lake.
He would beam and Merlin and start running towards him. Merlin would reach out to him, feeling the happiest he had ever felt in his life. Then, just as he was about to touch Arthur, to pull him in for a hug, and even once a kiss, he would dissolve, leaving Merlin with nothing. It was a cruel trick of the mind, and Merlin fell for it every time, causing the old wound in his chest to be reopened once more.
There was a splash of water and Merlin looks up instantly. He allows himself to get excited before reminding himself that this is how it always went. He wouldn’t fall for this trick again. He just wouldn’t. He watches as Arthur, a fake Arthur his mind continuously creates, emerges from the water.
After over a millennium of living without Arthur, he hated to admit that he had been slowly starting to forget what Arthur looked like. Of course, he had some paintings commissioned back in the 13th century, but none of the painters could quite capture Arthur right. He had begun to forget the small details, like how he looked when he was teasing Merlin, or strategizing with the Knights at the Round Table. Arthur doesn’t always appear from the lake every year, and he still doesn’t know why his hallucinations appear when they do. He wasn’t sure how long it had been since he last imagined Arthur’s return. Maybe a century or two? So Merlin just allows himself to look, to stare, and take in the beauty of his King.
He was just as beautiful as he was in Camelot. The rays of the moon cast a soft glow on Arthur’s face. His blonde hair was wet and his hair stuck up in many different places. Arthur’s blue eyes glistened with the reflection of the moonlit water. He looked ethereal. Merlin wants to memorize every little detail in his face before the image of Arthur is snatched from him once more.
Merlin was too busy taking in Arthur’s beauty to notice that this was not playing out like the rest of his hallucinations. Instead of running directly toward him, Arthur surveyed his surroundings, looking immensely confused. He swayed side to side as he tried to walk in the water, which shouldn’t have been a hard thing, but considering that Arthur’s legs had been asleep for over a millennium, it made sense. He stumbles sideways before his eyes fall on Merlin. Arthur freezes, his mouth hanging open in disbelief.
“Merlin?” Arthur called.
Arthur’s voice snapped Merlin back to reality. Never, in any of his visions, has Arthur ever spoken to him. Arthur's voice was so real, so familiar, yet so distant.
“Merlin, is that you?”
Merlin wishes he could bottle the sound of Arthur's voice and lock it away with him forever so he’ll never forget it again. He had forgotten how Arthur said his name, gods, how had he forgotten? It was positively ridiculous how happy hearing a hallucination of Arthur say his name made him, but then again, Arthur’s voice had always been his favorite sound.
Merlin just stares at his King in adoration, a small smile tugging at his lips. He doesn’t even bother to answer because he knows he isn’t real, and he doesn’t want to let himself get too excited. Merlin had to push back more tears, because god did he look real. He looked so much more real than the other times, and this time he spoke. He wants to let himself believe that Arthur was real, but he can’t. Any shred of hope he had was gone as soon as Arthur walks towards him, just like he does every time he imagines him.
He couldn’t hold it in anymore; he dropped his head to his hands and began to sob. The first few times Arthur appeared to him felt like a gift, but it was now just a cruel trick to remind him of what he has lost. Of what he has done. How he had failed to save Arthur and fulfill the prophecy.
“Merlin, what’s wrong?” He could hear Arthur’s voice getting closer. His voice was thick with worry and emotion. It sounded so real. It felt so real. As he got closer, Merlin swears he could smell the familiar scent of wet armor. Merlin rubs his eyes and looks down at the wine bottle, turning it over in his hands to check the label.
This must be a lot stronger than I thought, Merlin thinks. It’s never been this real before.
“Have you gone deaf, Merlin?”
Merlin laughs at the overdramatic way Arthur pronounces his name. It feels so good to hear him say it again, but it was going to be ripped away from him once again. He wipes more tears away from his eyes, but they won’t stop coming. Even though Arthur isn’t real, he still feels embarrassed to cry in front of him. He can hear all of Arthur’s taunts in his head. The last time he’d cried in front of him had been when…
He remembers Arthur’s death as clearly as if it had just happened yesterday. How it feels to finally hold the man he loves in his arms, the torture of watching Arthur’s life slip away, and not be able to do anything. He can still feel the weight of Arthur’s body in his hands, of Arthur’s hand desperately clinging to the back of his head, tangled in his hair.
Merlin was overcome with an intense surge of anger. He took one last swig from the wine bottle before standing up and throwing it as hard as he could down the hill. He makes a mental note to never buy that type of wine ever again.
“Merlin?” Arthur calls again, “What’s going on? I could’ve sworn I was dead, but now I’m here? I don’t even know where here is. You also clearly aren’t well, so will you please tell me what in god's name is going on?”
Merlin squeezes his eyes shut. He isn’t able to bring himself to look at Arthur. He knows if he looked at him again, he would run back, grab the wine bottle, and down the rest of it to keep the vision of Arthur here with him for just a bit longer.
It’s so real. Merlin thought, God, it’s so real. I can hear him, I can smell him, I can almost feel his presence.
As much as he doesn’t want to, he has to get away before he spirals into madness again. It had taken him over a hundred years to pull himself out of his last spiral, and now that he has a job, a life, he can’t afford to do it again.
Merlin opens his eyes and allows himself one last look at Arthur. He had forgotten how Arthur’s lips tugged upwards in that ridiculous frown whenever he was confused. He tried to capture the image in his mind so he would never forget it again. He takes in a deep breath, trying and failing to stop his tears, only managing to be slightly comforted by the surprisingly familiar smell of Arthur’s wet armor. He smiles at his King, a smile clearly full of the love and admiration he has for him, before turning around to walk back to his car.
Suddenly, Merlin feels a firm grip on his wrist, keeping him from walking away. Never once had they ever made contact when Merlin was hallucinating. His heart filled with hope as he turns around and stares directly into Arthur’s eyes, “Arthur?”
“So, you can hear me,” Arthur rolls his eyes, “Where are you going? Why are you ignoring me?”
Merlin looks down at where Arthur still holds his wrist. He brings his hand up and covers Arthur’s, reveling in the fact that he can actually touch Arthur and he isn’t disappearing.
“You’re-“ Merlin tries to push back a sob, but it escapes out of his throat anyway, “You’re real?”
Arthur looks as confused as ever. He puts his other hand on top of Merlin’s, holding him tightly as if he was scared he’d try and run away, “Of course I’m real. Now, how many times do I have to repeat myself? Where are we and what’s going on?”
Merlin doesn’t answer. Instead, he flings his arms around Arthur’s neck and pulls him in close for a tight hug. Arthur slightly stumbles under the sudden force of Merlin’s hug. He hesitates to hug Merlin back, surprised by the intensity of the hug. Merlin pulls Arthur closer, holding onto him as tightly as humanly possible. Arthur then wraps his arms around Merlin’s back and buries his head into Merlin’s shoulder. He has no idea what is happening, and he is beginning to become really panicked, but all of these feelings subside as he clings to Merlin.
Merlin brings his hand up to the back of Arthur’s head, holding it gently and somehow pulling his King in even closer. He never wants to let go. He is terrified that if he let go and Arthur would slip from his hands and be pulled right back into the damned lake.
“Merlin, please, what’s going on?”
Merlin can tell Arthur was starting to loosen his grip on him.
“Just hold me, please,” Merlin begs, unintentionally echoing the words Arthur had spoken to him so long ago, “Then I promise I’ll answer your question.”
He doesn’t care that Arthur was soaking wet. He doesn’t care that his clothes are now drenched from hugging Arthur. He doesn’t care what Arthur thinks of him, seeing him cry and pleading to hug him. He doesn’t care about any of it, because Arthur is here. Arthur is here. Arthur is real. Arthur is alive.
“Okay,” Arthur nods, obliging and hugging Merlin tightly again.
Arthur still doesn’t know what is happening, but he knows he will be okay because he is home in Merlin’s arms.