Dear Arthur
Summary: Merlin is immortal. Arthur is dead. This is a collection of letters written through time as Merlin waits for the Once and Future King to return.
Author's Notes: I actually started writing this close to two years ago, almost directly after the ending of Season 3. Imagine my surprise that most of what I wrote ended up happening in the conclusion of the show. I changed a few things to fit the ending of the show a bit more, because as sad as it was, I did enjoy it. It was more than I could ever hope for. I let the idea drop but with the recent conclusion, I feel as though now is the time to write this. So I hope you enjoy. It is disjointed, it is meant to be so. It was an idea that started as one thing and morphed into something better. Originally, it was going to be a lot longer than this, but I decided against making all of the journal entries that I thought of, for that fic would be insanely long. Please read, review, enjoy, or not.
This is unbetaed, so all spelling, grammatical, continuation errors are mine. I hope you forgive them.
Warnings/Spoilers: The end of the series. References to attempted suicide.
Pairings: Arthur/Merlin (preslash or bromance. Your decision), Arthur/Gwen (established)
Words: 7,171
It was originally Gaius's idea. "Merlin, you need to improve your penmanship," he said after trying to make out the scrawl that Merlin had given him. "It is atrocious." He turned the dreaded eyebrow on his young friend, looking quite serious.
Merlin had simply grinned goofily at the reprimand, waving it off with a joke and retreating to his room.
The next day, Gaius disappeared for a few hours, leaving Merlin to do the physician's rounds on his own. After hours of wandering around and applying tinctures to folk, he wearily made his way back to the physician's quarters. Gaius stood waiting for him, which made Merlin's face twist into a scowl.
"Whatever it is, please let it wait until morning," he pleaded.
Gaius shook his head, a wry smile on his lips. He handed Merlin a thick leather journal with stiff treated paper to write with. The journal was plain, the leather soft – calf, Merlin decided it had to be after a moment of holding it. There were leather straps that wound their way around the book, allowing him to keep it closed.
"What am I supposed to do with this?" he asked, tilting his head to the side.
Gaius shrugged. "Record life, or what you will." He placed a sandwich on the table in front of Merlin. "It is not my decision what you do with it, Merlin, if you do anything at all."
Merlin rubbed his hand on the cover, sinking onto the bench by the sandwich. Confusion showed on his face.
Gaius shook his head, tutting softly. "It is a gift, Merlin," he chastised. "Just accept it as such."
Merlin smiled. "Thank you, Gaius," he nearly gushed. "Really, truly thank you."
Gaius chuckled. "Think nothing of is, my boy," he said. "Now you best get some sleep. Arthur will no doubt require you early in the morning tomorrow."
"Why do you say that?"
"Have you forgotten that King Lot arrives tomorrow to make peace with Camelot?"
Merlin made a face, pausing as he allowed the words to sink in. "Oh. Right."
He quickly polished off the sandwich and with another heartfelt thanks, grabbed the journal and retreated to his room.
The next day did not exactly go according to plan.
There was an attack by a monster a little while after King Lot arrives, Merlin wrote later in his new journal. Gaius is trying to figure out what it is. It attacked the nights. Arthur isn't hurt but I wonder what will happen the next time the beast attacks. Spears and swords did apparently nothing to it except make it more angry. Gaius is in research mode. Once he narrows down what it is, we'll try and find a spell to counteract it. If we're lucky, we will be able to do this before the monster kills anyone. I need to attend Arthur. Hopefully, I will be able to pen a happy ending before long.
It took him several days to return to the journal, having completely forgotten about it. He was bone-tired, exhausted, no… weary was the word he was looking for. He was weary. The last several days had seen the death of more than a few friends among the servants that he knew, as well as an almost-declaration of war from Uther and Lot.
The young warlock rubbed his eyes, sitting on his bed heavily. He placed his elbows on his knees and held his temples. The creature – the Lindwurm – had wrecked the lower town, damaging homes, killing people and livestock. It had taken most of Merlin's magical strength to defeat it. He was glad that he had not collapsed afterwards, but it had been a very near thing. He sighed, grabbing the journal and the charcoal pencil that Gaius had lent him to write with.
We won. Somehow. It doesn't feel like winning. It never does. Maybe one day, I'll be able to be powerful enough to stop everything that could harm Camelot. But thankfully, we survived. Again. Maybe one day I'll be able to fight alongside Arthur.
Merlin looked at what he had written. As tired as he was, he couldn't help but admit that writing about it made him feel at least a little bit better.
It started slow. A note here, a paragraph there, but soon Merlin was writing in it nearly every day, recording things that he had done, spells that he wished to cast. It was a way to be completely honest and he had to admit, that appealed to him.
Dear Arthur,
You are a clotpole.
Yours, Merlin.
Merlin looked at his scrawled words proudly. His writing was getting neater. It was also nice, he reflected, nice to be able to write it down without getting a goblet thrown at his head or sentenced to the stocks. Arthur was a lot more lenient to his creative insults as of late, but Merlin was wary of pushing his friend too far.
The warlock started addressing Arthur in his notes after that, telling him everything that he meant to actually say.
Dear Arthur,
I am a warlock. The dragon below the castle told me so. One day maybe I'll tell you someday.
He was about to write more but Arthur burst into Gaius's chambers.
"Merlin, there you are," he said arrogantly. "If you were a decent manservant in any way, I wouldn't have to spend an hour trying to find you."
Merlin looked at the blond meekly. "Sorry about that, sire," he said. "What do you need?"
Arthur shook his head. "The hunting party? Really Merlin, I knew you were useless, but this is ridiculous."
Merlin sighed. Of course. Hunting. He gave the king a smile. "I'll have everything ready in a mo'," he promised.
"George already made sure of that," Arthur waved off his words. "Let's go."
With that, the king turned and left.
Merlin sighed, looking down at the entry that he just wrote. He shook his head, wiping the thought from his mind before hiding his book and scampering off after Arthur.
The years passed, and Merlin quite nearly forgot about the journal over time. He was tearing apart his room before the Knights would leave for Camlann with his king, and was surprised to stumble upon the old gift. He sat on his bed for a moment, fingers caressing the worn cover. Looking out the window, he felt the weight of tomorrow on his shoulders. He hunched them over under the imaginative pressure before snapping his head up. He placed the book on the bed and quietly made his way into Gaius's workroom. It wasn't long before he grabbed a piece of charcoal (that they had tied to a stick in order to allow for quicker writing.)
He stopped, biting his lip as he stared at the lines on his mentor's face. Even in sleep, there was no peace for anyone anymore. He had hoped that tomorrow would change that. If it didn't, well, he could at least leave something for Arthur.
He slipped into his room, retrieving the fallen book and moving closer to the window to allow moonlight to light his writings.
Dear Arthur,
I know I told you that I wouldn't be able to go to Camlann with you tomorrow, that after years of following you into battle, I am sitting out this one. You can think all you want about me. I will be there, not at first – there are a few things that I need to do first. But I will be there. You won't have to worry and if all goes well, you will not have to die.
The young warlock paused, staring up at the cold moon. He knew that he would have to leave a note for his friend, but he didn't know what to say.
If I die. Those words were the hardest to write. He didn't want to think of either of them dying, but it was a very real possibility since they had to go up against both Morgana and Mordred. If I die, and you live, know this. You were the best friend I could have hoped for. I hope that you can forgive my transgression. I am a warlock. I was born with magic. I have served you all these years, not because I was plotting your downfall, as your father or some of the conservatives would have you believe, but rather because I had hope. You have become even better than I could have ever dreamed, and I am happy to have seen us this far. Thank you.
Merlin huddled his knees to his chest, feeling crushed. He would never have the courage to say those words to Arthur's face. He could dress it up as he pleased – the timing was never right, or Arthur was busy, or Merlin was busy, or there was another attack on the kingdom, or… a hundred other excuses filtered through his head.
In truth, and he had always known, it was because Merlin himself did not have the courage to stare Arthur in the face and tell him those words. I'm a sorcerer. It echoed around his head and Merlin knew that he would not be getting any sleep that night. He sat, arms loosely curled around his knees as he watched the hours pass. The stars moved, the moon hid and the sun rose. It was only when he began to blink at the brightness of the sun that he unfurled himself, grabbing his bag and making his way off.
He had things to do.
It was days before he returned. Weariness stooped his shoulders. He felt old. He ached. Slowly, he gathered his meager possessions. He was leaving. Regardless of his love for Gwen and Gaius and the Knights, he knew that he could not stay here. He placed his magic book in his bag and grabbed his clothes. He grabbed the journal that he had hidden beneath the bed the night before and began to write.
Dear Arthur,
Your funeral was today. You would be surprised how many were there. Not that I want to stroke your ego, but… it. Today was hard. I don't think there is a word for what I feel right now. I wonder if there ever will be.
"Lost" comes close though. You might hate me for this, but I cannot stay in Camelot. My only job here was to protect you and I have failed in my duty. I am going to live by kilgharrah's new cave. He assures me that the nearby village is quite friendly to folk like me: them that are lost and them that are magic.
Leon and Percival have asked me more than once to stay. Even Gwen tried to throw her lot in, trying to get me to stay. If you were here, you would probably call me a ginormous girl. Maybe I am, just this once I am admitting that you are right and you aren't even here to enjoy it. I suppose I'll just have to be content with the fact that you would have enjoyed it. I leave tomorrows. Hopefully, this will not be the last time I see Camelot or the friends that I have made here. It will be good to see Kilgharrah again, if nothing else. So I guess this is goodbye, Arthur.
He shook his head, slamming the book into his bag. The young warlock shouldered his bag and made his way slowly out of the physician's quarters, noticing all around him. A few servants offered him teary smiles. A guard he had been friendly with clapped him on the shoulder with a grave nod. They knew. He didn't have to say it. They knew he was leaving.
He made his way slowly across the dark courtyard, his mind making him remember the first time that he had walked through it. Back when he was much younger and Arthur was much more of a prat.
"I've never had a friend who could be such an ass."
"Nor I one who could be so stupid."
Merlin shook his head, freeing his mind from the memory that was threatening to overtake him. He walked through the gates of Camelot, looking back once. With a deep nod, he swallowed thickly and turned his back. If he stopped now, he would never leave.
Breaking out into a run, Merlin made his way towards the clearing that he had always summoned Kilgharrah. He was not surprised to see the dragon already waiting for him.
"So you've made your decision, young warlock," the beast's rumbling voice was sympathetic.
Merlin could only nod. The dragon extended his forepaw, a kind look in his eyes. "Come then. I think you will like the village near my home. They are… strange folk but good."
Merlin clambered up onto Kilgharrah's back. He didn't say anything, just gripped the scale in front of him. With a mighty sweep of his wings, Kilgharrah took to the skies. He did not try and get the young warlock to speak, but he did fill the time with stories of when he was young, hoping to get some reaction out of his friend.
Rather than move into the village as Kilgharrah thought Merlin would do, the young warlock opted instead to share the dragon's cave. Kilgharrah didn't mind. He liked the company and he was worried about Merlin. The boy would visit the town every day to get news, but he was more of a wisp of a thing. There were no broad smiles anymore.
Dear Arthur,
Gwen gave birth. You have a son. His midwife was Alice, who I've heard has since returned to marry Gaius. I'll be returning to Camelot for the Naming and their wedding. I know that you aren't here to see it, but it seems that Albion is finally becoming the place that I always dreamed it would be.
Dear Arthur,
You had a son! Congratulations! Gwen decided to name him Gwydre. He's three years old now, and already seems like he's going to grow up causing her gray hairs and getting into all manner of trouble. I hope you're watching him from Avalon. I hope you're as proud of him as I am. I'll keep as good an eye I can from afar. He'll be better than either of us. He's growing up in a land where magic is freely practiced, and I have your wife, and yourself, to thank for that.
Dear Arthur,
I got word from Camelot today. I know you probably don't want to hear this, but Leon passed. Maybe you already know. He could be standing next to your right now, with that quiet little smile of his. They tell me it was a hoard of bandits that finally did him in. Apparently, he managed to kill all of them before finally succumbing to his wounds. I'm told they were numerous.
I won't be there for the funeral. It would have already happened by the time I got the news, considering I live a four day ride from Camelot. Still, I am glad that Percival told me. He is probably taking Leon's death hard. Not as bad as Gwaine's, seeing as those two were always partners in crime, but Leon was the one that was there before all of them. The leader, in many ways. I can only hope that this will be the last bit of bad news that I hear for a while.
I heard that the Questing Beast has been seen once again. This does not bode well for Camelot. I sent word to Percival that the Knights should avoid it at all costs. I hope he listens. He is, after all, the last of your Knights to remain, the last piece of the Camelot that you ruled and I loved.
I do not know what will happen when he falls, either to battle or to old age. I only know that I hope it to be to age.
Dear Arthur,
Another bit of bad news, I suppose. Gwen passed. She's probably being buried right next to you now. Guess your kid is running Camelot right now. Percival came and gave me the news directly. It seems that he wants me back for the funeral. I will go. Don't worry. Gwen was my first friend at Camelot, next to Gaius. Percival wants me to stay as advisor to Gwydre. I might do it, just until his rule solidifies. He's nineteen now. It's been nineteen years since you've died. Sometimes it seems like so much longer. I'll protect Albion, at least until Gwydre can do it on his own. With another sorcerer. I'll help, but I'm coming back here. I actually like being a sorcerer-physician-doctor type. It's actually really nice. Anyway, Kilgharrah is giving me that look again – and Percival is waiting. I'll be back. I promise that.
Dear Arthur,
Somehow, I managed to stay in Camelot for seven years. Gaius and Alice retired and I became Court Physician and Sorcerer, and honestly? It was just like running around working for you and Gaius again. Too few hours in the day, when all is said and done. I trained a replacement for me. Well, two, technically. Alain has a way with herbs and medicine that would put me to shame. Even though Gaius has retired, he promised me that he would help Alain establish himself. As for the Court Sorcerer, well, its actually a Court Sorceress. Lisanor is a priestess of the Old Religion, but she is good friends with your son. I think the two of them will hopefully continue the peace that Gwen established and you fought for.
I will admit, it is strange to watch all of the Knights that remain grow old. Percival has white hair. It's a bit crazy. He keeps laughing at how I don't change. I still look the exact same as I did when I first came to Camelot. I hope I age eventually. Otherwise, I'm going to be doing a lot of travel.
Dear Arthur,
It may be hard for you to hear this, but I feel it best that it come from me. Camelot has fallen. Percival is dead. I have no idea what happened, specifically. There is a new people coming to this land. They hail from the far south. They seem to want to conquer all of Albion. From what I see, they are doing a fair job of it. When you died, I threw Excalibur back into the Lake of Avalon so that none may use its power.
I fear that while I have contented myself a physician for many years here, my peaceful days are at an end. I will defend your people as best I can, though I wonder what one man, even a sorcerer, can do against the fearsome armies that have come to this land.
I do not know when I can write to you again. For now, I entrust this journal to Kilgharrah. He has promised to keep it safe for my return, even as he berates me for going alone and reminds me to call on him if I need him (though I did tell him that carrying us to Avalon was the last favor I would ever ask of him. He smacked me lightly with his paw and told me that we were friends and in no uncertain terms that if it was more than I could handle, I best call him, else he'll do something completely evil. Then he smiled. I'll admit it, that frightens me some. So I'll be calling if I need him. Because he's a Dragon. And they can be terrifying.)
Dear Arthur,
There is no other way to say this, but I have failed. It took me nearly twenty years to return to Kilgharrah's home. The village nearby that I lived for so long is in ruins now. Nothing's left. The Romans – that's what they call themselves, have well and truly conquered Albion. I had hoped that this tiny, peaceful corner would be left alone, but that seems like too much to ask. However, I shall leave this journal here – with Kilgharrah at all times. I do not know what will become of me after this, and I would hate to lose you as well. I will return.
Arthur, you're all I have left. So I'll keep you safe. I won't fail this time.
I'm not very good with words right now. Too much has happened. I will be back as soon as I can. I'm a wanted man again. The Romans don't like any folk with power. Reminds me a bit of your father, actually. I think I am too old for this. I'm nearly 90, after all.
Dear Arthur,
I met an oracle today. One of those see the future types. Like Morgana was. Anyway, she said that I would be able to see you again. I think she's a bit barmy, but then again, most Seers are. You see too much of the future and it drives you mad, I guess.
Do you remember that time you surprised me with a picnic for my birthday? You managed to convince Cook (that horrible woman!) to make all my favorite dishes, regardless of the fact that you didn't even like half of them. I remember that you told me we were going hunting. I will admit, I hated you a lot for that. You gave no indication that you knew it was my birthday. I cannot tell you how angry I was and then when I saw the picnic, it was the best thing I could have seen. I remember this day above most of our other memories because that was the day you first looked at more as more than just a manservant. Jeez, I sound like a complete girl writing this. You would probably find it funny.
Once again, I think I've become one of the elders. Muddling through life forever sighing after the older and better days.
I wonder how old I am, speaking of that. I lost count ages ago.
Dear Arthur,
If you see this, I am more than sure that you will hate me today. How can you not when even I hate me today?
I think this is the first time that I am glad that you will never read what I write. Yet even that knowledge does not make this any less difficult to pen.
Today I tried to kill myself. It didn't work, obviously. I won't get into details. That would be crass. But no, there is no excuse for what I tried to do.
My gift is the magic to protect this world. My curse is the inability to have the peace of dying for it. Watching others move on. More and more, I wish I had the ability to sleep for a hundred years.
Wouldn't that be lovely?
In all honesty, since I'm being so honest today, I am lucky if I sleep at all. Too many memories, too many nightmares, and worst of all, the hopeful dreams. Them being the fantasies that will never come true. If you saw me now, Arthur, I very much doubt that you would recognize me. That thought brings me hope, for I am a wretched creature and shall be despised.
I don't even know if the scars will heal. I don't even know if I care for them to. The world deserves to see this wretchedness. I do not think I am the man you loved and called your best friend any long.
I hope that where you are, you can forgive me.
Dear Arthur,
I've met a painter. He said he finds me "interesting." I told him he was barmy. Still, he asked if he could paint me. I don't know what to say. I'm flattered and art is on the rise recently and Leonardo seems like a nice chap, but it seems like a heavy responsibility, being painted. It's like helping to lead the world into new tomorrows without the luxury of hiding from it. I don't even know if that makes any sense. I doubt it did. I think my age is finally getting to me. I'm over three hundred now. That just seems insane to write. I hope I don't end up in Bedlam.
Dear Arthur,
I cannot remember your face. There's blue and gold and scarlet, but I cannot see your face. What if I imagined you? I think I'm going mad. It's starting to hurt. Everything is crashing down. I hate being alone. I've always hated being alone. I'm not sure what to do anymore. You can hear the screams from Bedlam every night and day and I don't want to be one of them. I'm afraid I will be. I don't know what's real anymore. I saw someone wearing red the other day and called him Arthur and sire and such. He nearly had me arrested! Is this even Albion? No, they call it England now. I live in London. My name is Merlin, though these days, I am known as Edward. That's what they all call me. Ed. If you are a figment of my imagination, can I be one too?
Arthur,
I finally got out. Those bastards took me and had me in Bedlam for the past twenty years, and it was hell. There is no other way to speak of it. I need to run. I'm getting out of England. I can't go back and I cannot be near that place. I'm leaving you with Kilgharrah again. He seems to agree that I need to escape. Maybe someplace warm, and with color. England has no color.
Dear Arthur,
I haven't spoken to you since the Bedlam incident. It's been nearly a hundred years since then. Next time I see you, I must take you to Italy! All of the colors and the food and the people. Truly, nothing was more healing than that. I've spent the past eighty years just moving from town to town in Italy, Greece and France. Honestly, for the first time in my life, I feel like I've taken a vacation. It was wonderful.
Dear Arthur,
Where are you? There's a war… I've never seen one like this. Kilgharrah said that you were the Once and Future King and that you would return when Albion needed you the most. If it isn't now, then I've no idea when – and I am honestly afraid of what the future must hold if this is not the worse of it. They call it the Great War. The War to end all Wars. I've heard people say that before. All war does is breed contempt. I've done my best to stay out of wars in the past thousand years, but I have killed, and I have wiped out entire platoons when I have needed to. I was conscripted into the army yesterday. I leave with my garrison tomorrow. Kilgharrah has tried to convince me many times to not go and just run. I am tired of running. Maybe the new machines of war that humans have built can finally put me out of my misery. I sincerely doubt that, but I would love if that happened.
Dear Arthur,
The war is over. Three years, I served in the trenches and watched as nearly everyone I knew was killed or died. I am tired, Arthur. I am so very tired. They tell me that we won. They were not there in the mud and the blood to see what we have lost.
Dear Arthur,
Another war is on the horizon. Germany is rising. I am leaving. I will not have a repeat of thirty years ago, no thank you! Kilgharrah has invited me to stay with him in Wales, but I think I need to move on. I'm going to go across the ocean to the United States and see what I can find there. And before you ask, I am not taking you with me. There's too many variables to that. You've been safe with Kilgharrah for a thousand years now… you will be safe for a few more.
Dear Arthur,
I had to come back. Something is changing, something on the wind or in the air. Kilgharrah keeps smiling and smirking and speaking in riddles again. I haven't seen him this happy since he found out that my wizened old man image actually stuck to the stories. You became a prepubescent boy. I've got the whole collection by T. H. White. It's hilarious. You will have to read it when you return. I think you'll find it just as amusing as me.
Dear Arthur,
You may not approve, but I nearly burnt this book today. Perhaps I need to let go of my past. But someone once told me that a man is the sum of his experiences. Knowing how that sounds, it was probably Gaius. So I didn't burn this book, after all. I don't even know if its right or wrong to keep it. Regardless, we are still here. I wonder if I'll ever learn to at least put the past behind me. Currently, I'm not a fan of it, but that could change. Maybe I'll meet a nice bloke or lady. Make me forget all about you. Wouldn't that be lovely? Somehow I think you will disapprove. Honestly, though, that's probably because you are an arrogant, possessive prat. I think I'll go to the pub tonight. If nothing else, it'll probably be good to be social. Cheers, mate.
Dear Arthur,
I have not aged a day, it seems. I still look the same as I did back in the days of Camelot. Arthur, you would find it hilarious what has happened in the years since you died, and how our story has lived on. The times are changing. And the people remember. Maybe not the fine details, but the story remains, our names have remained preserved throughout history.
Some believe us to be myth, but I suppose that will pass with time. You would love that most stories have me depicted as a wizened old man, ancient and powerful. I think too many folk spoke of what happened at Camlann. Ancient and powerful. Those are the words most associated with the name of Emrys.
Your father would love these modern times. Magic is thought to be the creation of children and make-believe. Those who are seen believing in magic, or heaven forbid, practicing magic are usually locked up for their own good or dubbed as a New Age hippie.
Most of the creatures of the Olde Religion have died off over the years. Killed, vanished… you would not recognize your kingdom. So much has changed. Even Kilgharrah died. That was nearly ten years ago. Old age finally got him. The young dragon, Aithusa, still lives. She and I have long put to rest the chasm between us that was Morgana. She is a good friend now, and we visit each other often. She moved into Kilgharrah's cave in Wales and has agreed to take over watching you when I leave the country.
Most importantly, Arthur, you great prat, I am still waiting for you. There are many things I want to show you, but mostly, I just want to look into your face when I introduce you to the internet.
Mostly, I just want to hold your hand again. Maybe one day, that will be possible.
I have a job, mainly so I don't go mad. I work in a tiny shop. It's a bookstore. Locally owned. I'm not quite sure how long it will exist. There's rumors of a chain coming in, which will probably muscles us out. When that happened, I will travel again. Maybe see Stonehenge again. Who knows? That's my current plan, anyway.
Dear Arthur,
You wouldn't believe it! I was walking down the street today to get my morning coffee from the shop by my flat and I saw someone that looked exactly like you. Or how I think you look. My memory might be going. I don't know. All I know is that it scared me so much, I turned around and ran back to my flat without getting my coffee.
Even if it was you, I wonder if you remember your old Merlin. I don't think you'd recognize me. Even though I cannot age, I can scar and I have picked up quite a few scars in my lifetime. I can't believe I'm still in love with you, you prat! I must have the sorriest existence on the planet. No matter. Even if I pity myself today, I have an eternity to wait around with happier thoughts.
Part of me really wishes that was you I saw but mostly, I hope I never see that guy (whoever he is) again.
I don't think my heart or my poor addled brain can take the hope and disappointment that it would feel, knowing that it's not you.
It is entirely possible I may just be going senile. I'm not entirely sure how I would feel about that, considering the immortal schtick.
Arthur, I miss you and I'll always love you, but maybe its time for me to find someone new again. I will admit that I've been very lonely lately and it does not seem like I will see you anytime soon.
I wonder if you'd hate me for all the times I've tried to move on.
Regardless, I think I'll be going to the pub tonight.
Dear Arthur,
You would never believe this guy I met at the pub today. He called himself Gary but if I believed in reincarnation, I would have sworn it was Gwaine. They look nothing alike but when two others got into an argument over the football match, Gary launched right into the fray, laughing the whole time. I guess there is always someone like that in a pub fight, but it was just hilarious how much he made me think of Gwaine. He ended up coming over to my table after and we had a nice conversation. He seemed intelligent, and he is funny. Maybe I'll visit that pub again, just to see if he's there. Even if I'll be moving on soon, Gary seems like a good guy for a couple of laughs.
There was a loud knock at the door. Curious, Merlin placed his pen down on the coffee table, and shoved the journal under a pile of newspapers (which he kept meaning to recycle, but blast it, could never remember to day to!) He checked twice to make sure the journal was hidden.
The knocking became more impatient, rapping heavily on the wooden door. Merlin rolled his eyes.
"I'm coming, all right?" he called, hoping that the person waiting would hear him and not continue to abuse his poor, defenseless door.
Merlin opened the door, thinking it to be nice old Mrs. Fitz, who lived across the way and would occasionally invite him for tea or give him cookies or cake that she had cooked. She would tut over him and act like a mother to him, always hounding on finding a nice boyfriend or girlfriend (it had never mattered to her, because "You just need to find someone, son, you're worrying me!") and settling down so that he could be cared for properly. Merlin couldn't help but enjoy the old lady's company.
It was not Mrs. Fitz.
It was Arthur.
Arthur Pendragon.
There was no doubt in Merlin's mind of the identity of this man: strong, broad-shouldered, with a flop of blonde hair and the brightest blue eyes that he had ever seen. He was dressed simply in a red Clash t-shirt and black slacks, one hand shoved in a pocket whilst the other was raised to knock again. When Arthur had seen Merlin's eyes widen, his face morphed into a smirk.
"Hello, Merlin," he drawled.
Merlin did the only thing he could think of. He slammed the door shut, stepping away from it as though burned.
"This cannot be happening," he whispered, continuing to back away from his traitorous entrance. He ran a hand nervously through his hair, feeling as though his entire world had been flipped. His knees wobbled and he knew that he was moments away from collapsing onto the floor. He could head the trinkets on his shelves start to rattle as his magic, long repressed and ignored, took advantage of his emotional unrest. Above all of the clinking and the roaring in his ears, he could heard the banging on his door resume.
"Merlin!" Arthur shouted, ignoring the fact that the building had other tenants and Merlin could only guess at what they must be thinking, but he could not bring himself to draw any closer to the door. "Don't make me break down this door!"
The threat propelled Merlin to move, if only because his landlord was not a very nice person and Merlin did not want to have to pay anything more to the man than needed.
Trembling, the warlock walked slowly back to the door, carefully as to make sure that his knees did not crumple. He opened it, not daring to look at the man waiting there.
"Please let this not be a dream," he whispered, as he leaned on the doorframe for support.
Arthur rolled his eyes. "Really, Merlin, you haven't changed at all, have you."
Merlin bit his lip, stepping aside so that the Once and Future King could enter the flat. He couldn't help reaching out and placing a hand on Arthur's shoulder as he passed. Arthur looked at him as though he had gone mad, but Merlin didn't care. The man before him was real, and that was all that mattered.
Arthur surveyed the sparse flat. Merlin had learned not to keep a lot with him over the years. He didn't have anything from the old days except for the carefully hidden journal. Suddenly, the blond turned on his once servant.
"Well," he said. "Let me get a look at you."
Merlin stood awkwardly as he was assessed. He resisted the urge to play with the hem of his faded Spider-man t-shirt. Arthur stepped closer, reaching out. Merlin flinched as his body reacted at the hand coming so close to his face. Instead, it rested on his shoulder, shifting the shirt slightly. Arthur's eyes widened and before Merlin could do anything, the once King yanked at the shirt, exposing a decent part of Merlin's chest. Merlin could practically hear the threads straining. The warlock closed his eyes as he heard the sharp intake of breath.
"Merlin, what happened?" Arthur asked, voice sharp as steel. He ran a finger lightly over the gruesome scars that marred the pale skin. "Who did this to you?"
Merlin stepped away from Arthur, readjusting his shirt as he made his way to the tiny kitchenette. "It doesn't matter," he assured his old friend. "It happened a long time ago. Tea?"
Arthur followed Merlin, grabbing his arm and spinning the warlock around. "It does matter," he insisted.
For some reason, Arthur's earnest expression and words made Merlin snap. The warlock glared, ripping his arm away. "Who the hell do you think you are?" he shouted, shoving Arthur away from him. So many years of keeping everything inside meant that at the moment, he had little control of what he was saying. Surprisingly, that did not bother him too much. "You've be dead for almost thirteen hundred years! Me? I've had to live every moment since then. Since…" His voice caught, but he continued, "Camelot. You're what? Twenties? I don't even know how old I am. I've seen things you couldn't imagine and you. You. You've got it easy. You've got a new body, you've got a new life. I… I don't get that luxury." He took a deep breath, feeling the anger drifting away. "I…" Sighing, he shook his head. He looked at Arthur, all fight out of him, though his eyes were still guarded. "It's good to see you, though. Let's just focus on that. Would you like some tea?"
Arthur was taken aback, eyes widened from Merlin's tirade. "You mean… you've been alive all this time?" His voice sounded disbelieving.
Merlin nodded, turning his back to fill the kettle. He placed it on the burner. Even if Arthur continued to ignore his offer for tea, Merlin knew that he could do with a strong cup right about now. Or perhaps he would completely ignore the tea and go right for the liquor in the cabinet to the left of the tea. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he decided that tea was best after all. He didn't want to drunkenly spill his (long) life story to Arthur, after all. Not on the first day.
"I thought you had been reborn like me." Arthur's quiet voice cut through Merlin's musing.
The warlock turned, giving the man a smile, though Arthur noticed it did not fully reach his eyes. "Nope," he answered. "I've seen it all."
Arthur shook his head. "I don't even know how to react to that."
Merlin shrugged, a sad smile on his lips. "I got used to it. There wasn't much else I could do. It isn't like I can die or anything."
Arthur paused, looking thoughtful. "Have you tried?" he asked hesitantly.
Merlin laughed, though a shadow passed over his face. "I don't understand how you can even ask that question. You really haven't changed at all."
The kettle whistled. Merlin grabbed two mugs from the cabinet and poured the water, setting the teabags in them. He didn't have a proper tea set, and was amused to notice that one of the mugs wasn't even his, but Mrs. Fitz's. He made a mental note to return it once he had washed it before grabbing the tea bags out of the mugs and dropping them into the trash.
"Here," he said, offering one of the steaming mugs to Arthur. The blond reached for it, grateful.
"Thanks," he replied, moving to sit at the small table that took up the corner of the kitchenette. Merlin took the other chair and leaned against the back of it, not quite sure what to say now that Arthur had finally returned. He had dreamed of this moment, countless times, had hoped and wished for it to come. He had imagined scenarios on ships and in parks, everywhere in the world.
He could, however, admit that most of those scenarios did not include the two of them sitting over mugs of tea in the cramped kitchenette of his dirty apartment with the muffled sound of Mr. Banks shouting on the phone through the wall.
The warlock smiled, causing Arthur to look at him confused, one eyebrow raised in a horrible imitation of Gaius. Merlin chuckled quietly. He had never imagined it happening here, this meeting of the ages, but that just made it more real.
Ending Notes:
This was originally going to be a multi-fic. Sadly, it did not turn out that way. It was originally going to show the boys entering the new world together, in many ways, and perhaps meeting with old friends. This still might happen. But here is where Dear Arthur ends. I do want to make a sequel in the future, but I do not know what it will be able, or when it will come out. So just content yourselves that this is a standalone for now. I just hoped you enjoyed this piece.