Title: cèilidh
A/N: written for ACBB 2018, with my artist partner Whimsycatcher. It's a little rough on the edges, my first attempt at a long piece, but it came out better than I expected.
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Prologue:
There was no magic.
At least not anymore, not in this world. Merlin had repeated this to Arthur dozens of times, even as he had used his powers to prepare their meals and clean the kitchen. These days, magic was a thing of myth, of fairy tales.
Uther got what he wanted after all, Merlin had muttered bitterly, his expression dark.
Arthur had never heard a more preposterous lie.
Around him, buildings spiraled up to the sky, each taller than the one before as they eclipsed the sun. Overhead, he could see small metal shapes, birds that carried people to distant lands, and on the ground were metal horses that ran faster than a real one ever could. A barrage of sounds and smells assaulted him no matter where he went, each one stranger than the last. Throngs of people rushed down pathways like a never-ending tide. How could the world possibly contain so many people? Even at night, this world never seemed to stop, and the city was so bright it was like the sun never set.
There was no magic, Merlin had claimed, but Arthur was sure the world had never been more magical.
-x-
Chapter 1: Arthur
Arthur.
Arthur.
ARTHUR!
Arthur woke up with a start, gasping for breath as his hand automatically went to his chest. He had been stabbed—Mordred, Mordred had slashed him. It had hurt less than he had expected, a searing pain like a burn. A sharp burst that faded into a gentle throb. The act of betrayal was far worse and that was an ache that wouldn't leave.
His hand came back dry. Arthur stared at it for a long moment. Merlin had found him after, he vaguely remembered. Had found him and dragged to a lake and it had been cold, so cold. He had been tired and then … and then what? Taking a deep breath, Arthur looked down at his body. His shirt was in one piece, nothing to indicate an injury—what had happened to his armour? Had Merlin removed it?
Finally taking note of his surroundings, Arthur twisted his head from side to side to scan the area around him. He was on a grassy knoll near a lake, a castle in the distance. Merlin had wanted to take him there. Maybe he had, maybe that was why he was still in one piece.
No, that wasn't right. He was forgetting something.
"Rrrrffuuurr!" Arthur snapped his head to the left at the strange call. An old man was approaching him, carefully picking his way down the hill. Back bent, a cane in one hand, and a beard that shone silver under the morning sun, it was a miracle he was walking down and not tumbling. The knight's code dictated he should help him down but Arthur's legs weren't co-operating as they should. How long had he been sleeping here?
And where did Merlin go? It was ridiculous that he left his king so unguarded in the middle of nowhere.
"Yu kay," the old man said, closer now. There was something stern about his expression—they had met before. Arthur was certain of it. "Rfur."
"Hello?" Arthur asked gingerly, rubbing his ears. Had he injured those as well?
The old man stopped and slapped his head. He mumbled something unintelligible, his voice oddly deep for his age. Arthur still couldn't understand him but he didn't have time to dwell on it before the old man started to shrink.
No, shrink wasn't the right word. De-age? The years melted off as the stranger continued to stride forward. "Tz eee, Mrin."
Arthur could only stare as the man transformed into servant. Oh, that was what he was forgetting. Merlin had magic.
-x-
A string of alien words woke him up to a worried Merlin. Arthur blinked as he stared up at a white ceiling.
This was definitely becoming a habit. Arthur groaned as he sat up, ignoring Merlin's attempts to push him back down. Getting knocked out once was a mistake, twice a habit, and he would be damned if he allowed it to happen a third time. Rubbing his head, he questioned his friend. "What happened?"
"Rfur?" Merlin frowned, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
Maybe it wasn't his ears then. Maybe Merlin had hurt his mouth or forgot how to speak or a dozen other accidents that oft occurred to him. Though, considering how long he had been hiding his magic, had those incidents actually occurred or were they cover-ups? Magic gone wrong? Perhaps there was some truth to those claims Merlin had about saving Arthur?
Arthur stopped thinking about it. It was far easier to think of his friend as a bumbling, inept man. Even the strange sounds coming from his mouth helped cement that idea. While Merlin continued to speak, each word stranger than the last, Arthur examined the room. Considering the bed he sat on, it had to be a bedroom.
With windows. Glass windows. His fingers sank into the blanket crumpled on his lap and it wasn't quite silk, but it was far softer than any peasant's fabric. Even the pillow was reasonably soft and the floor was an actual floor, not made of dirt. The room was sparsely decorated, though each piece was a treasure. Either Arthur had been unconscious for decades and Merlin managed to finally save some money, or they were in someone's castle.
Merlin sounded like a horse snorting and Arthur knew it had to be the latter. "Are you drunk?"
He cleared his throat and tried again. "Arthur?"
And finally something he could understand. Perhaps his servant should stop hitting the tavern so often. "You figured out how to speak now?"
"Hey, you try speaking a dead language." Merlin scowled. "Besides, you were the one who overslept."
"Overslept?" Offended, Arthur crossed his arms and glared at his servant. "Is that any way to talk to your king? I was injured."
"Huh? Oh, right!" Merlin blinked blankly, before slapping his forehead. As realization dawned on him, he discarded the argument entirely and studied him intently. "I'm amazed something made it through your thick skin—are you ok now?"
Arthur rolled his eyes as Merlin leaned forward, pressing his hands lightly on Arthur's chest. "Somehow, I don't have a scratch. Your…" Arthur hesitated; the word still felt a little taboo. He might have been king, might have acknowledged that magic wasn't always evil, and still he felt like Uther's shadow loomed over him. His father whispered to him, reminding him of all that was lost, of all magic could do in the wrong hands.
"Magic? No, it wasn't me. Avalon must have saved you." Merlin nodded sagely as he tapped Arthur's chest. His fingers pressed into the skin as he watched Arthur's expression intently. Satisfied with his inspection, he got up. "I'll get you something to eat."
"Would you? I'm ravenous." Arthur rubbed his complaining belly, a soft ache that felt like a void was spreading throughout his body. "I could eat a feast."
"I can't cook a feast." Merlin snorted, shaking his head. "You'll have to make do with something smaller, your highness."
Ignoring the mocking emphasis on his title, Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Why would you cook? Have the cooks do it."
"My humble abode doesn't come with cooks and servants, sire."
Even though Merlin was speaking clearly now, he was making even less sense than he did before. "Your home?"
"Don't act so surprised, even I can have that much," Merlin grumbled.
"Your home." Incredulous, Arthur gazed around the bedroom once more—it still felt more like a noble's room than a servant's. There was even a gold-gilded mirror! "How? Did Gwen give you this?"
"Gwen…" Merlin's eyes darkened before he shook his head. "No, she had nothing to do with this."
Something was off. Arthur wasn't sure of what, but something was off. "Did something happen to her?"
"No, of course not." There was a bright smile on Merlin's face, an amused look in his eyes, and it would have been easy to believe him. To just take his words at face value and think nothing more of it. But that dark expression flitted across his face once more, a shadow crossing the sun, and Arthur could not ignore it.
Merlin had always been a bad liar. The fact that he wasn't right now, that this lie felt so real, convinced Arthur something was wrong. "Merlin."
Freezing at the stern tone of his voice, Merlin's smile dropped. "I suppose you have to find out at some point."
"What happened? How long was I away?" Arthur grabbed his friend's arm, digging his fingers into his skin to confirm how real he was. Merlin hardly looked a day older than when he last saw him, but magic had a way of concealing the truth. "Is Camelot safe?"
"…I suppose we can start there." Merlin swallowed, his other hand covering Arthur's tightly. Keeping his gaze steady, his expression softened. "Camelot is no more."
-x-
He dreamed that night of battle, of soldiers fighting under a raging storm. Thunder boom and lightning cracked as a gale swirled around them. Stepping out of the shadows, Mordred approached him, his eyes hard as he raised his sword.
You did this.
Betrayal. There was no other word for it, for any of this. Like the most bitter ale, this was a hard fact to swallow.
Why? It was more a plea than a question. He remembered a boy, a child with bright, fearful eyes. A man lost in a white land, waiting for a helping hand. A knight, eager to please. Why?
Yet Mordred continued to advance, his jaw set. This is the only way.
Arthur moved to block, to protect, to attack, but he could only see the boy, only see the knight. There would be no winners in this battle, only loss. Judging by Mordred's expression, he knew it too. His arm swung as a formality, the outcome already decided.
Ah, he thought as Mordred's blade slid in. If you're going to kill me, don't look so heartbroken.
-x-
Arthur pushed his face into the ice box—what had Merlin called it? A fro … a fridge. Yes, that was it, a fridge. Cold air blasted down onto his skin, leaving him oddly refreshed. The modern world was full of miracles. One such one, cheesecake, was on the second shelf and he'd have to take another slice of it later. The cooks in Camelot had nothing on this magical food storage.
"Arthur, are you listening?" Merlin tapped the fridge door when he didn't reply. "We need to figure out why you're awake."
"Didn't you say something about a prophecy?" Arthur closed his eyes. The cold air never stopped, apparently due to that science Gaius used to speak of. Science. What was the difference between science and magic? Both of them were beyond his comprehension. "Didn't Gaius leave you some books?"
"Many and you're not really in any of them." The wizard frowned thoughtfully, tapping his foot as he considered his options. It clicked loudly on the marble floors, much fancier than anything Arthur had in the castle. "I have some older books but it'll take weeks to sort through them all. I can't read the language all that well anymore. By the way, you should close the door, you're increasing my bill."
Arthur sighed. "I'll read it."
"What? You?" Dropping his nagging, Merlin stared at him incredulously. "Seriously?"
"Yes, seriously." Arthur rolled his eyes and contemplated once more on the cheesecake. It was a hot day, sure, but surely he could pull up a chair and eat it in front of the open fridge. Despite Merlin's complaints, there really wasn't a problem with leaving the fridge door open. "It'll be quicker than trying to teach you to read again. I have no idea how you learned the first time."
"The same as you," Merlin shot back. "I suppose that'd work. If only you had returned earlier, Kilgharrah might have known."
That last part had been soft, almost unconsciously said. "Kilgharrah?"
"A dragon. He taught me a lot of things." Merlin smiled fondly, clearly remembering some long lost escapades. "He knew about the prophecy."
Arthur lifted his head over the fridge door to give his friend a judgemental stare. "A dragon. I thought we had killed the last one."
"…right, about that…" Merlin gave a sheepish look, somehow still looking childish despite his age. "I couldn't kill him so I might have … just let him go?"
"You let him—!" Infuriated, Arthur slammed the door shut and grabbed his friend by his shirt collar. His strength hadn't fully returned yet but he could still yank him up a bit. "He nearly destroyed Camelot."
"He was imprisoned by your father! After his kin had all but been wiped out!" Merlin shot back, jerking his shirt out of Arthur's grip. "Besides, he was the reason I could save your life."
"He almost killed Gwen, Gaius, even me," Arthur snarled, his body tense. He could still smell the brimstone, still feel the heat from the flames that night. The dragon's maw had gaped darkly and they had only barely managed to survive its attack.
"I know." Merlin's expression crumpled, his shaking hand gripping his shirt. He seemed to shrink, curling into himself. "I tried. I really tried but…I couldn't. We were kin. The last of our kind…I couldn't do it."
There were many things Merlin couldn't do, Arthur almost snapped. "What if he tried to attack us again?"
"He wouldn't. Not when I ordered him away." Merlin bowed his head, staring at the floor. His voice was quiet now, so soft Arthur strained to hear it. "But you don't have to worry about him anymore."
"Why?" Arthur glanced out the window as though a dragon could swoop on them at any moment. Turning back, he noticed Merlin's hands trembling, his shoulders drooped far beyond any measure of guilt.
Resignation laced his voice. "He died and now the dragons are no more." Without another word, Merlin left the kitchen.
-x-
Dinner was a quiet affair that night. It was the small changes that spooked Arthur the most: Merlin's height increase, the confidence in his stride, the way he'd withdraw into himself so visibly. Even the way they argued was different, more strained, as though Merlin was relearning how they interacted.
Which, to be fair, he might have been. It had been centuries for him since they had last talked. Even longer since they had been honest to each other—Arthur had shifted through his memories, through the lies Gaius and Merlin had given him. They had been together daily but it was like they had lived through two separate lives.
Perhaps there was some truth to Merlin's words about the dragon.
Or perhaps it was all rubbish. He didn't know enough either way and that was the problem. That had always been the problem. For a prince, Arthur found he knew little of anything, of anyone. His family had betrayed him, one after another. Even his villages had not followed his edicts entirely, burning innocent people for even the faintest hints of magic without a trial.
"Where are those books?" Arthur asked after five days of radio silence. It was not an apology but the closest he'd offer.
This time, he would not claim he didn't know.
-x-
And while he was on this honest streak, it surprised him how little he saw Merlin's grief. The man used to have his heart on his sleeve, every move broadcasted by a twitch on his face. Even the not-apology was accepted with a degree of grace he didn't expect his servant to possess.
Arthur could accept a world changing without him, but it was harder to think of a Merlin changing unseen.
-x-
Books. There were rows upon rows of books in Merlin's house, a rare item that now seemed commonplace. As they sat in Merlin's study, Arthur picked one up. Idly flipping through it, he noticed that even the paper felt different, as though the ink wasn't there at all. Another invention of science? The script was unlike any he had seen a monk write.
"The dragon said you'd come back at Britain's time of need." Merlin frowned, tapping his fingers against the wooden table. He was scanning a book that looked ready to fall apart; the pages made loud crinkles with each turn.
"Britain's?"
Merlin rolled his eyes. "Your highness, forgive me if I don't remember the right word for our country after not speaking our language for several hundred years."
"You've never been able to speak properly. It's been centuries but time can't cure stupidity." Dodging the book Merlin chucked at him—yet another act of treason, did he forget entirely how to act around a king?—Arthur considered the question. "Have there been any issues recently?"
"Aside from the last vote? Not really…" Merlin stroked his chin. "Dragons are all gone now, I haven't seen a proper monster since the Great War, and I can't remember the last time I saw a witch."
There were a lot of questions about each point in that list but he didn't press the issue. "So nothing." Arthur frowned, leaning back on his chair. It was ridiculously comfortable, not at all stiff. When he reclaimed his castle, he'd have to stock every room with these. "Then why was I revived?"
"If I knew that, we wouldn't be here." Merlin crossed his arms, tapping his fingers on his skin. "I'll start checking ley lines and other ancient magical sites to see if any of them have sprung up again."
"How long till the others comes back?" At Merlin's puzzled stare, Arthur clarified. "The knights, Gwen, Gaius—actually, who is coming back? Would Morgana also return? Is she the evil?"
"Morgana…" Merlin bit his lip, staring at the floor. "No, I don't think she's the evil."
"How can you be sure?" Arthur raised an eyebrow—it took so many years to rid the kingdom of her and even then it was at the cost of his life. He wouldn't put it past his sister to reach back beyond the grave; she had always been tenacious, even when they were kids.
"I can't. As for the others." Merlin sat back in his chair and took a deep breath. "I don't know if any of them will actually return. Or if they'll be themselves or even help."
"What?"
Merlin fixed his gaze on Arthur. "You might be the only one."
-x-
A moss covered wall, a grassy field, a single hole.
Arthur stared at them, at the remnants of his kingdom, and turned back to Merlin. "This…"
Merlin nodded his head, closing his eyes. His words were soft, as though if he spoke any louder, something would break. "This is it."
And maybe something would. The ruins, time, himself. Arthur had once prided himself on never showing fear, no matter how much he had felt it. Whether it was monster or magic or man, he had faced down each one head on.
However, this was no monster, no beast to slay. Hesitantly, he took a step forward. And then another. His hand brushed the mossy wall, the only part of his castle still standing. Centuries ago, he had stood guard here and watched his people. There would have been low fires at night to keep out the beasts, loud markets in the morn to feed the populace. From the windows of his castle, he had seen it all long before he even considered joining it.
Centuries ago, this had been a home. Now it was a wild thing, abandoned to the underbrush. Recoiling, Arthur turned away from the wall.
"Let's go." Somehow, he managed to keep his voice steady. "There's nothing here."
A bird sang in the distance, a low solitary note.
-x-
You might be the only one, Merlin warned, his expression grave. The prophecy never mentioned the others.
What a weak threat, if it only needs me. He had joked it off, ignoring how Merlin's expression darkened, his jaw clenched.
He hadn't really believed it until he saw the ruin—somehow, despite seeing all of those magical devices, despite seeing how much the world had changed, it was the ruins of his castle that hit it home.
Camelot was no more. Home was no more. All that was left of his kingdom, of his past, was one wizard and even he wasn't the same. Arthur's hand rose to his chest, to wear his wedding ring normally sat around his neck. Even that was gone, the magic that revived him not even bringing back his personal possessions.
If it couldn't bring that back, what were the chances that Gwen came back?
He remembered a cup, a promise of immortality. The centuries stretched before him, endless, and maybe he'd be trapped walking them with Merlin. Never stopping, never dying, and he had never thought of how much of a curse living was.
-x-
He dreamed that night of Morgana, of words of hate and fear. When had he failed her, failed her so badly she wanted his life? Her smile was as sharp as a knife, her eyes a deadly poison. Come, she ordered, her hand reaching out. Come.
They were children now, standing in a field while his father watched. Under the sun, she spun around, her dress flaring up around her. Innocence clung to her like a veil, her chubby hands reaching out to drag him into her dance. Come!
Just as he grabbed her hand, she exploded into a murder of crows. Each cawed loudly as they left, their feathers as black as sin. Left where she was standing was a golden crown, each spike dipped in blood.
-x-
"This is worse than when Gaius forced me to do all that research," Merlin moaned, looking up from his book. It was one of the more modern ones from his collection, each page crisp and clean. Arthur liked the feel of the paper, the smell of the books, they were unlike the musty ones in Camelot in every sense.
"And all of this is in, what was the word, English?" Arthur already hated the sound of it, the hard 'g', the soft hiss at the end. The rules were ridiculous and the words didn't roll of his lips as easily as his native tongue.
It was only natural that Camelot was lost. Gwen had ruled on in his stead, wisely leading their people to prosperity. With her death, there was no heir apparent, no one to pass the mantle on. According to Merlin, there had been centuries of conquest and war, with different kingdoms taking control until present-day "England" was created. The country was supposedly far bigger than any single kingdom, controlled not by a king but by a commoner.
Arthur had a suspicion as to how much Merlin supported that.
"Yeah." Merlin raised an eyebrow, a realization dawning on him. "Does this make you a British citizen now?"
"British what?" Even the magic that forced him to learn this foreign tongue couldn't keep up with all of these definitions. British, English, why did a single country need so many terms?
"A British citizen," Merlin repeated quickly, excited now. "You're not exactly a king anymore and you are in England, so—"
"Watch it," Arthur warned, irritated. Despite all of that, he was still Merlin's king, at the very least. And while he still had one citizen, he wasn't keen on giving up his title.
Not that he would even if he didn't have any.
"You are a British citizen!" Merlin steamrolled through Arthur's protest, a huge smirk on his face. He was practically bouncing on his seat now. "You know what that means?"
"What?" Arthur asked cautiously, sensing a trap set about him.
"You have a queen."
It had been a bad idea to even consider Merlin's idiotic ideas. Judging by his expression, he wasn't going to shut up about this for months.
-x-
It might have been better if he couldn't read, if the magic had just stopped with speaking. What little of Camelot that survived history was more fiction than fact. Time remembered Gwen for her adultery, for her lies, but not for her warmth, her courage, her strength. Her hands had always been gentle but firm, guiding him when he was lost in the dark.
And now he had to live a life without her, live the life she had without him. She had always ducked her head when she smiled, too embarrassed to share her happiness whole-heartedly. He should have lifted her chin more, seen her joy in its entirety. He should have done many things before he died.
Maybe the knights will come back, but it might just be you.
Not once did Merlin mention Gwen and perhaps there were some regrets that could never be fixed.
-x-
There were things Arthur could never admit, never confess.
He could learn to adapt, to live in this foreign world. No matter what era, there was always room for a knight, a champion, a leader. Even the strangeness of the fridge and the car were starting to wear off. Perhaps he would never fully get used to things but he could live and that was more than enough.
No, the issue was that time had marched on and he was afraid he no longer wanted to march with it.
-x-
"I think the knights are returning," Merlin announced casually at breakfast, spreading jam on his toast. It was so matter-of-fact that Arthur had actually poured milk into his bowl of cereal and started eating before he registered his friend's words. "I won't have to deal with you alone. For once."
Arthur dropped his spoon with a loud splash. A little milk spilled out of his bowl, splattering his hands, but he paid it no attention. The mage was calmly chewing his toast and he resisted the urge to shake his shoulders. "How do you know?"
"Hmmm … a feeling?" Merlin cocked his head left and right, a dog trying to find a scent. "Maybe it's magic? I woke up one night and had to scrye—I think I know where Gwaine is."
"Gwaine." Arthur grimaced, not his first pick. Especially when he only had Merlin—they were pure trouble together.
Merlin chuckled at his friend's expression. "It's a start."
"And Gwen?" He almost couldn't ask the question, the words sticking to his throat.
There was something akin to pity on Merlin's face when he shook his head. Something heavy settled in Arthur's stomach, a rock sinking in a lake. He remembered walking into the cold waters, his hand held out for Gwen to grab. Now only the air caressed it, a memory of time long lost. "Where are we going?"
"Australia." At Arthur's blank look, he sighed. "A big island far away. Luckily, I have enough vacation days saved up that I can take a long break. Though maybe I'll have to quit if I have to babysit two knights instead of one."
"Vacation days?" Arthur raised a brow, figuring out the meaning pretty quickly. "You work?"
"Some of us weren't born rich." Before Arthur could question it any further, Merlin held up a hand. "It gives me something to do—you have no idea how boring life is when you can't die."
"Something to do," he repeated. Immortality. The length of it all. This could be his life. This might still be his life.
It scared him. More than death, more than loss, the vast emptiness stretching out before him terrified him.
Merlin got up, putting his dishes in the sink. "I hope the rest of you aren't so wide spread, I hate jet lag."
"Jet lag?" Arthur asked, shaking himself out of his stupor.
Merlin grinned and a fear of a different kind grew inside him.