Merlin used every ounce of effort in him and broke away. He felt himself recoil- he was getting in too deep- he lost his head. He scooted backward from where their knees tangled and sat afar. Arthur's expression was unclear, troubled.

"I need to go for a walk," Merlin lied, wobbling to his feet and speeding away.

Did he even want to break the curse? What if he wanted things to continue this way? He looked over his shoulder at Arthur and felt his face heat up. He did already, in some capacity, give in- and maybe that was enough.

Maybe this alone would break it, like a fairy-tale of true love's kiss. What that really love, though? One cursed with love, the other blessed with magic, and ne'er the two shall meet?

Arthur leaned on his elbows, watching Merlin stride away and feeling his chest ache something incomparable. What a moment they had shared; a moment Arthur felt would be etched in his bones forevermore. He stood to get a better look of Merlin scaling down the steep cliffside, and watched after him with longing.

Merlin could not have gone any faster to the potion without running. He nearly tripped in a divot in the ground, rolling his ankle, but continued to walk. It should surely be done by now. He could see the memories attached to the cursed heart. The wretched thing which placed itself as a permanent reminder upon his hand in the shape of unbalanced scales. Or, were they balanced now? He could not quite remember, nor desired to check, but pressed onward.

As he finally made his way through the tall grass and fell to his knees he poured the potion into his eyes as the grimoire had instructed. As he began to doubt the mixing of ingredients, the memories seized him in its undertow.

.

.

.

A young woman, no more than her twentieth year, sat alone in some room decorated with lavish trinkets and baubles. It looked like a rich man's folly. She sat sideways, languid in a plush chair, toying with something. Viewing as an outsider, Merlin roamed closer to the misty silhouette of the memory and saw a ring in her hands.

Her dark brown hair shielded most of her face from prying eyes, though a large portion of wavy locks was soon lifted away by a young man's hand.

"Circe, have you no shame?" The man laughed, "You are noble, present yourself so. Why do you meddle with that thing? Have you thought of your answer so soon?"

The woman, who Merlin now recognized as 'Circe' rolled her eyes in his direction with familiarity, "You already know my answer, Costa. This is the fourth man who has asked for my hand. The answer is always the same."

Costa, a man not much taller than she, with reddish-brown hair and a multitude of freckles seemed to have asked the question only as a formality. He was scrawny and perhaps misproportioned, gangly in places and seeming too stout in others. This Costa was not likely what would be considered conventionally attractive, especially not by a noble woman's standards. However, his smile shone pure as he laughed at the woman.

"You are a force to be reckoned with, my friend." Costa took the ring from her hands and took it out of her arm's reach to gauge it. "This one seems more lavish than the rest, surely you will at least consider."

"What is fortune without love?" Circe said wistfully, which Merlin thought seemed odd until he noticed the expression of the other. Ah, she was being sarcastic.

"You, my dear, have a heart of ice. I pity the man who tries to win it." Costa laughed. "Even as children, you had the romantic wiles of a dung beetle."

"Were it not true, I would resent that," she muttered, bored. "Melt it down with the others, perhaps I can make something out of it, should I get enough of them."

"I wish I could say you overestimate yourself, but even I know your beauty is unmatched."

"Is beauty all that matters to you, dear Costa?" she teased, reaching for a grape to crunch between her teeth. She spit the seed into a vase beside her and smirked when it clinked with finality within its walls.

"There is more to you, Circe. This, I know better than anyone. It is too bad you are a miser with your own passions," Costa replied coolly, eyes falling on Circe with a new expression. "A woman of passion is all the more beautiful."

The brunette sighed, "I am passionate about two things, dear boy: who shall fight next in the ring and who shall claim this body when my father has grown tired of my nature."

"Were I to have money, I would," Costa replied sincerely, placing a hand upon hers.

She rolled her eyes and pulled the hand away, "Just because we have known each other since the teat does not mean you may touch me as you please. Know your place."

"My place is with you," Costa smiled, "Despite your great hesitation."

"When Atlantis rises again, darling, then I may love you," she said flippantly, putting another grape in her mouth.

The next memory Merlin saw must have been a few seasons later, as the man's hair was longer, and his face tanner with a few small scars upon it.

"I have come to ask, if I may, for your attendance at a festival I am going to. I may need some company." Costa asked, all pleasantness and confidence.

Her expression was droll, "I suppose I must if I am to avoid someone else's invitation. I should hope you are a better dancer than you were when we were children."

"Not much better, I'm afraid," he admitted. "As I am sure you have not either, with your clumsy galavanting of a young billy goat- but, I would cherish your company all the same."

She batted him with her hand and smiled dimly, "Rotten man. Consider yourself lucky, for I am sure to be the only one willing to take such a brute."

"Not quite, my lady," he smiled, the wide stretch of his mouth showing nearly all his teeth. "I was under the inclination at least two ladies near my place in the village are waiting for my invitation."

"Then why should you deny them the pleasure when I merely tolerate you?" She rolled her eyes, picking at her nails, suddenly bitter.

"No need to be insolent, Circe, I was merely correcting you." He shrugged, sighed with some defeat, then strode away from his spot at the table. "I shall pick you up in a fortnight after sundown. Do try to be ready on time. I will not wait for you."

"Now who is being insolent?" she teased. "I know you would wait all night. You have done it before."

"Of course I have," he softened, but his expression turned to sadness, "and I likely always will. But, perhaps, one day my patience for the return of your feelings will run out."

"You will die before you can learn to dislike me, Costa," she smiled coyly, "I shall be ready. I am excited to go."

"I will see you then," he brightened a little and bowed before leaving.

Finally, this memory seemed to be even further from the last. The man had grown something of a beard for himself and the lady with the faintest hints of wrinkles upon her forehead.

"So, you are engaged," Costa muttered, sitting on a couch as the woman laid upon a chaise lounge. His expression was troubled. "I suppose my proposal has been decided."

"My father is pushing it," she worried over her necklace, not meeting his eyes, "I do not wish to do it, but he will take the dowry if I do not. I cannot live a pauper."

"I know I am of lower standing, but I will say this clearly. Just once more, so that you may be sure to understand.

I do love you. More than life itself. I cannot see you loved by another. I have made you aware of my intentions for 6 years now, and yet you refuse to acknowledge my feelings past jesting.

If you do not love me, say so, so I may be free of you. If you may love me, even the slightest, run with me. I will make you happy, I am sure of it. You do not need money, I will provide everything for you with the sweat on my brow and my small soldier's pension.

I know you have never loved another, but might you love me? Why else would you not take a husband?" Costa asked, exhausted.

"Perhaps I do... perhaps... but as I said, I cannot live as a beggar. Love does not keep one warm at night," she whispered.

He strode forward and kissed her, she grabbed him to pull away but instead jerked him closer as the kiss deepened.

Merlin felt awkward at the intrusive nature of this memory but did not look away. He could tell something was happening that he was missing. Something unspoken.

Costa pulled away slowly, stared at her longingly, and strode away with a final say on his lips, "I hope the two of you may find happiness where we could not."

She wanted to stop him, and reached out her hand, but could not find words- only tears. She turned her back.

The memory seemed to fade like a smoldering fire and the new one replaced it like a mist on the moors.

She woke to a frantic servant, blubbering with a letter in her hands, "He's in the sea, he drowned himself, Miss! This was found in his house! It has your name!"

She sprung from the bed and grabbed the letter- without reading the letter, asking the identity of the man of which the servant spoke, or getting dressed, she ran to Costa's house. She knew in her bones what fate should meet her there. Barefoot, the uneven gravel cut and dug into her feet, but she arrived breathlessly at the company of a man of the law at the door, head low.

"You cannot come in, Miss. He has to be... prepared for the Styx." The lawman said solemnly, "but you may say your goodbyes. I will close the door. I will return with his things."

She looked like a woman gone mad, hair disheveled and eyes puffy, her night chemise covered in mud and sweat. Her hands shook as she approached her beloved childhood friend. She instinctively wrung the letter in her hands.

His body bloated some, and he stunk of the sea. He did not look like the man she knew. He looked troubled and afraid. She reached to touch him but stopped herself, opening the letter to read.

I have waited too long, my love, for a fate that may never come. I am sorry for any pain this may cause you, but I cannot face this life any longer without you at my side. May the seas always remind you of me, but not of the sadness of my passing. Remember how we used to play there in our youth and how we loved and cherished time spent together, unreservedly and unashamed, in the sand and waves. I leave with our first and final kiss still warm on my lips, and my heart just as full. May you find happiness in this world, as I may find it in the next.

Yours forever, Costa

Merlin could feel the sadness radiate from Circe as though being sucked into an undertow, the sheer look in her eyes of anguish sent a chill down his spine.

She brought one of his hands to her lips and kissed it, her voice was thick and vengeful as her eyes bore into it, "Damn me. Why did I not follow my heart? Cold woman, indeed. I did not deserve you, Costa. Had I found you sooner, perhaps I could have saved you."

A bitter laugh died on her lips, "Why not the traditional bleeding, my love? Perhaps I could have arrived before your death. And were you not bloated, perhaps I could have revived you."

She shook her head, "No matter. I have no desire for that man to touch me. I will not be an empty doll, my dear Costa, my heart dies with you."

She looked about the room and her eyes found a wooden box laid upon his mantle. A box all too familiar to Merlin, the mark on his hand itched in response. She left his side in a hurry, tossing the box upon the table where he lay and opened it, an ornamental dagger within, "It will be painful, but perhaps I deserve as such, for making you wait. I shall join you, wait for me a little longer..."

Her eyes burned bright as she stood quietly in deliberation, closed the box and took it under her arm, nearly bowled over the man she had spoken to before. He tried to call after her but she paid no mind.

Months had passed, leaves falling from the nearby trees, a field of heather around her as she strode with energy unbefitting the look of a woman withering away from starvation. Merlin watched in pain as she finally stopped to rest, looking much older from grief. Her expression was finally one nearing relaxed.

"Here is where I shall lie," she muttered to herself, sitting against a tree. The longer Merlin looked, the more he finally recognized where they were. Her box signified her final resting place.

"I have taken myself as far as legs and boat would take me, my love," she sobbed, choking back a cough. "I did not find our Atlantis. I despise the gods who did not smile upon us. Why could we not have been fated? Was love not enough!?"

As she screamed, she began to lose her voice and cleared her throat, "No matter. If I cannot wage war against gods, perhaps I can wage it against men."

She opened the box, taking the dagger from its sheath. It looked sharpened to a painstaking degree, glimmering in the clouded sunlight. She pricked her finger and wrote a message at the top of the box with her blood.

Suffer, as I have suffered. Whomsoever takes ownership of this heart will feel my sadness. Anteros, avenge me.

What followed, Merlin felt as if it were happening all at once, overlapping and loud. The sound of the knife plunging within her chest, eyes glowing as she spoke an incantation. Merlin did not quite understand the language, but the carving out of her heart and placing it in the box was enough.

.

.

.

He did not see the end, for he was brought out of the memory by an overwhelming sense of dread. He understood why when he saw Arthur standing at the cliffside. This was it. The curse would kill Arthur after Merlin began to fall for him too. Merlin was doomed to painful solitude.

His feet carried him as quickly as they could, yelling Arthur's name as he ran. Once he got into earshot, Arthur raised a hand into a limp wave and threw himself from the cliff. His eyes closed as he braced himself for impact.

The yell which carried across the field came from Merlin's lips before he could stop himself. It was garbled by the blowing wind. Arthur was suspended in the air like a puppet from a string and lowered safely to the ground. Terrified screams upon descent were met with consoling words as Merlin's first order of business was to check for injury. Merlin could not keep himself from crying, clinging to Arthur in a hug as they sat on the ground.

Arthur, shocked, pushed him away to arm's length, "What was that?"

Merlin's heart sank, "It was magic, sire."

"Magic? You have magic? You've lied to me?" Arthur asked.

"Yes, I have." Merlin felt no regret at saving Arthur but felt some form of relief at the truth finally being revealed. Arthur seemed more himself as he spoke, curse evidently broken.

"You saved me then, with magic? But, I was cursed with magic." Arthur said stupidly.

"Indeed you were, but it is over now," he took a measured breath and sat back on his haunches, "and you may do what you wish."

"Do you think I plan to execute you, Merlin?" Arthur asked, expression soft.

"I hoped not," Merlin admitted sagely, "I rather like being alive."

"I love you, Merlin," Arthur said with no contest, as though discussing the weather. "The curse is broken, I am quite sure, but the feeling remains."

The first response was of Merlin beginning to cough, choking on air, "Y-you can't be serious!"

"As the plague. Perhaps I felt it before all this, but this merely lowered the inhibition," he shrugged, "So, what were you doing down there? Since we are being honest now."

The experience felt surreal, Arthur knew his biggest secret and he seemed perturbed at worst. Not to mention the rest of it. This confusion conveyed in his voice, "Well, I viewed the curse caster's memories associated with the box, to hopefully find a cure."

"But you found it." Arthur assumed.

"Stumbled on it is better suited." Merlin looked away to the graveyard afar.

"What do you believe it was, that broke the curse then? You saving me, or being honest about your magic?" Arthur asked, point-blank.

"I need to sit down, your straightforward nature is really starting to make things difficult right now." Merlin coughed, blushing, remembering Arthur confessing his love to him, and the kiss they shared. He lowered himself the rest of the way down, pulling his knees to his chest.

"So how do you feel about this whole thing?" Arthur seemed put out, sitting beside Merlin on the grass. Their shoulders brushed gently with the breeze.

"About you knowing about my magic? I'm shocked you are taking it so well, quite frankly." Merlin admitted, looking up at the sky for a moment to ground himself.

"Well, a lot of things make sense now." Arthur sighed, then laughed, "Plus, I am sure my infatuation with you has something to do with it."

"Oh dear Lord," Merlin sighed, unable to hide his mix of embarrassment and dismay.

"Do you not feel the same?" Arthur asked, sounding skeptical.

Merlin groaned, "Sire, I-"

"I swear, if you start that whole thing again, I will hit you." Arthur turned his torso to look directly in his face, "I don't want to hear social standing, or kingdom, or anything of the sort. What do you feel for me?"

"I don't know," Merlin whispered emphatically, "Isn't me being happy that you're not dead enough? What do you hope to accomplish?"

"Happiness, Merlin." Arthur smiled, bumping their shoulders playfully, "Perhaps we could find it together if we tried."

"Arthur," Merlin's voice was dark, foreboding in a way Arthur felt taken aback. His voice sounded foreign to him. "Do not be a fool."

Arthur seemed back to normal and in relatively high spirits, but as Merlin brooded, the mark upon his hand still remained. Merlin's eyes stared upon the mark like an arcane horror before him. At Merlin's staring, Arthur took his hand and examined it, holding fast when Merlin tried to tug away. The feeling of bravery Merlin felt before was gone.

"Not entirely broken, then," Arthur admitted upon seeing the mark, letting go of the hand. "I still feel for you, Merlin. I know the curse has broken for me because I do not feel drained by these feelings, as I had, I feel hopeful. Perhaps you could admit to yourself what you feel, or to me. Perhaps that would help your end."

"Arrogant prat," Merlin muttered, "You have the love of any women you wish, the respect of your people, what does it matter?"

"They're not you, stupid." Arthur snapped.

"I think we should return to the castle, Your Highness." Merlin stood clumsily and strode towards the cliffs to go to camp.

"Ah yes, so you may sulk without my interference, I suppose!" Arthur called after him.

"I am not sulking," Merlin yelled without turning his head, watching his feet as he walked.

Arthur wobbled to his feet and jogged after him.

"I may not have been able to discern your secret until this point, Merlin, but I know you well enough that your emotions are never a secret to me! You wear them upon that goofy face of yours whether you mean to or not!" Arthur called after him, trying to match stride.

He grabbed Merlin's bicep tightly to hold him fast to the spot, apologizing quickly for the vice before meeting his eyes.

"Do you wish things to go back to where they were? If that is your wish, we will manage it. However, I should like that you could- at the very least- humor the concept. I do not wish to bed you, Merlin, if that is a concern. I merely wish to explore these new occurrences."

Merlin turned beet red, indignant, "I would never concern myself with such a thing."

"Up to you," Arthur let go of the arm and shrugged, tapping his bicep gently with his palm where he grabbed. "I cannot promise you a seat at the throne, but I can promise that you should always remain at my side until you wish to leave it. I would just sorely miss your company should you ever leave."

"I do not expect to be your queen," Merlin frowned, "I am a man, and a throne needs only one king. I just do not wish for our friendship to sour."

"You think too little of us, Merlin. Our friendship has survived this long, who is to say it cannot last a lifetime- with or without the benefit of a mutual commitment."

Merlin stood in front of Arthur and they observed each other; hesitant, but curious. Merlin reached out to touch the tips of Arthur's fingers and merely held them for a moment, "I fear for you, Arthur."

"Fear not for me, nor Camelot," Arthur shook his head. "Fear not for yourself either, you are safe with me."

"I know," Merlin croaked and he coughed it away, laughing, "I have always felt safe with you... when you weren't getting us into trouble. I don't suppose that should stop any time soon?"

"Don't be daft, you and I both know that trouble finds me, not the other way around. If anything, your sort of trouble is what finds us."

Merlin did not argue, knotting his fingers with Arthur's, "I shall try, I suppose." He looked at his feet, then the hand which held Arthur's, and kissed him briefly upon the cheek. He looked uncomfortable but smiled, scratching his cheek with his other hand.

Unseen between the two men, the mark on Merlin's hand faded into the skin.

"Suppose we should return?" Arthur asked.

"I reckon we should," Merlin said, trying to release his hand, Arthur smiled and held on.

"We have time until we return to Camelot." Arthur insisted, walking to the cliffs hand in hand.

"We cannot climb the cliffside with one hand apiece, sire." Merlin groaned as they meandered along.

Letting go of Merlin's hand, Arthur began to scale the rock face with little effort, "Leave the 'sire' and 'highness' bit for court, I am Arthur to you, Merlin."

"Unfortunately so, sire." Merlin cocked a smile, following behind him.

The ride seemed long on the way back to Camelot, though they talked the whole way there- Merlin described the visions in as much detail as he could manage. Things felt mostly the same between them, though Merlin sensed a tenderness perhaps not there before. Merlin, noticing his unmarred hand at the reign, he made mention of it to his companion, who smirked smugly in reply. Everything is out in the open now, so why not?

"Something she said bothered me," Merlin admitted, "She spoke as if fate did not want them together, but he was always at her side waiting for her to reciprocate his feelings. She seemed to feel something, even early on, but kept it to herself."

"Suppose that is Anteros's doing, the god upon which she called is one for love unrequited after all, and one cannot know love if it stays unspoken." Arthur shrugged.

"You never cease to amaze me," Merlin smiled, "So you can say things fitting a king once in a while."

Arthur narrowed his eyes impishly, "Do not test me, Merlin, I could always abuse my power and make you stable boy."

"Perish the thought," Merlin laughed, patting his mare on the neck, "I should like their company more."

Then, after a moment of pleasant silence, Arthur seemed to put something in his mind together, "She mentioned something about finding Atlantis?"

"Yes, though I think she was referring to something she said about not loving him until Atlantis was found."

"I was just wondering," Arthur shrugged, "I thought maybe she had gone to revive him at the Isle of the Blessed, but you're probably right."

"She couldn't have known," Merlin insisted.

"It may have been nice if she did know," Arthur mused sadly.

As they arrived upon the inner gate, Merlin had to shield his eyes from the setting sun, "Yes, it may have been, but her love already had paid a large price. She chose comfort over love."

"Indeed, she did not even try," Arthur hummed, looking once more at Merlin before dismounting his horse. "Best not to follow suit."

Four months passed with no sign of the curse's remnants. Arthur no more ceased eating or declined care of himself if Merlin was out of sight. He did, however, follow Merlin more often than not on his escapades outside the castle (though castle staff was told it was Arthur's request). Castle staff had no idea of their budding romance, as a king's servant was to be expected by a king's side at all times. Gaius, however, knew and kept their secret. Should they decide to reveal it, it would be at their own leisure.

This particular excursion of the men into in the forest was in search of the bones of a man and his mutt. They were believed to be wrongfully killed, according to rumors, with the pup having come back as a vengeful spirit in the form of a black dog that was terrorizing the lower town.

"Did you really have to come with me?" Merlin asked.

"So this sort of thing is what Gaius meant every time he said you were at the tavern?" Arthur laughed.

"I do not drink that much," Merlin sniggered.

"Could have fooled me from the number of times he said it." Arthur jibed. "So this is what you always did, hm? Try to find if Camelot's troubles were of a magical nature, and solve it yourself- or, I suppose in some cases, deter our enthusiasm."

"Arthur?" Merlin started.

He looked at him with a smile, his train of thought forgotten, "Yes, Merlin?"

"I'm glad you're with me," Merlin smiled, giving him a quick kiss.

"And I, you," he smiled, "Come on, we shouldn't dawdle. I want to return to the castle before lunch, Chef is making soup."

"And what should the terrorizing of the people amount to you missing your favorite soup?"

"Now you're getting it, hurry on." Arthur patted him on the back, looking about.

Merlin scoffed and rolled his eyes with a smile, "Prat."

.the end.