Summary: Future AU. After a seeing-stone washes up on the shores of Ealdor, the last Island left after the great floods and rising Ocean, Merlin sees their salvation - a Sky City named Camelot. When he wakes up on the shores of the Sky City, Merlin starts to realise the New World is nothing as it was fabled. It is then that Merlin begins his journey to meet the 'dragon' that called him there, realising that nothing in Camelot is what it seems. Together they begin a revolution against a blind king and the foundations the New World was built on, uncovering even deeper secrets that were thought to be buried with the Old World when the land sunk.
Word Count: ~140,000
Pairings: Arthur/Merlin (with Balinor/Hunith and Uther/Ygraine)
Warnings: Character death (mostly minor, but includes a known character who dies in canon and a child), torture, flooded-world scenario (&associated issues e.g. refugee camps, starvation etc.), sort-of-slavery, intoxication (leading to what some might consider dub-con, though it's not intended as such)
Part Three: The New World
Camelot.
October 3500
Merlin woke painfully. His head was pounding, his throat was sore and his whole body felt cramped, as if something had been piled on top of it the whole night. He shifted uncomfortably, a little unnerved when he could feel his dick pressed against something warm, and he opened his eyes, heart speeding up as he took in the sleeping figure he'd clearly followed home last night.
"Shit," he whispered, realising that they'd both passed out after a quick release, only just making it through that too, remembering what had happened last night with astounding clarity. "Shit," he repeated, shifting his legs until Arthur - that was his name, Arthur - was shuffled off and Merlin kneeled on the ground, zipping up the ridiculously tight trousers Morgana had given him.
Merlin didn't even want to think about what he looked like, but he smelt of alcohol and knew that there was some down his shirt. The likelihood that he would see Arthur again was slim, so Merlin felt only a little bit of shame when raiding through the man's cupboard.
He pulled out a handful of shirts from one of the bottom drawers, certain that they wouldn't be missed, and slipped one on. It was plain, red, and was a tad too big for Merlin, but he didn't care. Right now he just needed to get out and away, which was exactly what he did.
Despite never having been to this part of the city, almost at the Castle gates so whoever he was Arthur had to be rich to afford a place like that, Merlin was able to find his way back to Gwen's and thanked whatever gods that might exist when he discovered the door was unlocked.
No one was up so Merlin went happily to his room, content to sleep off the rest of the pain and do nothing. Morgana had clearly lied when she'd said it would be one night of forgetting, because all Merlin wanted to do now was just that; forget and sleep.
The second time Merlin woke, he rolled over onto his back and looked up at the ceiling, trying to patch his life together. He remembered everything a moment later and sighed, wondering what Arthur had gone to the Isle for. He remembered Morgana saying that no one went there just for a good time, that they all had things they wanted to run from, but what would someone like Arthur have to fear?
He skilfully didn't think about what they'd done and was simply only thankful that they'd been too pissed to take it further, to do something they'd both really regret.
When Merlin realised that he couldn't hide away anymore, and he could hear someone moving about the house, he rolled out of bed, poking his head out of the door and wandering down the corridor.
Gwen jumped as Merlin entered the kitchen, wheeling around with a spoon in her hand, laughing when she realised who it was.
"I didn't hear you come in!" she said, rushing to his side. "You didn't… bring him here did you?"
Merlin raised an eyebrow before shaking his head. "No, I snuck in this morning." He paused, considering her words. "I didn't make a spectacle of myself did I?" It was, after all, entirely possible that he'd fucked Arthur on the dance floor and instigated a mass-orgy, only to have blocked it from his mind entirely. Of course Merlin didn't really think that, but there was always a possibility.
"Morgana hasn't come home yet, but she did leave a message on the Stone," Gwen said with a grin. "She enjoyed herself a lot last night."
Unable to supress a laugh, and yet knowing it would be his turn in a moment, Merlin gave in and chuckled, shaking his head at Morgana's antics. He hadn't known her for long, but Merlin already knew that last night had been a perfectly Morgana thing to do.
"So," Gwen said with a smirk and she tapped Merlin's shoulder with the spoon. "Tell me all about it, you sly dog."
Merlin shrugged. "We didn't really do anything," he mumbled. "Do you know how much I had to drink? A lot; I can still feel the ache in my head."
He was digressing here, but he wanted to keep Arthur to himself. Just for a little while longer, remember what it was like to be wrapped against him and to feel so comfortable, both in body and magic.
"Oh, details!" Gwen admonished, whacking him again lightly. "Not everyone gets Arthur to fall head over heels in such a magnificent fashion. In fact I haven't seen Arthur with anyone for ages, and not from lack of trying on everyone else's behalf."
Merlin joined in her laughter before the words sunk in and he frowned.
"You know Arthur?" he asked hesitantly, freezing in his place.
Gwen laughed again, shaking her head and wrinkling her nose. "Of course I know Arthur," she said, raising an eyebrow. "And I know you're not really up to date with everything, but how can you not have heard of Arthur Pendragon?"
The name dug its claws into Merlin's mind, but he brushed it off, not really wanting to think that deeply for the state he was in.
"If you weren't so adorable," Gwen began, but her smile fell and a frown worried her brow. "Did you literally high-tail it out of his house last night?" she asked, pointing to Merlin's chest.
"What?" he asked in return, looking down worriedly.
"Your top," Gwen said, "It's inside out. Here," she commented, placing the wooden spoon down on the counter and gesturing for Merlin to list his arms. He obeyed (Gwen was, after all, the best cook and he was starting to get hungry) and she pulled the top off, turning it the right way and dressing him again.
"Oh Merlin," she said, shaking her head. "You couldn't have chosen a less obvious shirt could you?"
Gwen picked up her spoon again and jammed it into the left side of Merlin's chest, covering a small logo.
"Though I suppose if I managed to snag the prince, I would have wanted a trophy to remember the night," she commented lightly, turning away and missing Merlin's reaction.
His fingers pulled the fabric away from his chest, staring at the tiny, gold dragon emblem. Merlin's eyes widened and he began shaking his head, looking up, horrified, to meet Gwen's amused face.
"Oh don't be so shocked," Gwen said. "Everyone knows that Arthur likes to go to the Isle, we're all just surprised he took off before the club closed and with someone."
"Excuse me," Merlin rushed out, walking hurriedly back to his room. Thankfully Gwen didn't follow him, clearly getting the hint that Merlin really couldn't deal with this right now, so Merlin was left to his own devices.
He fumbled through the other few shirts he had taken from Arthur – stupidly thinking that he wouldn't miss the tops, that they wouldn't be fucking emblazoned with the mark of the crown – and took in identical little dragons, looking up at him merrily, as though they hadn't just changed his entire world.
Merlin slumped on the floor, back resting against his bed as he gripped the clothes in his hand. How the hell had he gotten into this mess?
On the plus side, though, Merlin knew that Ygraine's son was alright. Despite the fact that they'd come far too close to shagging each other, Arthur seemed like a good person. Well, as good as a person could be when they were known to frequent a club like the Isle.
He heard the front door open and Morgana enter with a loud call, laughter filling the apartment a moment later. Merlin listened as she began talking animatedly, clearly recounting her last night's antics with Gwen, when the stone hit his stomach.
Morgana was the king's ward. She, by default, would know Arthur.
"Shit," Merlin whispered, clutching the fabric in his hands. He hadn't changed out of the shirt, but he didn't see much point when it was, admittedly, a perfectly good t-shirt and he didn't have any. It was bad enough living off of Morgana and Gwen's charity, and for a wonderful moment, Merlin had thought he could claim the clothes as his own.
Gwen had probably told Morgana about Merlin's own escapades last night and going out there with this top on would only strengthen the story… but the truth was, Merlin liked the shirt. It might not quite fit him, but it was a connection to Ygraine, through her son and the child she had loved. And if Merlin wanted to wear that, then why shouldn't he? He was, after all, going to bring the City to its knees and, one way or another, his and Arthur's paths would cross once again.
"Merlin!" a voice called sharply, and Merlin knew that trying to hide from Morgana was pointless. She was worse than the dogs had been on Ealdor, sniffing out any scrap of washed up food that they could. If Merlin didn't go out, she'd simply come in.
He stood, still in his Pendragon crested shirt, and walked into the lounge.
"There he is," Morgana began, barely managing to hide the glee in her voice. "And still wearing that shirt too!"
She stood up from where she'd been sitting on one of the sofa's, padding to Merlin's side and looking much better than she had right to for someone who had been through exactly the same as Merlin last night. He knew he looked (and felt) awful… perhaps it was a woman thing, or maybe just a Morgana thing.
"It's comfortable," Merlin said with a frown, trying to ignore the looks Gwen and Morgana shared. "And I don't want to talk about it," he carried on, moving to the kitchen to fetch a drink.
"Oh come on," Morgana said, "We could make you pay rent, you know."
Merlin turned to her, knowing it was an empty threat, but feeling a shudder all the same. He'd lied about his job, lied about his identity, to get into their lives. If they ever found out that he had lied, ever wanted him to pay with the money he was supposed to have earned from his job…
"Fine," he muttered. Might as well bite the bullet, he supposed, and get it over and done with.
"Arthur hasn't taken anyone back to his place for months now," Morgana began and Merlin felt an odd thrill creep into his chest. Arthur had asked him to come back, even after Merlin had spilt a drink down him. He'd asked for Merlin and Merlin had said yes.
"So what I want to know is how you managed to snag him." She raised an eyebrow before tugging him down onto the sofa, looking up at Gwen to join them.
"I split a drink down him?" Merlin said, more a question than a fact. "And then he just… asked."
It drew dubious looks from the girls, but Merlin really didn't know how else to put it.
"It just happened. Though we didn't do much, ended up passing out," he admitted, blindly hoping that they'd give up now he'd admitted that nothing really happened.
"Yes," Morgana said, "But it's still something."
She stretched her legs out across the sofa, heels resting on Merlin's thigh. Gwen left for a moment and there was a clatter in the kitchen, before she returned with two plates, laden with the New World version of eggs and bacon. It didn't taste the same as it had back on Ealdor, but Merlin doubted that they used real chickens and eggs here. It was still food and still cooked by Gwen, and that made it more than edible in Merlin's book.
Gwen sat down a moment later with her own plate, looking at Merlin from across the coffee table.
"Are you going to see him again?" she asked around a mouthful of scrambled egg.
Shaking his head, Merlin said, "Why would I do that? I snuck out at arse o'clock in the morning. I don't want to see him again."
It wasn't exactly true, but if he admitted that to them, the girls would most likely harp on about true love just to annoy him.
Ever since he had met Arthur, he had felt a tug between them. It had been dulled with alcohol and the foreign magic last night, but it was what had made Merlin leave the Isle without a second thought. His magic liked Arthur, for some reason, and if he focused hard enough, Merlin could still feel the thread of connection, small as it was.
"I could always just ask Arthur about it tomorrow. He's bound to be at Court, probably still asleep right now," Morgana said to Gwen, glancing at Merlin for a reaction.
Letting Arthur know that Morgana knew him would be terrible, Merlin realised. Not only had he snuck off without so much as a 'thank you' (did you say thank you in these situations? Merlin was hardly up to date on one night stand culture), but he'd stolen a few of his clothes. It was probably a criminal offence to steal from the prince, let alone get himself noticed by the Court itself.
It was, in every essence, a very bad move.
"Alright, alright, what do you want to know?" Merlin finally gave in, voice defeated.
Morgana smirked triumphantly.
"We just want to know why he chose you, is all," she began, placing her empty plate on the table and licking her lips. "Arthur's always had a type and you're a far cry from anyone who's ever caught his eye."
She frowned with the next words, "I never even knew he liked men. Suspected it perhaps, but never had conclusive evidence."
Merlin wasn't sure what to say to that, so he decided to remain silent. Morgana searched his face, but she couldn't find whatever it was she was looking for and turned away shortly after, shaking her head a little.
After that, Merlin and Morgana retreated to the bedroom while Gwen curled up on the sofa, watching the television screen and fiddling with some jewellery designs.
Merlin had asked her what they were for and she'd explained that she sometimes worked in the smithy her father had developed and wanted to make them one day. Some of the pieces had already been made, and most of the metalwork in the house had originated from Gwen's smithy, be it at her hand or someone else's.
It was a few days later, after keeping his head down and slinking around Camelot, that Merlin's thoughts turned to the drawings on Gwen's computer screens. He'd spent the days locating areas that he could feel were draining the magic and electricity more than everywhere else and fixing them, pushing his magic in until everything connected, flowing softer and more powerful. It was taxing work, but Merlin had to begin somewhere.
He'd seen a necklace design, simple, but the stone attached reminded him of an Obsidian. It was a little rounder and shorter than his own, but it had given Merlin an idea.
So far, he'd managed to keep the Obsidian with him at all times. It had been difficult and there had been multiple moments of blind panic where he'd thought he'd lost the stone. Looking at this necklace design though, Merlin had an idea.
"Gwen?" he asked later. Morgana was up at the castle for the night (apparently an important banquet in honour of the sorcerers was being held), but Gwen hadn't been needed so come home early.
She looked up from where she'd been sketching designs. The glare of the screen lit up her face, showing Merlin how tired she was after a hard day's work, and he knew that she enjoyed the crafting work more than anything.
"I was wondering if you'd be able to make me something," Merlin began, taking a seat at the kitchen counter beside her.
"You see, I have this stone," he pulled the Obsidian from his pocket, laying it on the table. "I found it ages ago, back when I was doing placement on a small Island. It just washed up one day and I keep it as a memory of the place."
The stone looked even darker than usual against the pale kitchen surface and Merlin was frightful for a moment that Gwen would see it for what it was. When Merlin glanced at her, he realised that she wasn't even looking at the Stone, instead fixed on his face.
"I saw a sketch of something you'd made before," he admitted, but Gwen only smiled, nodding her head and urging him to carry on. "And I was wondering if you'd do the same for this."
Gwen picked up the Stone, running her hand over expertly, feeling for grooves or bumps. She wouldn't find any, not even Merlin clutching at it had worn down the surface.
"A necklace?" she asked softly, shooting a glance in Merlin's direction. He nodded. "It should be easy," she continued. "If we left now, I could probably find a good fixture and attach it on. I have more chains than I know what to do with do you can take your pick."
Without waiting for Merlin to agree, Gwen rose, flicking the screen of her computer down and passing the Stone to Merlin.
"It's only a short shuttle journey," she said, and Merlin found out that she was right.
Gwen's smithy wasn't at all like Merlin had expected. It was at the bottom of an oblong-shaped building, spanning across the bottom floor. The interior was simple and, of all things, white, completely unlike the make-shift smithy back on Ealdor. That had been where they'd melted down metals and re-forged them, but it appeared that smithies weren't quite the same in Camelot.
Of course, Merlin should have known that there were no fires or billowing smoke. Everything was controlled by micro-technology, creating seamless objects and smoothing any imperfections.
Instead of moving to a dirtied workbench, Gwen's place of work was a smooth, clean bench. It was almost pristine even, hardly something that could be called a work space. Yet Gwen moved to a cupboard at the side, taking out an odd, box-shaped device and flipping it open.
"I'll be using the small lasers to fix the clasp," Gwen said. There was a eyepiece on the device that overlooked the space for putting down the object you were working on, and above that a moveable pen-like object that was, apparently, a laser.
Merlin suddenly wondered if the laser could harm his magic at all. He couldn't feel any magic in the object itself and wondered whether it would throw off the natural balance. While he hadn't been able to get inside the stone since he'd been in Camelot, it was still Merlin's only link to his dragon and, without it, a little more of his past was lost.
When he called it to flow over the stone, settle on top and protect it, his magic responded sluggishly. Merlin knew why, had seen enough out on the streets to know that it was because this place was so New, so alien and far from the natural magic that his own was cut off. And Merlin had learnt enough by now to know that a lesser sorcerer wouldn't have been able to drag up half the amount he laid into the Stone.
While he selected a chain, Gwen set to work with her little contraption and the stone, fixing a clasp at the top that the chain would thread through. At least there were still old things such as jewellery, made from metal that had been dug from the old earth and still had the smallest trace of magic. Merlin had felt it when he'd looked through the selection of chains, and he'd selected the newest he could, one of the ones with the least amount of magic.
The Stone was powerful enough and attuned to Merlin now, but introducing another source could prove to damage the Obsidian's properties. That was one of the many lessons Gaius had taught him, that some magic wasn't always compatible with other forms of magic, and forcing them together would result in more harm than good. Merlin wasn't going to risk the Stone to see if it applied here.
A moment later, Gwen had finished tinkering with the pen and the Obsidian, and she flicked something at the side of the machine, a light coming on so she could inspect her work fully. The chain that had been lying next to her was picked up and she threaded the Stone onto it, bringing the necklace up to inspect the overall product.
"That should do it," she said, fingering the long chain. She passed it over to Merlin and he took it gratefully, amazed at how the clasp seemed melded to the Stone, as if they'd never been two different objects.
It was on a whole other level to any craftsmanship he'd seen on Ealdor, and for all their similarities (because the Old World still had seeped into the New one, be if from books and stories that had rebuilt appliances or the shuttles to the simple holographic trees that lined the pavement), this was completely new and different. And, he had to admit, this craftsmanship was far better than anything Ealdor had been able to produce.
"Almost identical to the one I made before," Gwen said off-handedly, shrugging her shoulders and completely unaware of the effect the words had on Merlin.
The design that Merlin had seen before, he realised, hadn't just been a stone at all. It, too, had been an Obsidian, and someone else had asked for it to be made where they could never lose it.
Gwen began to tidy up, packing away the laser device and putting it away. Merlin was staring at the Stone in his hand, trying to look into the depths and force it to reveal where its sibling was, who owned it.
There was only one person to whom the other Stone could belong. Merlin would have been able to see who else held an Obsidian in the link when he'd been inside, but there had only been one. His dragon had asked Gwen to make the necklace, Gwen knew his dragon, and Merlin's heart rose in his throat, his magic bubbling to the surface and threatening to burst out.
"The one you made before?" he asked, keeping his voice casual and trying not to sound too curious.
Gwen had been brilliant. She'd taken him in when he'd had nothing, given him clothes and a roof over his head, and never once questioned the stories Merlin had fed her. He felt guilty, but the guilt was washed away when he thought about the people in comatose states below, trapped in a pointless life and all because they had a hint of magic. Merlin had to do this for them, not make friends for himself.
So he had to use Gwen again. He had to use her to track down the dragon, and then he could get out of her life and do what he was supposed to. It didn't matter if he missed them, Merlin knew he was no good for her or Morgana.
"It was probably the one you looked at," she said, glancing over at him with a smile. "But Arthur's was one of the Stones from the queen's garden. He wanted his made so that he could remember his mother and keep it close to her."
Merlin's face dropped and he didn't even try to turn away from Gwen to hide his reaction. He couldn't; he was rooted to the spot and nothing would get him to move after that bombshell had been dropped.
"Arthur?" he questioned weakly, head refusing to wrap around the possibility, all the while his magic raging satisfactorily inside of him.
"Yeah," Gwen said with a laugh. "Your Arthur," she added with a glint in her eye, crossing over to Merlin and nodding for them to leave.
The puzzle was complete. All along, the pieces had been there, but some had simply been turned over, impossible to fit together. All along, Arthur had been there, in Merlin's reach from the moment he'd met Gwen, and he'd refused to listen to his magic as it pulled him over to Arthur. Arthur, his dragon, the one who had pleaded across an entire Ocean for Merlin to help them, had always been there, but Merlin hadn't accepted it.
He still didn't now.
They exited the building together, but as soon as they hit the bustle of the roads, shuttles rumbling past and people talking, Merlin knew that he couldn't go back to Gwen's. He threw a quick apology in Gwen's direction, splitting away from her side and heading in the direction he hoped would take him to Arthur's house.
"Merlin?" Gwen asked, her voice bleeding into the background, smothered by the voice of Camelot. Worry had been evident, but Merlin was fuelled on adrenaline and his magic now and didn't have time to think about anyone else but Arthur and the possibility of him being his dragon.
He came to a stop in a large square, electronic screens plastered on all sides of the tall buildings that overlooked the square. A canal ran on one side of the square, one that Merlin had discovered a few days ago and encompassed the whole City, but water didn't run through. Instead, Merlin had realised that the water was holographic and hundreds of product names and stock exchange listings flowed in the canal, the New World's way or letting the people forget that there was such a thing as an Ocean, that water was made of money and electricity and that was all they needed to think about.
As the screens about him flickered, adverts for the latest appliances, the latest gadget, the latest anything and everything, Merlin looked around aimlessly, struck by how out of place he was. What was he doing here, in a place where even the water was touched by the electricity? He'd crossed the Ocean on the whim of one man who had reached out, and now that he finally had the chance to see him, the real man and not the holographic dragon, Merlin was here, staring blankly as beautiful men and women crossed the plasma screens, all smiles and fake glamour.
He didn't know the exact route to where Arthur was, but it didn't matter. He let his magic loosen, flow from his chest lazily and into the air around him. It reacted curiously, as if unsure of Merlin's intentions, before it realised what he wanted.
Something like two fixtures snapping into place resounded in Merlin's chest, and then the tug was back, stronger than ever. He didn't need to know the direction with his head, his magic was a better guide and wanted to take him to Arthur.
Merlin left the square, crossing over a strange, little bridge attached to a well. A disembodied voice floated out of the depths of the well, asking Merlin to make a wish, stating that his every dream would come true. Merlin didn't have time for false wishes and promises, and the only object he could have thrown into the well would have been the necklace hanging over his heart, something he'd never give up.
When he'd crossed the bridge, the world quietened, electronical influence dwindling as he passed through shadows of tall buildings and houses. He had known that Arthur lived slightly separate from the main bustle of the town, but it had never been evident like this before. For the first time since he'd stepped foot inside Camelot, Merlin was alone and away from all others.
His magic kept pulling him along, though, and it was this that kept Merlin walking. He needed to find Arthur, though what he'd do when he saw the prince, Merlin didn't know.
The house that he was led to was simple, like many of the others on the row it was built upon. Strangely, all the houses in this section were either one or two stories and small, cube-like yet not small to be considered unsuitable for a prince. There was a gate and a path leading up to each of the houses, much like there was with the houses back on the Islands, and Merlin unlatched it easily, letting the gate swing back silently.
He couldn't remember any of this from the last time he'd been here, but that didn't surprise Merlin. The last time he'd been here, he'd ended up passing out not long after he'd arrived, overwhelmed by his magic and the influence of the alcohol he'd consumed. This time, he could look around properly, take in every detail in case he needed to escape.
The flowers that dotted the path were colourful, and Merlin stopped by them, regaining his breath and crouching down. The only flowers he'd seen had been scrubby little things, ugly and useless, or the patterns on the kitchen curtains back on Ealdor, blue, raggedy things with the flowers almost completely faded, but still flowers.
Merlin reached out to pluck one from the ground, wanting to smell it, but his hand went straight through the stem with a low buzz, and his heart sank as he realised these too were holographic, much like the trees back at The Restaurant. Still, he tried another flower, frowning as his hand passed through that too.
It seemed like nothing in this world was real, and how could Merlin trust anything now when there was so much that was fake? Were there any real plants in the entire City? Merlin doubted, it, but held on a little hope, wanting to believe that somewhere, even if just a small corner with the tiniest weed, there was a real plant, something living and able to survive in this harsh land.
With a sigh, Merlin straightened, and swallowed down the panic rising. This was something he had to do; he couldn't back out of it now and he had to find out if Arthur was his dragon or not, there were no exceptions.
For what it was worth, Arthur was still the prince. He may have asked for Merlin's help, but Merlin doubted he knew the extremities of the situation. Did he even know that Ygraine was alive, but exiled? Or had he simple seen a book that had Merlin's prophecy in and searched for the Emrys that would be able to help them?
Morgana and Gwen had a bell on the centre of their door, but Arthur had a simple, brass knocker, shaped in the perfect image of the dragon he'd seen in Ygraine's gardens. Any denial Merlin had been clinging to slipped away and he realised that once he met Arthur, properly, there was no going back.
He rapped the knocker thrice in succession before he could change his mind and shifted nervously where he stood. It was taking every inch of self-control for Merlin not to bolt, and he had to look away, glance around the bare garden and try not to search for any hint of sounds from within.
He couldn't help but jump when the door opened, and Merlin promptly forgot any of the words he'd scrounged up to say, looking blankly at a tousled-haired, bleary eyed Arthur.
"If you've come to drag me back to the castle, I thought I made it clear that I didn't agree with the policy and that I wasn't going to listen to the ridiculousness of the situation," Arthur spat out, and then he blinked, frowning as he realised Merlin wasn't who he wanted at all.
"You're not Leon," he deadpanned, scratching the side of his stomach and deepening his frown. "And only Leon comes to get me," he said, and Merlin fought the urge to snap out a reply at someone who had clearly just woken up.
Merlin remembered the first words he'd spoken in the garden and repeated them, knowing that anything less and Arthur wouldn't believe him.
"Once upon a time, there was a young boy," he began, looking in earnest at Arthur's face. The tiredness drained off of his face and he paled slightly, staring at Merlin in shock. "And he was a stupid boy who never listened properly, and that got him into trouble."
Mutely, Arthur stepped aside and Merlin crossed the threshold, turning to face Arthur as the door closed.
"He met a dragon in a garden and decided to cross the Ocean itself because he thought he could save his people," Merlin continued, keeping hold of Arthur's gaze, wanting to understand how much Merlin had been through to be here.
"He was a stupid boy who did stupid things," Merlin said, his magic dimming and emotion flowing through him.
Even though he'd told Gaius and Ygraine about his past, the only one who would ever be able to understand was the man before him. It was because of Arthur that Merlin had risked everything, confident that the Sky Cities did exist, and why he had travelled to this point. He wanted Arthur to know everything that had happened between then and now, wanted to tell him everything that he hadn't been able to tell anyone else.
Arthur didn't say anything, simply leant back against the wall and stared at Merlin, mouth slackened and pupils wide.
"But that boy, Emrys, came here, survived, and vowed that he would do everything he could to save the people." Merlin swallowed, frowning. "I'm here," he said softly, not daring to look at Arthur directly, suddenly scared of what he might find.
What if, after all he'd been through and everywhere he'd searched, Arthur didn't want him? What if this had all been a mistake and Merlin wasn't anything like Arthur had expected? What if Arthur laughed or turned him away, what would Merlin do then?
He'd come here for Arthur. If Arthur didn't want him – no, didn't need him – then what could Merlin do? He wasn't strong enough to do this by himself; he needed Arthur.
"I'm-"
"You were here the other night," Arthur said, apparently gathering his wits and cutting across what Merlin was about to say.
Merlin closed his mouth and nodded mutely, unsure what exactly he could say to that. It was true, after all, he had been there the other night. He'd scarpered in the morning, but he'd kissed Arthur, slept with him (though sadly only little more than sleeping occurred), and his magic had connected with Arthur. That wasn't something he could just throw away, especially now that the connection between them was taking advantage of being so close to Arthur, humming inside of Merlin and filling his whole body with power he'd never felt quite like this before.
Unlike with Gwen, Merlin knew he couldn't influence this conversation. No matter how much it might hurt, he had to let Arthur decide what he wanted to do alone. If Arthur chose not to accept Merlin, then he had to accept that in turn. He couldn't force anything with Arthur, or else he'd suffer the consequences and nothing would ever be right between them.
Suddenly, without Merlin knowing how or why, Arthur had surged forwards, hand around Merlin's neck and pushing him back, across the hall until he was pressed against a wall.
"Did she send you?" Arthur asked, face contorting angrily and voice low. His grip tightened on Merlin's neck, not choking him – not even close – but enough to get his message across and make it clear that Merlin wasn't going anywhere until Arthur had his answers.
"Nimueh," Arthur spat out, searching Merlin's eyes. "She sent you to look into my head that night and then you go scampering off to her."
Merlin tried to shake his head, but Arthur simple pressed against him harder, curling his lip in a sneer.
"Did she think that she'd be able to find out what I was doing by sending you?" The last word was said in disgust. "You might be one of her sorcerers, but if you think you can manipulate me with your lies then you have another thing coming."
As his brain caught up with him, Merlin realised who Arthur thought he was. Arthur didn't believe him, didn't believe that it had all been a coincidence, that Merlin had been at the Isle to forget and hadn't been working for Nimueh. He didn't believe that Merlin had taken off in the morning because it was awkward and that he might have been scared, instead assuming that Merlin had hacked into his head (never mind that he didn't know that was even possible before Arthur assumed he'd done it) and then run back to Nimueh.
Which also brought up another subject that stroked Merlin's curiosity; what was Arthur doing that had him so convinced Nimueh was trying to track him down and get inside his head, manipulate him.
"I'm not a fool," Arthur said, eyes still darting over Merlin wildly, like one of the livestock on Ealdor before the slaughter, when they knew they had no hope of escaping. "You can't seduce me into giving you information."
Merlin tilted his head to the side slightly and caught site of a thin-framed picture. He couldn't see the side closest to his head, but his eyes were keen enough to spot the woman dominating the other side of the photograph.
The woman was smiling and young, holding a baby in her arms. There was an arm around her shoulders, but Merlin couldn't see any more of the other person, even though he was confident that it was the baby's father.
"That's you," he said quietly, eyes flickering between the picture and Arthur's face. "Isn't it? With Ygraine, your mother."
The anger in Arthur's face dimmed a little and he shifted his feet, softening the hold he had on Merlin and finally letting his hand slip from Merlin's throat. It now rested on his shoulders, sill pinning Merlin, but without the bite it had held before.
And while Arthur didn't say anything, Merlin knew that his words had had an effect.
"We met in her garden. I know you don't believe me and think I'm on Nimueh's side, but I could never side with her after all the pain she's caused." Merlin bit his lip, looking away. He didn't know how much Arthur was aware of, but Arthur knew something.
Even though this wasn't the right time to tell Arthur his mother was still alive, Merlin needed Arthur to trust him enough so he had time to explain. It was clear that Arthur loved his mother, he'd chosen the queen's garden not just for its connection to the stones no doubt, and Merlin needed to use this to gain Arthur's trust.
"How can I trust you?" Arthur hissed, pressing back into Merlin and looking him dead in the eye.
"You can't like this," Merlin said, unafraid to look Arthur in the eye. He'd crossed an entire ocean for this, and Arthur was going to accept his help one way or another. There was no turning back for Merlin; he was in this until he died.
Arthur searched his eyes one last time, before he backed away, jerking his head at one of the rooms.
"We'll talk in there," he said gruffly, eyes never leaving Merlin's. "I'll hear what you have to say, but don't expect me to fall for your bullshit."
That was enough. Merlin could work with that, so he entered the room, belatedly realising that it was the lounge and the sofa they'd slept on was right in the middle of the room. He paused for a fraction of a second, shooting a glance in Arthur's direction, before striding over to the sofa and sitting down firmly. He wasn't afraid of an inanimate object, no matter the memories it held.
"I grew up miles away, on the Island of Ealdor. None of us knew that Sky Cities even existed. Sure, we'd hoped for them, but we never really believed in them," Merlin began, wanting to start from the beginning so Arthur would believe him.
"The waters kept rising so we looked at our last hope, clinging on desperately that there might be a safe haven for us. I was the one to make the final push," Merlin said, glancing up at Arthur, who had taken the lone chair on the other side of the coffee table, back ramrod straight and eyes never leaving Merlin.
"I'd found a stone that never shone, never scratched and never dulled on the beach a while ago. It attracted me, but it wasn't until later that I found out – from you – that it was an Obsidian Stone. After that, I found out I had magic and I believed what you'd said." Merlin looked down at the carpet between his feet, wondering what Arthur saw when he looked across the table. Merlin didn't feel like the hero he was supposed to be, as far from it as anyone could be in fact.
"I thought I was supposed to save the villagers." Merlin gave a snort of dull laughter. "I thought I was supposed to save my friends and family, so we left our Island to find Camelot."
Merlin didn't add the 'to find you', but he knew Arthur had to have picked up on it.
"I was the only one who washed up on the shores of one of the supporting towers." Merlin couldn't keep the bitterness from his voice, even though he knew it wasn't Arthur's fault. But now that he'd made it, now that he was sitting on Arthur's sofa, speaking directly to the dragon that had needed him, Merlin couldn't help it.
He had someone to blame now. And it was so, so easy to blame Arthur. Never mind the fact that Will had found clippings of the New World, or that they'd all had to have done something regardless of what Merlin had believed, but Arthur had summoned Merlin and Merlin had gone. He'd been through so much and he could say that it was Arthur's fault, because that was so much easier now he was here.
"I came for you," Merlin said quietly, bitterness still in his voice. "I lost my family and friends because of you, suffered so much and-"
Merlin gritted his jaw and closed his eyes. He was tired, more tired than he'd been in a while, as the weight of everything he'd done since meeting his dragon crashed down. Arthur still sat there, silent and unyielding, watching as Merlin rubbed his eyes.
"I know it's not your fault," he said, giving a weak laugh. "It's just so hard. I'm not… I…"
Merlin sniffed heavily, refusing to reveal exactly how much this had affected him in front of Arthur.
"I'm Merlin, of the Emrys family." He looked up, meeting Arthur's eyes again. "I was born on the Island of Ealdor and my parents were Hunith and Balinor." Arthur didn't need to know these things, the little details that made Merlin a real person and not just Nimueh's fabrication, but Merlin wanted him to know.
"My best friend was called Will," he continued. "And a goat used to live in our kitchen until she died. I used to walk along the beach, looking for washed up junk and useless things that people probably once loved." Now that he'd started, Merlin couldn't stop.
"My mum used to love cooking," he said, smiling at all of the memories that engulfed him. Hunith was there, Balinor in his made-up memories too, before he had died in pictures Hunith had kept, and Will was by his side. There was even the old goat that had lived in their kitchen, though it had always had a penchant for Merlin's socks.
"We were a community, even though half the village hated Will and me. We were troublemakers when we were younger, or at least Will was." Merlin sniffed, though it was pointless at this point. "None of us had much, but we made do and there was always, always enough to go around."
Arthur hadn't moved, but Merlin wasn't done.
"I always told stories," he said, vision clouding slightly as tears rose in the corners of his eyes. It was stupid, Merlin knew, to cry in front of someone he hardly, knew, but this had been his life, something that was lost forever. Who in the New World cared about goats or understood what it was like to never quite have enough?
"In my stories there were always dragons and witches, white knights and heroes." Merlin shook his head slightly, "Will never cared for them; said I wasn't hero material. I always thought he was right, but I still told my stories, because they were important to me."
He looked up then, not caring that his eyes were wet and pink, or that he had to sniff. Merlin had to look at Arthur, had to get him to understand how much this all meant, what he'd been through and what he had yet to do.
"I learnt the hard way that the people I need to save weren't my people. I wasn't able to help them, so I ended up here. Once here, more of the people I loved were taken and I had no choice but to come up here." The tears were gone, but the tremble in Merlin's voice remained.
He moved his hand to the chain around his neck, pulling the Obsidian from where it had hung between skin and the fabric of his short.
"This is what brought me here," he said quietly, bringing the chain over his head and placing it on the table between them. "Touch it and I know you'll see it's not a fake. I had the idea of putting the Stone on a chain after I saw the design for your own Obsidian."
Arthur's eyes snapped up to meet Merlin's, from where they'd been staring at the Obsidian.
"Gwen's my friend," Merlin said, "Morgana too. They took me in when I arrived and have been nothing but kind to me. It was Morgana who brought me to the Isle that night, not Nimueh or whoever else you're convinced I'm working for," he added, disgust creeping into his voice at the idea that he could be working against Arthur in such a way.
Though he still didn't say anything, Merlin watched as Arthur took the necklace in his hands, turning the Stone over in his hands, running his fingers over the sides of it. A second later, he reached under his own shirt, pulling out an identical necklace and holding the two together.
"I believe you," Arthur said softly, looking at Merlin with wide eyes.
For a moment, Merlin didn't understand what he'd said. He stared at Arthur for a beat, not quite believing that Arthur was ready to accept him, before he broke into a smile, shaking his head as the tears returned.
"I…" Merlin began, but he was truly lost for words. He sucked his lips in slightly, trying to stop the well of emotion sweeping over him, but it was a futile effort and he had to bring a hand up to the corner of his eye to dispel a tear.
"This is pathetic," he muttered, but couldn't stop the smile. "Utterly pathetic."
Except Merlin didn't really think it was. After everything, he'd found his dragon and Arthur had believed him. Merlin wasn't alone anymore, didn't have to save everyone alone. The dragon had been right in saying that he would fine Arthur.
Another thought hit Merlin and he wanted to strangle the dragon. Kilgharrah had known all along who Arthur was. He'd said, in passing, that anyone able to use the Stone Circle had to have had access to it, but Merlin hadn't really known what it had meant back now.
Queen Ygraine's gardens were buried at the heart of Camelot, underneath the bustle of the New World. They were sunken into the Tower, at the base of Camelot and yet still above the levels where thousands of people had their magic forced from them. Everyone knew that, but only someone with specific knowledge would have been able to access the gardens.
Kilgharrah had also mentioned that Nimueh wouldn't be able to touch whoever the person was opposing her, and that made sense. Even if Uther was on her side, Nimueh wouldn't want to oppose the king so openly by targeting his son. Instead she would use people to get at Arthur, just as he'd suspected Merlin of doing.
"It's not," Arthur said quietly, and Merlin looked at him, the smile still in place and hurting his cheeks. "You've..." Arthur started, looking down at Merlin's necklace. "You've been through a lot."
It was an understatement, but it meant so much for Merlin to hear that and he ducked his head, trying to shake the grin that refused to move.
"I don't know why I'm so happy," he admitted. "And I am sorry for the other night. I never meant," Merlin paused, the smile fading as he frowned and looked up. "I never meant to do it in the first place, and then I just had to go."
Arthur shrugged his shoulders, "It doesn't matter," he said offhandedly, but Merlin knew he had to tell Arthur that it did.
"It does though," he said quickly, and Arthur looked at him in surprise, raising an eyebrow. "My magic wanted me to go with you. It's what showed me to your house," he added, waving his arms about. "It connects us, somehow."
For a moment, Arthur looked dubious. Then he ran a hand through his hair and sighed heavily.
"Can we do this in a bit?" he asked. "Can we have dinner, relax and then talk about it later?"
Merlin wanted to say no, wanted to shake him and blurt out that there was no later for the people below them, but Arthur made perfect sense. While it had barely scratched the tip of what Merlin needed to tell Arthur, everything he'd said and revealed so far was too much to just take in and then be able to accept more. They both had limits, and Merlin was already stretched far beyond his own that it would be nice just to eat, safe in the knowledge that they were going to get to the problem soon.
"Please," he said and Arthur nodded, walking out of the lounge, in the opposite direction Merlin had when he'd been there before.
The house itself was devoid of personal touches. When he'd been here before, Merlin hadn't noticed anything about the house other than the sofa, where he'd grabbed the shirts from and the exit. Now he had a chance to look around, he realised it wasn't much different than the picture he'd painted in his mind.
Aside from the picture of Ygraine and (probably) Uther with Arthur, there weren't any photographs around the house. There was the large, red sofa, a low-set coffee table and a chair, facing the television against the wall. At one end of the room, in the direction Arthur had walked in, was the kitchen and there were two doorways on the wall behind Merlin, one to the bedroom and the other to the door.
Unsure what to do, or what his relationship with Arthur really was, Merlin stood and moved over to the kitchen, taking in the smooth edges of the counters, not unlike Gwen's. It was, like everything else in the house, less extravagant than Merlin would have imagined a prince to live in, and he said as much before his brain could catch up with his mouth.
Arthur, who had been hovering over the oven, turned to Merlin at the question and looked confused for a moment. The expression cleared and he simple shrugged his shoulders.
"What is there to have memories of? My mother's dead, my father isn't one for being a parental figure and the only friends I have are less of friends and more people who work for the Crown and so have to put up with me." Arthur looked down at the empty hob. "And I don't have any nice food."
He wasn't sure how to respond to that, so Merlin didn't say anything, waited for Arthur to continue.
"Or anything that I can actually cook." Arthur paused. "I can heat up some pre-cooked stuff. Almost everyone prefers it to cooking because it's easier, but I don't understand why. It doesn't taste that nice."
The words were useless, but Merlin knew the point behind them. Arthur was trying to fill the silence that Merlin had brought with him, or perhaps divert Merlin's attention from the silence that surrounded him. This house wasn't a home and Arthur clearly didn't know how to make it into one.
"Anything's fine," Merlin said. "Trust me, I've eaten far worse in my time."
Arthur moved over to one of the cupboards, taking out a few plastic boxes, shoving them into a small machine on the side counter and pressing buttons.
"The offal of livestock, for example," Merlin continued. "Usually we sold it to the main village, but in the winter, during the month-long storms and the freezing winters, you had to slaughter your animals in the same house they slept in and eat every last morsel you could."
The microwave dinged and Arthur pulled the plastic boxed out gingerly, setting them on the counter and fetching plates.
"I hated looking at the other animals' eyes. It was like they knew what you had done, but knew why you'd done it." Merlin sniffed, turning his attention to the prospect of food.
"Here," Arthur said, presenting him with a plate and fork. "We can eat in the other room."
They sat side by side this time, silent aside from the sounds of forks and chewing. The silence was almost too much to bear, but Arthur was clearly uncomfortable with Merlin's presence, so he said nothing, digging into his food instead.
They both finished quickly, setting the plates down on the table. Arthur turned to him, lying back on the sofa until his back was against the armrest and his legs tucked under him, looking straight at Merlin.
"We were always taught at school that the Old World drowned decades ago," he began. "I was looking through the Obsidians because I didn't trust Nimueh and wanted to see if I could find out what she was up to. I had no idea that anyone else was even out in the Ocean, let alone people living there."
He spoke as if surviving out in the Oceans was an amazing feat and Merlin felt himself colouring slightly. It was undue praise; they had all done what they had to to survive. Merlin wasn't amazing for living through all that he had, he was just an Islander.
"We did the best we could," Merlin said, moving to mirror Arthur's position, crossing his legs and leaning against the huge cushion. "It's all we knew and our lifestyle was so different to everyone's here."
He said it wistfully, not sure which he preferred. Though it wasn't as if he could return to Ealdor and he did miss it, Camelot held so much potential. It was steeped in magic and humming with activity, but there were so many flaws with it and so many things that Merlin couldn't agree with that he couldn't love the City just yet.
"How did you survive?" Arthur asked quietly and Merlin smiled at him, wanting him to ask the questions.
"We had boats that we used to fish. Our skippers managed to take us through the worst of the storms, but in the end the Ocean was too powerful. My magic saved me and took me to where I wanted to be." Merlin didn't mention that Hunith was alive yet as Arthur didn't know a thing about her. And what he didn't know, he wouldn't understand unless it was Merlin in front of him and saying it without flinching.
"How could your magic have saved you?" Arthur then asked, voice changing slightly, a lilt of arrogance that Merlin assumed came naturally to someone who had been raised at Court.
"Nimueh's the most powerful sorceress we've had in centuries, or so they say, and she's formally trained under the best sorcerers in the land." He paused, swallowing. "But even she wouldn't be able to perform something like that."
Merlin nodded, unafraid to admit his power to Arthur. While the druids had been in awe of what he could do – even Gaius and Ygraine – Arthur didn't seem the type to be amazed. He was too much of a realist, willing to accept something only when there was undeniable proof.
"For some reason, the Old magic responds to me. It wants to be used, but no one in the New World will listen, or at least that's what I think," Merlin began, shifting a little. "The magic wants to be used and I can use it."
Arthur was silent at that, obviously not quite understanding the concept. Merlin's brow tightened as he tried to think of a way to explain it.
"Magic has slowly been vanishing from the land, everyone knows that. Your problem," Merlin said, voice taking on a sharp edge and causing Arthur to raise his eyebrow again. "Is that instead of sorting the problem, your sorcerers just double in number and think it'll solve everything."
He looked at Arthur and there was nothing but interest on the man's face, so he added, "Take the dragon for example. He said that the sorcerers go down every month and in larger numbers just to make sure he does their bidding. That's not holding power over anything; it's losing power and refusing to admit it."
Silence fell again and Merlin waited, unsure what to say next.
.
Notes:
Thank you so much everyone who has supported this fic so far. Art for it can be found through a link on my profile (does contain spoilers). There are six parts left to be uploaded :)