Title: These Moments We See
Rating: PG (-ish).
Pairings/Characters: Arthur/Merlin, Lacelot/Merlin/ Gwen/Arthur, Gwen/Lancelot.
Warnings/Spoilers: future fic, Post S3, SPOILERS for all Merlin and the legends, some recycled dialogue from 2.13.
Summary: At first he thinks nothing of it. It's only ever just nonsensical images of big, metal birds that can fly and towers that reach high into the sky and carriages that don't have horses. He's always had a fanciful imagination, so he writes it off as something unimportant. Because really, metal flying birds? Ludicrous.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Neither are the Founders.
Author's Note: Some versions of the legends have a Merlin who can See the future. Since there are so little of these Merlin's out there, I decided to give him the powers.
At first he thinks nothing of it. It's only ever just nonsensical images of big, metal birds that can fly and towers that reach high into the sky and carriages that don't have horses. He's always had a fanciful imagination, so he writes it off as something unimportant. Because really, metal flying birds? Ludicrous. Anyone he said that to would laugh in his face.
So he tells no one about his strange dreams, not even Gaius. Even when they become bothersome and he can't get a restful nights sleep, he refuses to confide. They don't come every night but...yeah, they come every night. Like demons twisting his mind to insanity. He wonders whether it's not some sorcerer who's found him out and wants him out of the Prince's life. Wouldn't be the first time.
It is all well and good and not too bothersome, until he is walking down a corridor with Arthur's laundry and with a sudden jolt, images flash in front of him. Merlin just about manages not to keel over at the pain lancing through his head as his mind's eye sees Arthur in danger – yet again – and Merlin saving him just in the nick of time. It is when he is running across the clearing after having saved Arthur from the already seen fate that a horrible, sickening realization sets in.
"Shit. I can See."
Arthur, coughing and scowling but otherwise unharmed, says, "What are you talking about, Merlin?" And the other two knights, Lancelot and Gwaine, look at him questioningly. Merlin shakes his head, correcting his mistake, "- See you have hit your head quite hard, sire. Would you like to sit and gather your wits for a few moments?"
Arthur's scowl immediately deepens. He shrugs out of Merlin's restraining hand. "My wits, Mer-lin, are perfectly fine."
Merlin sighs as Arthur gets up off his royal ass and sits astride his horse even though a magical beast had just tried to off them not ten minutes ago. "If you says so, sire," he says and follows Arthur back to Camelot.
He wonders what his newly discovered powers entail. He's not sure whether he really wants to find out.
()o()o()o()o()o()
Later that night, he declares his new abilities to the only person apart from Gaius who will understand.
"I can See!" he wails to Lancelot morosely for the umpteenth time.
"So you've said," Lancelot snorts lightly across the small table each knight's room is equipped with, along with a bed and bath tub.
"Shut up," Merlin grumbles, because he knows he is getting just a tad too annoying, sitting here for the last two hours repeating every variation of the previously uttered statement. Then, because he cannot resist, "This is a bloody disaster! I can see why Morgana ended up, well...Morgana-like."
"I'm sure it's not that terrible," Lancelot says reasonably, rubbing soothing circles on his knee.
Merlin, momentarily distracted by the motion of Lancelot's palm, leers. It has been too long. Well – alright, it's been a week, but he's a red blooded warlock. He has needs. "Maybe. If you move that hand any higher, it won't be."
Lancelot chuckles a low, filthy chuckle promising of many, many equally filthy and highly satisfying things to come. "As you wish, oh esteemed, powerful warlock." And proceeds to move his hand just as Merlin suggested.
Needless to say, Arthur does not find Merlin in his bed the next morning. All the knights smirk knowingly when Lancelot and Merlin stumble to the training field twenty minutes late. Lancelot, because he is a knight and must train. Merlin, because he was meant to wake up at dawn and help Arthur with his armor and bring him breakfast. Lack of the latter might be the reason he is glowering fiercely at Merlin, frozen midway through a block against Gwaine's blow. Merlin squeaks in a rather manly fashion at the heat of Arthur's glare, knowing he will have to make up for his indulgence with Lancelot via extra stable mucking duty.
()o()o()o()o()
He dreams of meeting people years – centuries – into the future, knows they will become a large part of his life.
He dreams of meeting four people he will bring together, help them work as one despite their differences.
He's going to meet a young, fresh faced woman with the sweetest disposition. She will remind him of Freya just a little bit. She will excel in Healing and beautiful charms Merlin has to use almost daily to keep up with Arthur's demands. Except hers will be more wonderful. And there will be a man, as golden and shining as Arthur himself, with a silver sword strapped around his waist, a plethora of dueling spells at his disposal. He will contrast starkly against the pale, fey man with glinting eyes and sharp tongue and even sharper wit. He will remind Merlin a little bit of himself, and his and the golden man's friendship will be reminiscent of Arthur and Merlin themselves, only with a more horrendous end. Finally, finally he will meet her. A woman who will remind him of Morgana, but not. Because Morgana is lost and will never come back, but Merlin will have the opportunity to help this woman. And he'll not fail her as he failed Morgana.
Together, they will build a castle more majestic and awe-full than Camelot herself. A castle with moving staircases and moving paintings and talking hats. It will be a safe-haven for all magic in a way Camelot could not be even in her wildest dreams.
()o()o()o()o()o()
For some reason, Merlin can never see how it is Arthur will find out about his magic. But he knows that in the aftermath, his and Arthur's friendship will not be the same. Oh, they'll fulfill their destiny, for sure, but the journey will be strained.
Merlin tries to prepare himself.
It doesn't help.
()o()o()o()o()o()
Merlin doesn't normally get visions about things happening in the immediate future – thank gods! – unless it directly pertains to saving Arthur's life from peril. He's glad for that, because he doesn't know what would happen if he began seeing the deaths of everyone around him. He doesn't think he can survive. Watching Arthur being almost killed thrice a week is enough, thanks ever so much.
What he does see is betrayal. He sees Lancelot and Guinevere riding away on Lancelot's horse. He sees Arthur, broken and lost without his First Knight and his Queen. He sees the pain and loss and blood that will spill from this unfaithful deed. Merlin would try and stop it, but time has given him a wisdom no amount of Gaius' lectures could have. He knows better than to prevent the future.
When it happens five years later, it is a sombre Merlin who goes into his King's chambers.
Arthur doesn't turn around at the sound of his chamber doors closing softly. He says in a cold voice, "Did you know?"
Merlin's silence must have been answer enough. He's never explicitly told Arthur about his ability to See, but he's been aware that Arthur suspects for a while now.
"How many times, Merlin?" Arthur continues, sounding quite unlike himself. "How many times have you watched me suffer and lied to my face? How many secrets will you keep before you realize that they are the reason we've destroyed ourselves. Your precious secrets have torn this realm apart."
He knows Arthur is upset, and that he isn't really angry at Merlin, but it doesn't make the hollow feeling in the pit of Merlin's stomach better. Because it is true. If Merlin had – if he'd only told Arthur everything from the beginning, Camelot wouldn't be on the brink of war right now, without a Queen, a First Knight, and a King fit to lead.
"Arthur, I couldn't -" He begins weakly.
Arthur gives an almost inhuman roar. He spins around and throws a small knife at Merlin. Had Merlin been a normal man, it would have embedded itself in his forehead. Instead, Merlin halts the sharp knife's progress mid-air.
"That's all you ever say, Merlin," Arthur rages. "'I couldn't.' You couldn't trust me with your magic. You couldn't tell me about Morgana. You couldn't warn me about Mordred. Couldn't let me live with the truth about my mother's death. You couldn't. Couldn't. COULDN'T."
Arthur throws himself at Merlin. They go crashing to the hard stone floor, Arthur landing fierce blows on Merlin as often as he can. He's harsh and wild, without finesse he has honed from a lifetime of training, and is hurts so very much. Merlin could fight back, throw Arthur against the far wall with the weight of his magic and pin him there, but he doesn't. He lies there and waits. He waits until the punches become slaps and slaps become half-hearted scratches. He waits until Arthur collapses against Merlin's bruised chest and Merlin can feel wetness soak through his tunic.
Arthur sobs die down after what seems like an era. Merlin would suspect he has fallen asleep, except Arthur's fingers travel listlessly up and down Merlin's arm. Merlin rests his right palm on the nape of Arthur's neck and whispers, "I'm sorry, my king," and presses his lips in a ghost of a kiss on Arthur's golden locks.
()o()o()o()o()o()
What he never saw was this:
"Merlin?"
"I'm here. Right here, Arthur. Sire."
Merlin feels hot tears run down his cheeks as he holds Arthur's dying body in his arms. Mordred lies mere feet away, already dead.
Arthur is smiling. "No man is worth your tears, Merlin." His tone is chiding. They are words from long ago when Merlin had just lost someone very dear to him, unbeknownst to Arthur.
"You're certainly not," Merlin manages through stifled sobs.
Arthur gives a hoarse laugh. Blood spills from his gaping wound. "Because I'm a prat?"
"A royal one," Merlin confirms, giving up all hope of closing Arthur's wound and healing him.
Arthur grins. He valiantly lifts an arm and cuffs Merlin around the head before letting it fall back down heavily. Even the simple gesture has taken much from him.
Arthur's eyes flutter shut and Merlin fears this is it. "Arthur? Arthur!"
Miraculously, Arthur opens his eyes again. "Stop shaking me, you fool."
Merlin gives a relieved sob. Even though it is a short lived relief. He doesn't – it can't –
Arthur is dying and there isn't anything Merlin can do to stop it. It is his time.
"Hey Merlin," Arthur whispers, his eyes almost glassy. His Adam's apple bobs. It is as though Arthur has trouble holding back his tears too. "Don't forget me, okay?"
"As if I ever could," Merlin swears.
Another huff of laughter. Arthur closes his eyes for a moment before pinning Merlin with his piercing blue gaze. "It was good, yeah? We were good."
Merlin nods, forcing a cheerful smile. "We were the best."
"A High King and his Warlock," Arthur says softly, eyes full of the memories they've shared. Eyes that are drooping shut now. For good.
Merlin shakes his head viciously. He sniffs. "A spoiled Prince and his idiot manservant."
And then, they are shut. Arthur's eyes. They've closed over his brilliant blue irises.
"Sleep well, my king." With one last kiss to Arthur's forehead, Merlin lets him float to Avalon.
"Farewell, my love."