Hi everyone! Long time no see, right?

I hope you are all doing well! If I could put a thousand hugging emojis here, I would. So, you're probably wondering why and most importantly, how is it that I'm around here again. Long story short, I'm trying my hand at my own fiction and, honestly, I needed something else to write. Never thought I'd say that, but there you have it.

And then Oz published three wonderful, gorgeous new pieces, and of course, that reignited my love for this fandom haha. So there you have it and here I am :)

This builds upon a very old drabble I did once, (how time flies!) and also, this is a sequel to Mercurial but can definitely be read by itself. It's going to be a two-shot because by the time I was done it was about 9k words lol and I wouldn't subject you guys to that.

About the title: Peripeteia is latin for 'role-reversal' It is usually used to describe the moment in a work of literature (mostly in tragedies, like Oedipus Rex,) when there's a complete reversal of circumstances. Aristotle, in his Poetics, defines peripeteia as 'a change by which the action veers round to its opposite, subject always to our rule of probability or necessity.' :)


Peripeteia

Part One


"On the green of the hill

We will drink our fill

Of golden sunshine,

Till our brains intertwine"

- John Keats

.

"You are the sunlight moving."

"You look through my two eyes. You are closer to me than myself.

Your light shines brighter than the moon."

- Rumi


"So," Gwaine says, leaning back against his council chair so precariously that Arthur has no doubt he'll fall in minutes. "Merlin's not here yet."

Arthur glances at the chair on his right and sighs. He hopes, in the deepest parts of his heart, that Merlin has taken a well-deserved rest, but he knows Merlin well enough to be sure that his Court Sorcerer is most definitely doing the exact opposite; like strengthening the wards in the lower town when he can barely walk.

The Round Table's polished wood reflects the tiredness that marks his face with shadows. "I suppose he's busy with the new wards. They're rather difficult to cast, apparently."

Gwaine raises an eyebrow at him and rocks in his chair. Arthur can't believe he still hasn't tipped backward.

"Why don't you, y'know…"Gwaine waves his hand vaguely, "call him?"

Now it's Arthur's turn to raise his own eyebrows. "I already sent the serving boy after him, Gwaine. I know you don't care about the new tax laws, but I hope you were at least paying some attention."

"No," Gwaine leans even further back and puts both of his feet on the Round Table's gleaming surface. (Arthur holds back a scowl.) "Call him…" when Arthur still looks lost, he clarifies, as if it is obvious. "With your mind."

Although Gwaine's boots are leaving dirt on the Round Table, Arthur no longer cares. He stares, mouth agape, at Gwaine's face, expecting his knight to break into a teasing grin at any moment. But Gwaine doesn't.

"You're serious?" Arthur asks him, completely dumbfounded. "You actually think I can speak with Merlin telepathically?"

Gwaine's eyes grow larger than Arthur thinks possible, and he immediately sits up straight, leaning over towards the King with something akin to urgency. "Wait-what?"

"You can't speak to Merlin in your mind?" Elyan asks, and Arthur raises his eyes to see all of his knights are wearing the same astonished expression. He looks at Elyan's shocked gaze, at Leon's open-mouthed gasp, at Percival's small frown, and then back at Gwaine's wide eyes.

"Of course I can't-" he lets out a short, incredulous laugh that dies a moment later when none of his friends join in. "How could I possibly do that? I'm not the one with magic, am I?"

"But then," Gwaine says, his eyes wider still, "how do you do that-that thing? That I-know-you-too-well-Merlin thing?"

If the High King had been confused before, now he begins to fear his Round Table has been enchanted. "What?"

"You both do it daily," Leon adds quietly, and everyone nods. "Hourly, even."

"How am I supposed to agree-" Arthur asks, opening his hands over the table in a gesture of helplessness, "If I have no clue what you're talking about?"

"Say, for example," Gwaine says, leaning with his elbows, practically bouncing on his seat. "Say Merlin was here with us, right? And that he barreled in without looking where he is going, you know how our Merlin is, and there was some water or wine on the floor and just before he is about to trip-"

"You usually catch him," Percival says, nodding at Arthur. "Once, I saw you do it without lifting your eyes off the parchment you were reading."

"And say that we are talking about the tax reports or whatever other boring stuff you want to put us through," Gwaine continues, drumming his fingers on the table's surface. "And you never ask Merlin for his opinion outright like you do ours. You just look at him like this-" And Gwaine makes a face that Arthur supposes a ten-year-old would make when looking at a puppy. (1)

"I do not look at him like that!" Arthur says, alarmed. Everyone around him exchanges pointed looks. "I do not!"

"And then," Gwaine continues as if Arthur had said nothing, "and then Merlin gives you a look right back, and then you both smile like this," and Gwaine smiles like he's just seen the Triple Goddess herself.

"Simultaneously, might I add," comments Leon helpfully.

"And when you're talking, we lose whole strands of a conversation." Elyan says, and Arthur raises his eyes to meet his brother-in-law's perceptive gaze, "sometimes I have to piece it together from context."

"Too true!" Gwaine grins enthusiastically, "It goes something like this: 'do we-' and you would say, 'no, too dangerous,' and then Merlin would say something like, 'you're right, but how about-' and then you say, "Yes, you are right.'"

Arthur is speechless. He opens his mouth once, twice, and then closes it again, knowing he can't deny any of it.

After scrutinizing his sovereign's face, Gwaine looks back at his brothers in arms with a knowing look. They all nod.

"You take completing other's sentences to a frightening degree, princess."

"And what about the funny feelings?" Elyan asks insightfully, tapping a finger against his cheek. "How do you explain those?"

Arthur is at a loss. "Merlin's funny feelings? He's Emrys, for goodness' sake…"

"No," Gwaine corrects him, pointing a finger directly at his sovereign's nose. "Yours, too."

"What are you…?"

"Just last week," Percival observes from his place beside Leon, "you left Lord Eoden in the gardens when Merlin returned from his monthly trip to the Druid's…"

"That idiot had burnt his arm trying to save a pig from slaughter!" Arthur explains, clenching his jaw. "A pig!"

"But how did you know?" Elyan asks outright. The High King finds that he cannot meet Elyan's eyes. "Arthur, not even the guards at the gate knew. So how could you know? You simply took off."

"And what about when you stopped Merlin from going after Morgana last month?"

"Oh, yes!" Gwaine says, hooting with laughter. "That one was priceless! Not that seeing you get hurt is funny, Arthur," he adds with rare solemness, "but you should have seen Merlin's face when you grabbed his wrist and said," and here Gwaine does his best imitation of Arthur's voice and the High King feels a chill run down his spine; it is frighteningly accurate. "''I know what you are thinking, Merlin. Don't you dare,' and Merlin shot back with a, 'If you know what I'm thinking then you also know that there's no changing my mind,' and you, princess, even though you almost had your arm blasted off, you said, 'I know you better than you know yourself Merlin and I know you know that I know your place is right here now, by my side.'"

Ignoring the fact that, apparently, Gwaine can recall a month's old conversation word-per-word and still sleeps through most (if not all) council meetings, Arthur closes his eyes and thinks back on that terrifying night when Morgana had blasted through the citadel. She had with her a magical device even the druids shrank away from. The night had been a blur for him, except for the moment a mercenary had stabbed him cleanly through the shoulder. He vaguely remembers the shock- not due the pain, but rather due to the fact that he had been stabbed at all-and then, as he fell and lay on the ground in a pool of his own blood, his only thought was of Guinevere and then of Merlin and praying that he was alright, because nothing had ever taken him this long to get to Arthur.

Though he tries with all his might to recall something else from Morgana's latest attempt at usurping him, Arthur can only summon one hazy, candle-lit memory. He remembers Guinevere spreading ointment over his wounded arm with soft fingertips and Merlin's trembling hand on his forehead as he muttered healing spells.

"Ah." Arthur knows his knights expect a somewhat better answer but says, truthfully, "I don't remember that."

"Perhaps it's better if you don't, sire." Leon says, wincing slightly, "It's not a day anyone wants to remember. Merlin was beside himself."

"That," Arthur admits softly, "I remember."

They all fall silent after that. Though Arthur had been fuming at first, now he feels weary with memories and recognizes that the knights' conclusion is a logical one. And yet it isn't right.

"I see," he says after a minute or two of intense consideration. "Yes, you are right. But it's not what you think. I can't speak with Merlin telepathically." He shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair, "If I did," and here he raises his eyes to look into each of his knight's, "do you think I would have let him throw himself from the parapet like a rag-doll two months ago?"

He regrets it as soon as he says it. Even he can hear the lingering bitterness in his tone. He knows the knights try not to think about it: he's caught Gwaine staring at Merlin's hobbling form with such sorrow that he excused him from training that day, and he'd seen Leon and Elyan run after Iseldir to ask about Merlin's condition, even caught Percival wiping tears from his eyes as he stood by the crushed cobblestones in the courtyard; the ones Arthur had ordered scrubbed a thousand times to make sure they're thoroughly cleaned of Merlin's blood.

The room sobers up at the reminder. Elyan looks away, Gwaine sighs, Leon swallows, and Percival returns his King's gaze with sadness. Merlin still isn't completely recovered from his injuries, but he is well on his way. Arthur has ordered him to rest, but Merlin has decided that he'd rather act as if nothing has happened.

But plenty has happened. The healing process is torturously slow because of the dark magic that had summoned those boulders in the first place and though it's been months, Merlin's legs, back, and arms still cannot bear his weight for longer than five minutes.

Arthus is not supposed to know this, but he'd gone directly to Iseldir the moment Merlin was safe; with a sleeping potion to knock out the dead in him and in Gaius' care. He and Gwen had heard it all, heard how Emrys had miraculously saved the entire citadel by himself, absolutely and terrifyingly alone. Gwen had sobbed when Iseldir had let it slip that it took Merlin half an hour to lift the elephant-sized boulder off himself and Arthur had remarked, quite innocently, that Iseldir couldn't be right because Merlin had told him (and Merlin wouldn't lie to him!) it had only been debris that had landed on top of him, not a boulder that could easily crush a cottage. 'Oh no, my King,' Iseldir had said, avoiding Athur's horrified gaze. 'Emrys' screams rippled through the camp. We all saw it with our mind's eye.'

That night, neither of them had slept a wink. Hand in hand, the Queen and King of Albion had barreled into the physician's chambers and wordlessly worked together, changing Merlin's bandages, lowering Merlin's mounting fever with cool compresses, and wiping away the blood that still oozed from the shallow cuts on Merlin's cheeks.

Gwen had cried soundlessly until dawn, pressing her face to Merlin's hand, and Arthur had sat at the head of the cot and brushed back Merlin's hair as he wept harder than he remembers ever weeping before.

And so, the weeks passed. Although Merlin still insists that he is fine, Arthur has caught him wincing in the middle of a flight of stairs, seemingly in too much pain to keep climbing the steps. He'd offered his warlock his own shoulder to keep him from falling, but Merlin's legs trembled so much that it scared Arthur witless and he'd ordered a passing maid to bring Gaius. Merlin hadn't been happy about that.

"I still can't believe he did that," Percival says after a few moments. "It must have taken an immense amount of courage to do such a thing."

"Or stupidity," Arthur murmurs under his breath.

Arthur knows Gwaine has heard him, but his friend doesn't protest, as if he agrees.

"So, if you can't read his mind," Elyan says, holding out a hand. "Then how in the world can you do all that?"

Arthur looks at their faces, recognizes the eagerness and curiosity in each of his knight's expressions, and decides that he'll try to explain it as well as he possibly can.

"It's not…" he fumbles with his words, "it's not that simple. I can't quite understand it myself. I can't read Merlin's mind any more than you lot can."

Gwaine raises his eyebrow. "That's debatable,"

Arthur glares at him. "As I was saying, I can't, for the life of me, read his mind. What I can- we can- do is… I don't know how to explain it. It's like-like we are attuned to each other?" He thinks about his choice of words for a bit before sighing, "no, that's not right. It's like-"

And he feels it then. The thrumming of his blood; the lighting strike on his soul. Glancing out the window, Arthur sees the sunlight fall softly over Merlin's familiar silhouette on his way to the Council Chambers.

He smiles.

"It's like the sun." He says, not bothering to look back at his knights but instead keeping his eyes fixed on Merlin as he slowly begins climbing the courtyard steps. "You know it's there, do you not? And even when it isn't, when a cloud passes before it, you can still feel its rays. If you were blindfolded, you would still feel its warmth. And once you could see once more you wouldn't need to think about it; you'd instinctively seek it out, here and in the furthest corner of Essetir."

Merlin stops halfway up the stairs and doubles over, wincing in pain. Arthur grimaces together with him and yet he can only imagine the amount of pain his friend is in.

"That's how it is." He tells his knights, "Merlin thinks it's because his magic is the same one that was used to bring me to life when my mother couldn't conceive. I don't know what it is and I don't care. I just know that, whatever it is, I am grateful to have it. To have Merlin." He pauses. Down there, Merlin squares his jaw and continues climbing the stairs. Arthur can feel his heart swell with affection. "You never doubt the sun will rise, do you, men? Well, I never doubt Merlin's presence."

When he finally turns around he is slightly startled when he sees Gwaine sniffing into a handkerchief and Elyan drying his eyes.

"That was…" Leon says, blinking rapidly. "That was a privilege to hear, My King."

"That was beautiful." Gwaine agrees, blowing his nose. "That was- I didn't know. None of us knew."

"Suddenly, a lot of things make sense," Percival says quietly.

Arthur shrugs humbly. He can feel his ears burn but smiles nonetheless.

"At least that's how it is for me," The Once and Future King adds, almost as an afterthought, "I expect for Merlin it feels differently."

Elyan tilts his head at this and Arthur is reminded of his beloved Queen doing the same exact thing. "How so?"

"Well," he clears his throat awkwardly, "I can't imagine what it is like to have such power and have to gravitate towards a single goal instead of… I don't know…" he tries to think of something spectacular enough, "...create a new mountain range?"

He almost jumps out of his skin when a familiar voice answers fondly from the doorframe. "It is easier than you'd think, dollophead."

"Merlin!" He turns around, half-expecting Merlin to be grinning idiotically, but instead, his warlock is all but panting from exertion. He tries to hide it well, but Arthur knows him better than he knows himself and easily sees the tension of Merlin's jaw, the way he favors his less injured foot, and the unnatural angle at which he's holding his shoulder as if to keep it from cramping.

The High King's brow furrows with concern.

Though Iseldir has been visiting regularly to help Merlin heal further, the warlock does everything but outrightly avoid him. Arthur had to order him to sit still over a dozen times and later, after Merlin had grumbled his way into bed, Arthur had pleaded with Iseldir outside his Court Sorcerer's chambers until the druid had confessed that Merlin was trying to learn and perform the healing magic himself. 'How in the world,' Arthur had asked then, with growing anguish, 'does he expect to heal at all?' Iseldir had not answered him immediately. Then he'd said, quietly and truthfully, 'perhaps you should talk with him, my King. I believe you are the only one he'll ever listen to.'

And so Arthur had. Or so he thought.

"I thought I told you that you needed to take it slow."

Merlin shrugs but winces when he feels his bruised ribs. "I was running late."

Arthur knows he's not the only one that sees how absolutely wrong those words sound coming from Merlin. He thinks of a thousand different ways in which he can uncover Merlin's lie but sighs and says,

"So? It's not like I can't tell you about it later. Besides, it's just us."

"I don't want to make it a habit," Merlin answers him, clearly avoiding the real reason behind his agonizing trek upstairs. He stands straighter and turns a shade paler, but leaves his staff by the door and attempts to walk, a little too rapidly, towards his chair at Arthur's side.

He makes it halfway through before his injured legs can't support him anymore and then he is pitching forwards almost comically.

The knights all jump out of his chairs, years of reflexes kicking in. Gwaine makes a mad dash around the table, but Arthur is already there, catching Merlin by the armpits and putting one of his still-bandaged arms around his shoulder blades.

"And I suppose you expected to make it to your chair without this happening, didn't you, Merlin?" Arthur asks him, heroically choosing to bury his concern and fury in favor of some harmless banter.

Merlin's face is that of someone that wants to be furious but can't. Slowly, a smile overtakes his features. "You know me."

"Don't I just," Arthur murmurs, but not softly enough because his knights overhear the entire exchange and grin at one another like buffoons.

"What's happening?" Merlin asks him in an indistinct whisper, "Why do they look like they've been-"

"Enchanted?" Arthur finishes for him before he can stop himself. He groans when Gwaine's smile all but reaches his ears.

By his side, Merlin nods. Arthur still hasn't let go of his arm.

"They asked about our-um-" once again Arthur doesn't quite know what to call it. "Affinity? Connection?" Merlin looks at him like he's concussed, so he gestures vaguely at him and says lamely, "this. Whatever it is that made me catch you just now, and that let you find me when Morgana attacked last month."

"Oh," Merlin says. And then his gaze softens with tenderness. "Oh."

"Do you even know what I'm talking about?" Arthur asks, slightly alarmed. His friend's gaze is eerily similar to Gwaine's ten-year-old-boy-with-a-puppy impression, and he doesn't like it.

"Of course," Merlin says, sounding insulted. "How can I not?"

Arthur shoots him a glare and then Merlin shoots him a don't-start-Arthur look and then he scrunches up his nose to say why-are-you-the-most-powerful-idiot in the land and then Merlin rolls his eyes to say-

Gwaine clears his throat and both of them turn towards the sound at the same time. When they let out a simultaneous, "what?" Arthur has to fight the urge to face-palm.

Gwaine's smirk could surpass Morgana's.

"We wanted to know, mate," he says, practically bouncing towards Merlin. "We wanted to know what it felt like to you. See, princess here isn't exactly a bard but-"

"Oh, that is easy." Merlin interrupts him, smiling. "It feels like the sun. Doesn't it, Arthur?"

Arthur almost lets go of Merlin in his shock. "What?"

Merlin looks surprised. He scratches his chin.

"Isn't it what it feels like to you? Odd, I was sure it would. That's what it feels like to me, in any case. It's like- look, the sun… it must have a purpose. What good is its life-giving light if there's nothing out there worthy of it? Unless, of course," and here he lifts his gaze to look straight into Arthur's with a smile. "There are some dollophead seeds that will eventually become trees that will someday provide shade to millions of- what?" He notices the tears that have risen in Arthur's eyes and turns his head to see Gwaine wiping a hand across his. "What did I say?"

Arthur can't help it, and it's not as if he's the only one crying, anyway.

"Come here, you idiot." He says with a degree of affection that only Merlin and Guinevere have witnessed and before Merlin can so much as blink, he's already reeled his best friend into a careful and loving embrace. For a moment Merlin stills in his arms, clearly at a loss, but then he hugs his King fiercely and Arthur wonders if perhaps Merlin's attempts at climbing the stairs for a tax-related meeting has to do less with his idiotic need to prove himself invincible (and give his King multiple heart attacks in the process,) and more with the fact that he's missed being by Arthur's side.

"You've missed me," Arthur says softly by his best friend's ear, realization settling in. "Is that it?"

Even now, he can tell Merlin is smiling. "Well," he says against Arthur's shoulder, "It is remarkably hard to find those dollophead seeds I was talking about. And even harder not growing fond of them."

Arthur feels tears prick at his eyes but refuses to let his voice break. "You idiot. Why didn't you say something? I wasn't leaving you behind on purpose! You need to heal, and you can't very well do that running around after me when you can barely walk!"

"You have enough to worry about, Arthur," Merlin says, resting his chin on his King's shoulder. "You have to rebuild half of the city. And I didn't want you to have to cart an invalid around, on top of everything. What if a magical beast attacks when you're visiting the builder's guild or during training? If I'm not right beside you, then…" Merlin grows quiet and Arthur pulls away to look at his face until Merlin's eyes meet his own. "Then there's no guarantee I'll make it in time."

Something snaps into attention in the back of Arthur's mind, but he can't quite place it. Merlin smiles at him then and he decides to think about it later.

"Is that what you're worried about?" Arthur can't tell if he wants to laugh hysterically or cry. Maybe both. "That something will attack and you won't be there to protect me? And what would you do if that happened? Have you thought of that? Unless you have somehow learned how to levitate, I doubt you could do something without injuring yourself further."

Arthur has spoken unthinkingly, and he knows it, but he is still taken aback by the darkening expression on his friend's gentle face. Merlin's eyes are iron.

"I would find a way," Merlin promises. But then the moment passes, just as suddenly as it arrived, and the warlock's wise eyes lighten with amusement. "Wait, was that what you meant by 'moving a mountain rage?' I thought you were joking!"

He pauses when Arthur blinks at him and then exhales softly, "You do know that I would rather sleep in a tree for a hundred years than leave you to go make...what was it? a new mountain range," he raises his eyebrows and looks pointedly at Arthur, "do you?"

For a long moment, Arthur doesn't answer. Then his gaze narrows. "That was oddly specific, Merlin. Are you sure you don't have something to share?"

Merlin waves a hand. "Meh, you know how it is. There are so many prophecies they can't possibly all turn out to be right. Maybe a hundred or so years ago a druid had too much to drink."

"Hopefully," Arthur mutters by his side.

But Merlin's smile is infectious. It has always been. The knights surround them, then, and Arthur lets Gwaine and Leon help Merlin to his rightful place by Arthur's right side, observes Elyan ask Merlin every question that Arthur couldn't answer and Percival put a strong, yet gentle hand on Merlin's still-bandaged shoulder. The High King leans back in his chair.

The sunlight filters through the window, ever-present, and ever-warming, and the Once and Future King closes his eyes and smiles.


(1) based, of course, on the look they exchange in 'The Coming of Arthur'

So, this was going to be a fun Arthur-can't read-Merlin's-mind one-shot but it morphed into something else entirely, as you can probably tell. I won't spoil things too much but let's say that I will gladly participate in #letmerlinghug2021 before 2021 ends. ;) Also, I know that the title doesn't make a lot of sense now but believe me it will make sense in part two.

See you soon!

Ocean.