*Note: Again, thank you so much for the lovely reviews. And wow! Over 100 followers.
It really means a lot to me, especially since I've not written a Merlin fic before and I want this one to go well. And just so everyone knows, I ama Merthur shipper so you can expect some light romance in the future (though not quite yet).
Once again, thank you for reading and have a fantastic new year! On with Merlin!
Chapter 3
Merlin tripped over his boots several times on the run there.
Of course, of course! he thought. Merlin would have smacked his hand against his forehead had he not been running like a maniac. On his sprint downhill, Merlin stumbled a few times but was able to hold his footing well enough to keep moving without falling on his face. The sun began to set and the sky displayed an assortment of dulling pastel colors, from pink to yellow to blue, only just holding onto the day's light. On the lake, the hues reflected and mingled as soft waves reached the shore. As Merlin ran, the brisk coldness in the air filtered through his lungs and burned him as he yelled urgently, "Arthur! Arthur!"
Merlin felt his legs beginning to itch from the intensity with which he ran, but he did not stop until he reached the edge of the lake, and not even then. The water was cool but not disagreeable and Merlin could feel wetness pour into his boots and through his socks. He stood ankle deep, his eyes scrutinizing the entirety of the lake. Perhaps it would take a few moments, he thought. Perhaps he should wait on the dry land, take his boots off and sit on the squishy grass and wait for a sword or a tousle of blonde hair to emerge from the waters. But Merlin did not move.
While he waited, his gaze did not lessen, but his mind reeled and drove away from the lake. What Merlin realized now, what he felt stupid for not realizing before, was that his physical appearance mirrored his age in which Arthur had died. The intense blackness of his hair, his smooth ivory skin, and blue eyes that were not encompassed by any deep circles were how they appeared when he had been in his late twenties and his king was swallowed by the lake, and Merlin promised of his return. The de-aging process, Merlin thought, was unique; and here he was again, picking up from where he and Arthur had left off.
Merlin held his breath. It hardly felt like Arthur's return. Somehow, Merlin expected a grand scene of cheering crowds and shaking earth and swirling whirlpools where Arthur had been laid to rest. He almost laughed, thinking how the legends were influencing such ludicrous ideas. Biting his lip, Merlin squinted. Daylight dimmed and it was hard to see now. The water was beginning to feel cold and his feet felt unstable, locked in the muddy sand. Soon, his legs felt numb. He just needs more time, Merlin thought. After all, waiting for his dead friend to pop out of a lake was hardly something Merlin knew how to handle. What if, he thought worriedly, Arthur doesn't rise from the lake? What if he's out and about walking down some street in London? How exactly does resurrection work?
No, no. Arthur had to be here. Merlin had always planned it this way; he would be here, in this spot, when Arthur returned. Merlin would be there for him. And so, Merlin waited longer, until it was impossible to see with the naked eye. There were no city lights, nothing to guide him by, and Merlin, in his rush, had overlooked lighting any candles or turning on any lamps in his cottage. He was completely in the dark, waiting in utter stillness.
"Leoht," he said and a ball of light erupted in his hand. A pool of light glowed around him.
"Arthur!" he shouted again, desperately, but there was nothing but the steady ripple of the lake. Even the citadel across the lake, on Avalon's hill was becoming invisible in the shroud of the dark night and the mist that always hovered above the waters. How long had Merlin been there waiting? Eyelids beginning to close, Merlin felt drowsy. "Arthur?" Gods, perhaps he had read the signs wrong. Maybe the butterfly meant nothing. Maybe his apparent youth was simply a fact of immortality. For, with all the years ahead of him, Merlin couldn't imagine aging like that forever. Maybe he had just gotten so old that his magic had kindly reversed his appearance and was going to allow him to age all over again.
"Arthur," Merlin said once more, quietly. Feeling his eyes brimming with wetness, Merlin shot one more look out to the lake and then turned around. It was false hope, he told himself, nothing more than wishful thinking. It wasn't as though the world was falling to pieces, and Arthur was only destined to rise again when Albion was in great need. As far as Merlin could see, the world was turning precisely as it had done for centuries.
The warlock trudged slowly up the hill and back to his cottage. Inside, Merlin used minimal amounts of magic to light his way to his bed, in order to avoid tripping over furniture as he sometimes did.
He neglected to close and lock his windows and he neglected to change out of his hoodie and trousers, and he even kept his boots on. In his bedroom, feeling thoroughly miserable, Merlin toppled onto his bed, where his feet dangled over the edge. His pillow became slightly wet with tears and he did not have the strength to cover himself with blankets. But before he could shed any more tears for his lost friend, Merlin fell into a heavy sleep and all traces of light went out.
XXXXX
Sometime before the dawn, there was a ruffle in the Lake of Avalon. And there was a breeze in the November air, and then there was a burst of water. The King of Camelot resurfaced and Arthur Pendragon breathed his first in over five hundred years.
XXXXX
Merlin woke with a start. The sun was not yet in the sky, but it was peeking over the night. At first, Merlin felt warm in his grogginess but that coziness soon vanished when he felt his the bottom of his trousers sticking to him and the socks in his boots still dank. The second thing Merlin noticed was the thickness of fog within his bedroom. He sighed, remembering he had not closed his window the night before, but as he stood and moved into the living area, Merlin saw the mist had commandeered his entire cottage. The mist was cool and smelled like water and pines and the freshness of the earth and the scent of a fading fire. Confused, Merlin cleared his way with magic to find his front door.
Outside, the fog was even denser and it made Merlin's skin tingle throughout his entire body. He wiggled his shoulders. It felt like living magic and the discovery of something long lost.
Again, and for the last time, Merlin's body shook with realization and he hurtled through his garden, down the hill, and to the lake where he knew Arthur would be. If he hadn't felt it last time, his king's return was surging through his body now. It was unbearable and it was wonderful, and he relished its electricity in those very few minutes that he ran. The lake's shore was smothered in the mist but Merlin's gold eyes could see through it.
There was a figure, bobbing in the waters, struggling towards the land, yellow and silver and scarlet, shining against the lake's surface. Merlin felt himself expel something between a laugh and sob that had been wracking through his chest, and finally reached his mouth.
The sorcerer threw himself into the lake. The water felt surprisingly thin and easy to wade through, as if it had been made for the very purpose of retrieving Arthur. Arthur himself was not so far from the shore and Merlin realized, amidst his panic and joy and feeling that his stomach was going to jump out of his mouth, that Arthur must have risen sometime in the night, and it made him sad to think so.
"Arthur!" Merlin called, now waist-deep and sputtering slightly. Arthur didn't answer and waded slowly through the lake, which was also up to his waist. His cape floated around him like sheen of scarlet water and in one hand he gripped Excalibur. "Arthur, I'm coming! Hold on!"
Finally Merlin reached Arthur, and grabbed him around the chest and began to pull him into shore. Merlin's fingers scraped against Arthur's chainmail and they bled a little, but Merlin did not notice. The king's head lolled against Merlin's shoulder, his eye's half open and his fringe hanging sloppily over them.
Against the shore, the two landed, Merlin exhausted, soaking, and unable to tell if Arthur was aware. His sword fell on the cusp of land, its hilt and pommel still in the water. Merlin pulled Arthur completely out of the lake, onto the knoll as gently as he could, with his head in his lap.
"Arthur," Merlin said softly, running his hand through Arthur's wet hair. "Arthur, can you hear me?" He shook his shoulder and the king grunted, then coughed. "Arthur, it's Merlin. I'm here." As Merlin blinked his eyes rapidly to usher away his tears, Arthur's blue eyes focused and landed on Merlin's face hovering above his.
"Merlin," Arthur said in a raspy, but alert voice that made the warlock sigh with tremendous relief.
"It's okay, Arthur. Everything's fine. I promise," he said, grinning wildly.
Arthur's eyes drooped a little, but he smiled and said, looking directly in Merlin's eyes, "Of course it is. But what on earth are you wearing? You look ridiculous," and promptly passed out in Merlin's arms.
