AN: 10 years - and 3 days. That's how long it's been since I updated. I started this story in high school, then took a break to invest in another, longer fanfic. I finished that in 2020 after graduating college, then went on to create my first original novel. Now, in 2024, I'm taking a short break from my second novel to work on something more leisurely. Finishing this has always been at the top of my writing wishlist. (Special thanks to Bismark195 for their review which reminded me to come back to it, oh, over a year ago.)
Reading what I wrote in my mid-teens is cringe-inducing, as you can imagine. However, I'm also proud of what it is, given that I slap-dashed it together in the school library during my free periods and didn't yet see the value in editing. I'm a real adult now, with a career and a marriage and three cats I'm responsible for raising into upstanding citizens. Sitting down recently with my husband and showing him Merlin for the first time put into perspective just how far I've come from where I started (he hated it, but vows are vows). Compared to my novels, this is still quite self-indulgent and low-stakes, but I hope you all see growth in my writing. I've certainly benefited from the change of pace. Please enjoy!
2 Days
Two days was all Arthur was willing to give me to organize our affairs before leaving town. Two days… and two long nights.
"Arthur, you need to put your tray up."
The king gave me a sour glance but closed his law book long enough to oblige. I couldn't very well call him 'sire' in public, but old expectations died about as easily as old habits.
Morganna nudged her purse strap out of the aisle with her toe as a flight attendant passed. "If they take much longer loading the luggage, I'll head down there to speed things up, myself."
"Nonsense." Arthur waved a hand. "You keep comfortable up here. That's what we have Merlin for, is it not?"
I jabbed him in the thigh. "You know I hate that nickname," I said, raising my voice somewhat pointedly.
"As if anyone finds 'Emrys' less bizarre," Arthur grumbled.
"You'd be surprised."
"Sir, please fasten your seatbelt." The attendant tapped the light overhead. "We're preparing for takeoff.
"Sorry, my brother doesn't fly often," Morgana murmured after him while I offered Arthur the buckle that had fallen on my side. My master's face paled as he fumbled with it, the reality of his situation dawning on him.
"Just keep your eyes on the runway. It's really quite fascinating," I reassured.
"You say this is the fastest way to travel these days, but is it really the most ideal?" He asked.
"Would you rather have gone by dragon?"
His reply was the click of his seatbelt.
With Arthur's brooding redirected out the window, I turned to Morgana. Her makeup hid the shade of the circles under her eyes, but not their shape. I clenched my hand in the pocket of my coat to keep from reaching out to try and rub away the gentle swell beneath her lashes. "Did you sleep much last night?"
She pursed her lips and gave her head a small shake. "Neither did you." It wasn't a question.
It was true, I'd spend most of the past nights too alone with my mind to rest - her head on my chest, my arm around her shoulders, neither of us saying a word. What part of me wasn't focused on the immediate future was wasted concentrating on feigning sleep, lest I disturb Morgana's chance at it. Now, I suspected she'd been doing the same if not intentionally depriving herself for the sake of evading her dreams.
The plane shuddered beneath us and began backing away from the gate, then toward the runway. I ducked to part the folds of my carryon bag and ensure our personal effects were in order. We'd had to leave certain items - Excalibur, for example - at home in order to fly. Instead, I'd packed select magical tomes - which I'd transcribed into pocket-sized notebooks over the years from the behemoth originals - a set of papers spelled into immaculate identifying documents for "Arthur Penn", documents for Morgana and myself… and a ring.
Gwen's wedding ring.
Arthur didn't know I had it. He didn't need to think about that just now. I'd give it back to him when the time was right, because he needed to be the one to give it back to her. When I'd stashed it originally, my only intent had been for it to find him again when he at last came back to me. Never in my millennium of life had I dared, no, been able to imagine what this moment would look like when it came about. That the ring might return to Gwen's own finger. That Morgana would help us place it there.
I indulged myself and reached out for her hand. After a moment's pause, like I'd startled her, she laced her long pianist's fingers with mine and gave a light squeeze.
Along with my heart, the plane's wheels lifted away from tarmac, and my other hand was quickly occupied.
It was difficult not to laugh at the mythical King of Camelot sunk deep into his seat, eyes wide, one hand white-knuckling the armrest and the other cutting off the circulation to my fingers. His gaze flickered between the seat in front of him and the ground out the window, rapidly sinking away.
He looked like he might vomit.
Morgana reached across my chest to pass him a small trash bag. "Contain yourself, please." Her wrist grazed my shirt buttons as she retracted.
"Breathe," I reminded him as he released my hand to gratefully grip the plastic sack. "Relax your muscles." I caught the gray-haired woman on the other side of the aisle watching him with a raised eyebrow. "He's afraid of flying," I offered with a shrug. She gave a sympathetic frown and turned away to compare tourism brochures with her wife.
"I'm afraid of nothing," Arthur protested with an inflection that sounded suspiciously like a gag.
"The once and future king gets motion sickness," Morgana mused like it was the best news she'd gotten all week. It probably was.
Still, I cast her a dirty look. Of all people - well, of both people - I thought she would know better than to say such things in a very public, very compact metal tube in the sky. She pretended to zip her lips with her fingers, but the light in her green eyes wasn't very apologetic.
I glanced back at Arthur, who now had his eyes shut. "Are you all right?"
"Mmm. Don't talk to me. Don't make me talk."
"Right then." I rubbed a hand between his shoulder blades, then thought better of it when he gave me the stink-eye I'd so dearly missed. To Morgana, I added, "You should try and get some rest."
Putting her earbuds in, she said, "I'll rest when I'm dead again."
She was out within five minutes.
The dreams must have been appeased by our progress, because Morgana slept through the short flight without incident. I myself dozed in bursts but lurched awake frequently to check on her and Arthur.
Arthur did not sleep, but to his credit he managed to hold down the airport sushi he'd had for lunch - a true feat under the best of circumstances.
After carting my king around the Salzburg airport like a toddler I wished I'd had a leash for, we managed to secure our rental car and depart for the two hour drive southwest into the Austrian Alps. All we had to go on was a village name - Zederhaus - and flashes of green valleys and snowy mountaintops. Why Gwen would be in Austria, none of us could figure. There was a nonzero chance we were chasing our tails, but Morgana had given us her best, and I believed it would be enough.
Arthur and Morgana bickered about the music we played on the drive - he was still learning to wrap his head around modern 'thumping' music, the ballet stylings of Tchaicovsky and Stravinsky included. I was refreshed to realize it sounded less like mortal enemies spewing venom and more like… well, a brother and sister throwing elbows. As only Morgana both knew how to drive and knew where we were going, her playlist reigned supreme whether Arthur could understand the 'aggressive beat' of what I considered soothing folk rock. Indeed, she didn't really need the map. Something was pulling her, she said, giving us all the more confidence that we were on the right path.
Night was falling as we pulled into our hotel. The ski chalet was surprisingly sleek, given our remote location, but the treasury of Camelot could bear it. As we unloaded the car, I caught a silvery glint pass through the moonlight and smiled. Aithusa had made it safely. She'd start her search by cover of night, while we'd hit the streets in the morning.
At the glimpse of her dragon, Morgana's shoulders visibly relaxed. She held herself more upright, looking every bit the young lady she'd been the day I arrived at Uther's court. The only difference was the velvet gown she'd traded for a dense, emerald green parka and black leggings.
Arthur insisted on waiting outside while Morgana checked us into our rooms. There weren't many people on the street, just a few cars passing at a leisurely pace, but he craned his neck to catch each face like the next person to walk by might be his wife.
"Is this what it felt like for you? Waiting?" he asked after a few minutes of silence in the cold.
"Waiting for you? No, not quite. After the hundredth year or two, I stopped feeling like you were right around the corner."
He thought that over, his brows working. "I suppose seeing Morgana again must have been startling, then."
A smile cracked wide across my face. "I spilled my drink on her."
His eyes bugged, a smile cracking on his parted lips. "And she let you live?"
The laugh we shared was something I hadn't felt since the day I'd laid him to rest in the lake. The ache I felt, realizing how long I'd missed this, was almost breathtaking. No one understood certain things about me the way Arthur did, not even Morgana. Only he could truly laugh at the absurdity of the situation through the same lens I did.
"All right, boys." Morgana stepped through the automatic doors waving our keycards. "Two rooms, top floor."
"I imagine you'll be forcing me to bunk alone." Arthur jabbed his elbow into my side.
"I think I might have liked you better when you were sulking,"
"I figured you'd want your own room in case we found your wife?" Morgana offered him a suggestive eyebrow.
The king's face sobered in a breath, a red flush climbing his cheeks. His sensibilities were still catching up to the modern age, still abused by the mention of intra-marital intimacy in mixed company. "Well, I'm certainly not going to complain about having my own bed."
"You just did," I said under my breath while I collected our bags.
"What was that, Merlin?"
"I said that's a nice bed!" I held up my key card, which boasted a cozy image of the accommodations.
We made our way to our rooms, Morgana pulling her suitcase and me carrying Arthur's duffle as well as my own. Once I'd dropped mine luggage in our room, I helped Arthur to his.
"Don't break anything. Don't touch the tiny fridge. Make sure the latch is on your door when you go to sleep."
"Right." Arthur clapped his hands together. "All well and good. Ready to hit the town?"
I glanced at my watch. "I suppose it is time for dinner."
"Dinner? No, Merlin, we're here on a mission. We didn't stop for dinner when we sought the Fisher King's Trident!"
"Well, Gwaine and I did."
Arthur silenced him with a hand. "My wife is out there. My wife." His voice wavered on the word. "A thousand years have separated us, and I will not sit idle another moment waiting for fate to intervene. Will you help me or not?"
"I will, tomorrow. We have no idea what we're looking for, and we're tired. Our best chance is to start fresh tomorrow. What can be gained by wandering an unfamiliar town after dark?"
Arthur snatched his coat up in one hand. "Everything, Merlin. Everything."
He brushed by without another word.
I followed him into the hall but stopped past the threshold, watching him shrug into his jacket and call the lift.
Morgana popped her head out of our room, dark curtain of hair swaying. "Everything all right?"
"He's going to get lost out there." Arthur stepped into the lift and held me with a dirty look as the doors closed behind him.
"He'll be fine."
"He's never left Great Britain before in his life. He doesn't know the language or the customs. He still acts like a dark ages king, and that's foreign territory out there."
"What's one Austrian town compared to all of modern London?"
I snorted. "Why are you always right?"
She gripped my wrist with a wry smile and sauntered in close. "I can think of plenty of times you tried to kill me because I thought you were wrong."
I raised a hand to run my thumb over my cheek, simply unable to stop myself when she looked at me with a face full of invitation. "Well, that was another life. Right now, we're in agreement."
"Barely."
"You should be too jaded by now to expect any better."
My fingers delighted in the texture of her raven waves. "Could I take you to dinner?"
Her green eyes sparkled. "Took you long enough to ask."
