A/N: Yes, everyone's named after the actor/actress who plays him/her. It's not that I'm not creative enough to think of new names, it's that the visages of Colin Morgan and Bradley James can only be associated in my mind with either Merlin and Arthur or…Colin Morgan and Bradley James. XD Also, special thanks to arirawrs for letting me bounce ideas off her and helping me figure out the title. :D
Disclaimer: I does not haz owns.
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Part the First: How Merlin came to find Camelot Again
Chapter One
Colin stepped off the bus and started down the sidewalk without even a glance about. A seasoned vet of New York, he no longer needed to pay attention to navigate its streets. He reached into his pocket for his iPod as he blindly tried to carefully fiddle his book into his messenger bag. A shoulder collided with his and the book fell harshly to the ground.
"Oh, you prick," he grumbled, stooping quickly to retrieve it. He recognized the perp. "Do you realize how delicate this book is, Will?"
"Do you realize how much I don't care?" sneered the other boy.
"Mm. Your wit is undeniable and positively dazzling." Colin made sure the book was secure in his bag before moving to walk away, sticking his earbuds in.
Will stepped in his way again. "Headed to the library, right?"
"I'm not writing your paper for you."
"You are unless you want a duck in your locker again."
"Joke's on you, Valiant, I like ducks." Colin was already a few steps away before Will called him on his slip.
"There, you did it again! What the hell's that supposed to mean, 'Valiant?'"
"Nothing," Colin said, hurrying away. He turned the music up, drowning out all sound. It was getting worse, not better. He wasn't growing out of it, he was growing into it. Was he the only one who remembered? Will sure didn't. He'd never been able to pluck up the courage to ask his mother, because if she did it would just confirm what he sometimes fervently hoped was his imagination, and if she didn't she'd think he was crazy, and he'd have to agree with her.
If only he could find him, start over, finally…er, finally set things right.
Colin shook these thoughts from his head, instead letting his mind focus on the dark hair flopping in eyes, a reminder that he needed a haircut.
The library wasn't far. Not a lot of time for daydreaming, which was good. Once there, Colin had to buckle down, get to business. He had a paper due in English, counting for nearly half his final grade. They'd been covering some of the classic literature in that class, and for his assignment he'd chosen to examine Le Morte d'Arthur. He didn't really need the library's assistance on this most obvious of choices, but he liked the environment. The hushed air, the sense of reverence. He loved sitting in the stacks, his homework spread about him (fuck tables) on the floor, and knowing that he was not the only entity in the world who remembered pasts. He was a walking history section, and he felt so alone in the modern world.
'Second lives suck,' he thought as he climbed the stairs to the third floor, where he lived. This was not the first time he'd thought this in his most undesirable second life.
One of the librarians gave him an odd look from behind the desk, but he remembered that she was new, and supposed it was likely rather unusual for a strapping young lad like him (ha) these days to spend at least a few hours each day in the library.
Shortly thereafter, he was in his usual spot, in the corner with the medieval works, and found himself wondering about a particular book. This was not the first time he'd wondered this in his most undesirable second life.
Yes, he loved books, and he loved the library. More than anywhere else. He felt at home among the history, and delightfully amused by some of the "fictions," but he sometimes felt the nagging absence of that one book, and he felt so guilty. The thing had been a gift, and he had to go and die and wait a thousand-and-some years to come back round, and now he had no bloody idea where the fucking thing was.
How was he supposed to learn it all again, the words and their purpose, how was he supposed to pick up where he'd left off if he didn't have the BOOK?
Arthur would know, Arthur always knew—
"Dammit, Merlin!" he hissed to himself. "Shut up, don't think his name!" It hurt too much; he missed him too much. How was he supposed to find him, anyway, without the book?
In a fit of frustration, Colin kicked at the bookshelf across from the one he sat against. He didn't realize that while the one he leaned back on was bolted to the wall and the floor, the other, freestanding ones had no such anchoring. The thing wobbled and creaked and started to lean towards him. He swore, and tried to scramble out of the way, but any escape was too far away. Books started to rain down, hitting him, and he dropped, rolled onto his back and felt that soothing rush of excitement he always felt when he accidentally did magic. The bookcase froze, as did the books falling out of it.
Colin looked around himself. He was practically buried in books. An entire bookshelf hovered over him. Its contents hung in the air above him. He was in a public library.
"Shit," he breathed. "Shit shit!" He scrambled to his knees (he couldn't stand up under the shelf) and tried to push it back into place, but it was way too heavy. "Fuu-uu-uuck," he shuddered in falsetto, looking around again.
He got to his feet, crouching beneath the suspended thing, and tried again to push the heavy wooden structure. "Come on, come on, please, please, please—!"
"Fucking hell!" Suddenly the shelf was moving, slowly, difficultly.
Colin looked at the man helping him—a blond boy, extremely fit from the state of his arms, pushing the bookshelf back into place.
"Filleadh," said the man.
"What?"
"FILLEADH, SAY IT!"
"Uh—filleadh!" The shelf sprung upright. Colin was stunned.
"Again!" commanded his savior.
"Filleadh," said Colin, throwing a hand motion in with it. The word felt right on his lips, the motion felt familiar to his hand. The books soared up into the air, rearranged themselves and settled onto the shelves, as if nothing had ever happened.
Colin looked at the man who'd just leapt to his rescue. "Who are—"
The man actually wasn't much older than Colin. His blond hair was short and well-kept, and he dressed subtly but nicely. His sharp blue eyes sent a shivering shock through Colin, like a static bolt to his heart. "Arth—uh, hello." Did Arthur know who he was? Did Arthur remember? "Uh, who—I—uh, who're you?" Oh gods, Colin didn't know if he would be able to handle Arthur not remembering.
Arthur smirked. "Like you don't know." He looked at the righted shelf and books. "Nicely done, by the way. You've still got the touch."
"Arthur! Arthur? You—Arthur, you remember?"
"Of course I remember!"
"But—I can't—you just—" Colin couldn't string a coherent thought together. Arthur was back, Arthur was here, here with him!—Arthur remembered, Arthur had come and found him, Arthur knew the words, he'd read the book, Arthur had the book and had come and found Merlin! Unable to say a word, Colin lost all sense of the protocol he'd lived and died by in his first life and threw his arms around his long-lost king, finally sputtering, "Arthur, I can't believe it's you—thought I was crazy, thought they were dreams—!"
To his exceeding surprise, Arthur, instead of pushing him away and telling him off, hugged him so tightly his feet were momentarily lifted from the ground.
"I know, Merlin," he said into the would-be warlock's shoulder. "I've missed you, too."
xXx
So Arthur—well, he was Bradley now, wasn't he? Just like Merlin was equally responsive to the name Colin—was a student these days. At a Starbucks across the street from the library, the older boy bought them both coffees and they resolved to leave the place only when they were both satisfied with knowledge of the other.
"You're shorter than you were," Bradley commented.
Colin frowned. "You were never a Redwood yourself."
"Stop it, you'll grow."
"What are you doing here, anyway?"
"You're one to talk!"
"No, sorry, um…" He thought about how to explain what he meant, even though he was pretty sure Bradley understood. "I'm third generation. You've got an accent."
"Well I think you've got an accent."
Colin rolled his eyes but fought a smile. He loved bickering and bantering with him again. "You grew up in Britain. What are you doing in America?"
"I got a chance to come here, on exchange," he explained.
"And you jumped at it," Colin finished for him.
"Well I couldn't not. I mean, I knew you were here." Arthur-Bradley sipped his coffee.
"Wait, you knew I was in New York? How?"
"Mer—Colin, I've been keeping tabs on your family for centuries."
"Centuries?"
"Took you a bit longer than me to find your way back from Avalon. I've been running laps around the cosmic track since before good old Annie Boleyn lost her head." He smirked at Colin over his coffee, "But then again, you were always clumsy about things, weren't you?"
Seeing the smile, the eyes, the man, Colin felt the well-known, overwhelming surges of emotion he was amazed he'd fought in his past. How could he have been with Arthur all that time and never given in? How could he have valued anything, even their friendship, even Albion itself, over the chance to feel Arthur's touch.
"It doesn't matter now, in any case; I've found you. There's a flat waiting for us in London—"
Colin coughed, choking on his coffee. "You want me to go to London with you?"
"Of course," said Bradley. "I need you, Merlin."
Colin stared at Bradley; this man he'd met really just moments ago, and yet knew as well as himself. He'd known him for an eternity, and he'd loved him for just about as long. The old days, the adventures, there'd be a comment here and a glance there that would just feed Merlin's delusions of a secret mutual love, and now Arthur wanted him to go to London with him. Could he handle living in the same apartment with the love of his every life? Looking, loving, never touching? A horrible thought struck him.
"Where's Gwen?"
Bradley bit his lip and looked down at the table. "She's a student, in California. She's engaged to Santi—ah, Lancelot."
Oh, how it must kill him to see her with him, Colin thought. Like it killed me to see him with her.
Bradley suddenly reached across the table and put his hand over Colin's. "I made a lot of mistakes that life, Merlin; I shouldn't have gone down that road. It ruined us, didn't it?"
Colin didn't know what to say. As usual, he was clearly misinterpreting everything.
"I made us easy prey. Mordred…in primary school right about now, by the way, and in film. That movie about Nazis, did you see it? Saw him on BBCone the other day, nearly pissed myself."
"London?" Colin murmured to himself. He'd always wanted so badly to go to London. He loved New York, and he'd be insanely sad to leave it, but Britain was home, and it had changed so much. He wanted to see it.
"Yes, London." Bradley smiled. "You can go to the university with me, if you like, we have connections, we'll take care of it—wait, how old are you?"
"Seventeen," said Colin.
"Ah. That does complicate things a bit."
"Hey, hang on, how old are you?"
"I'll be twenty next month."
It wasn't much more of an age difference than last time; maybe a year or two more, details could be fuzzy sometimes. But did this make Colin the baby of the group now?
Bradley sighed. "Of course, you just had to go sit at the kid's table with Mordred, didn't you? All right, it'll be fine," Bradley grabbed his jacket off the chair next to him and stood up, "let's go."
"To London?"
"To your mum's, idiot! I can't be implicated in a kidnapping!"
Colin scrambled to his feet, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and following Bradley out the door. "You're gonna ask my mom if I can go to London?"
Bradley was looking up the street. "Yes, all right? You're coming to London with me, I'll make sure of it, now calm down. You're practically squealing; you're such a fangirl. Taxi!"
"How are you going to convince her to let me go with you?"
"We're going to show her what you can do." Bradley pulled a slip of paper out of his pocket and handed it over.
"It's a spell?" Colin asked as they got into the cab.
Bradley shushed him immediately, snapping, "No, it's a love letter, say it a little louder, would you?" He prodded Colin, who then related his address to the cabbie, and they were off.
"What does it do?" Colin whispered.
"It convinces your mum to let you come with me, that's what it does; don't ask so many questions."
"Don't be such a mysterious prat."
Bradley glared at the younger boy. "Do not start this again."
"You're not king yet," Colin said, loving being able to hold that over him once again.
The older boy passed a hand over his eyes, sighing and saying, "I spent a lifetime bickering with you, Merlin, I don't want to waste another one."