The sound of the water on the shore reached him first, and Arthur breathed heavily, tasting the forest, the lake, and the sand in the air. His eyes remained closed as he melted into the ground beneath his resting form, moss covering the dirt to create a cushion under him, comfortingly cradling his body in the Earth. The waves broke on the beach, the birds sang in the trees, and the sun warmed his skin. The image of himself lying as the mountain across the lake loomed above him, making him seem small and insignificant, gave him a sense of solace. He was a pebble on the shore, cast into the lake only to wash upon the shores again, cast again, repeat. How many stones had he thrown, how many had returned? Each reminded him of a great deed, his pride held in his palm only to be thrown into the depths of the water, never to be remembered. How meaningful is life when all one does is live within the confines of expectations? The longing for a great adventure welled inside him, threatening to burst from his chest. He craved the dirt, the trees, the water. The earth was like air to him, lungs full of seeds that planted themselves in his childhood and grew branches behind his eyes, roots extending through his feet. The branches blossomed with leaves, holding life and giving life inside of him. But as beautiful a tree as he was, he was planted, doomed forever to stand tall and proud but never moving. His foliage expanded, his roots stretched beneath him, but only his seeds were free to float on the breeze. The animals he housed carried parts of him to plant, allowing the earth to know him, to memorize his shapes and textures even as they grew and transformed, yet he himself would never know Her more. He would grow and grow, but only when he grew old and gnarled would he be allowed to lay himself down to reclamation, to decompose and once more give himself into the cycle so another man could take his place.

It is the fate of all Kings, to be remembered for their deeds but never truly known. He would live forever in stone or on paper, but there would be nothing of substance to remember Arthur Pendragon. No songs would be sung about the way he felt, no tapestries devoted to his thoughts. His life was as hard as stone, his evocation as fragile as old parchment. He was dead even as he lived and breathed.

"You're crying."

It was true. Arthur could feel the tracks down his face, the salt stinging his eyes, his lashes heavy and wet. Even a king could cry, but this was often forgotten. Arthur was no king. He was nothing but saltwater, blood, and skin. He was despair incarnate.

"You're crying," his raven said again.

Oh how he had missed the timbre of his voice! Fingers brushed the hair from his face, brushed the wetness from his cheeks, and Arthur wanted to melt beneath the molten touch. He wanted his fingerprints branded in his skin, a marking so that everyone knew he belonged to this man, a reminder that his Morrigan was real. He wanted to drown in the ocean of his own tears, brought back to life only by Merlin's breath within his lungs as their lips found each other. The thought of having him here and waking only to the memory of skin, of sweat, of breath, was unimaginable pain.

"Hush, Arthur. Hush," Merlin soothed. He laid down with him, his hands upon his face, in his hair, and his warmth at Arthur's side.

Arthur turned to face him and opened his eyes to stare into the storm of Merlin's. His eyes were the deepest shade of blue, deep enough to get lost in, and oh, how desperately Arthur wanted to get lost! He knew his lip quivered but he didn't care. He had sat alone on this beach for so many years, wandering lonely with this longing in his chest, and now he knew the feelings inside of him had been anticipation. He'd been waiting for Merlin. So many dreams without him, and Arthur never wanted to go back to them.

"I waited for you," he said. His voice croaked like a frog with a throat full of water. "I waited for you yesterday, and you never came."

"I'm sorry, Arthur. I couldn't sleep. There was too much to do."

"I missed you."

His raven chuckled at that. Arthur didn't feel like laughing.

"He left me, and you never came, and I missed you. Terribly."

Merlin frowned. He moved so that he could press their foreheads together, offering comfort. "I'm sorry."

Arthur's hand came up to cradle his head, his fingers caressing the raven locks. He found it hard to look at the man, and yet he didn't want to look anywhere else. "I did the same to you too, and I'm sorry. I know you complain about me being here, but I'm still sorry I didn't come."

"I looked for you," Merlin admitted. "I missed you too."

They were quiet then, content to be in each other's presence while the world turned all around them. Merlin's hands caressed Arthur's face while Arthur's fingers ran through the other man's hair. Their faces remained close, and Arthur reveled in the breath across his lips. After a while, Merlin shifted, propping himself up on his elbow to gaze down at Arthur.

"Who left you, Arthur?" he asked. His voice was quiet and gentle, as though he thought Arthur was a wounded animal that would frighten at too much provocation.

In a way, he was. The memories of Emrys were as tender as fresh wounds, and Arthur felt raw and exposed when he thought of the man, or when the faint scent of peppermint and honey drifted in the air. He was repulsed and attracted to him in equal measure; what he'd done was unforgivable, and yet Arthur wanted nothing more than to offer forgiveness to him if it meant he would be in his presence again. The ache inside of him spread until his whole being was a hollow shell of wanting, and Arthur would do anything to fill the void. Merlin was like a balm on his contusions, the calm within his storm. When he looked at his raven, it was with a tenderness that was entirely novel to him. He was the direct opposite of Emrys - kind in his own way, honest, and understanding.

Arthur sat up, pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them like a hug. "A man who saved me. He took care of me in a sense, but he could also be awful. I never saw his face, he wouldn't let me, but I'd recognise him anyway. He was a druid, like yourself, incredibly powerful and dedicated to his people. He saved me, he took care of me, and then he left me alone in the forest with no trace of him to be found."

"He saved you?"

Arthur nodded. "I was attacked by a slave trader, I was beaten fairly badly. His people brought me to him and he healed me, made sure I was safe." He shook his head. "I wonder now if it did me any good. I was probably better off at the mercy of the slavers."

Merlin gave him a funny look. "You can't truly believe that."

"My fate was the same."

"What does that mean?"

Arthur hesitated. He wasn't sure he wanted to share this part of himself with Merlin. He felt ugly and used when he thought of it, like a mare broken in and then forgotten. What would Merlin think of him? If he knew the truth of what happened, he'd probably be disgusted by Arthur. How worthless of a man was he if he couldn't even protect himself? How could he allow himself to be defiled and then pretend like nothing inside of him had changed?

"Arthur, please tell me," Merlin said, just as gently as he'd asked before. He grasped Arthur's face in his hands and looked directly in his eyes. Arthur wanted to trust him. He wanted to be seen, he wanted to be heard. He wanted Merlin to know him, all of him, even the dirty parts he hoped would never see the light of day but which haunted him every waking moment.

So he swallowed heavily and took a deep breath.

"He raped me."

It came out a whisper, full of all the heartache Arthur had kept inside. Merlin's breath hitched beside him and Arthur laid the truth bare before him. "He raped me, but I enjoyed it. After the first time, I wanted it. I wanted him." Arthur couldn't speak another word, instead what came out of his mouth was a frame-wracking sob. "I gave in so easily I'm disgusted with myself. How can anyone bear to look at me when I cannot look at myself? And I never saw his face, I'll never know. But I wanted him so much! It was so easy to let him take control, to be used. I've never wanted anything more and I hate myself for it!"

Arthur shook violently as he cried, and Merlin didn't hesitate to pull him closer, to hold his shaking body against his own. He tucked Arthur's face into his neck and let him weep for what felt like an eternity, until Arthur's eyes were dry riverbeds with nothing left to offer. He felt weak and vulnerable, yet Merlin continued to hold him, to hush and soothe his hiccuping breaths. When he was finally calm again, the sun was sinking into the horizon, painting pinks and violets across the sky.

"Arthur, I want you to listen to me. It was not your fault," Merlin whispered in his ear. "You've done nothing wrong, and you have nothing to be ashamed of. He hurt you, and that was his choice. You were so brave. You're always so brave, so in control, that it's no wonder you wanted to give that up for a while. That's okay. It doesn't make you dirty, it makes you human. He should have controlled himself; he should never have touched you." He hugged Arthur harder, suffocating him, but Arthur wouldn't have asked him to let go for anything.

"I'm sorry."

Merlin pulled back to look at him and the fierceness on his face startled Arthur a bit. "Don't you dare apologize for this, Arthur Pendragon! Don't ever apologize for how you've been treated by others. Even after what you've gone through, you still don't hold it against him. Don't you see, Arthur?" He wiped the tears once more from Arthur's cheeks. "You could have let this turn you into your father. It would have been so easy to let yourself be consumed by hatred, but you haven't. You're here with me, a druid, and you've told me all of this without a trace of malice towards this man or his people. You're a good man, Arthur."

Arthur kissed him then. It was as though all of the air had left his lungs and the only way to breathe again was to steal the oxygen from Merlin's lips. How could this man think so highly of him after everything? This perfect man who'd wandered onto his beach, who'd never treated him like a prince even when he'd known who Arthur was. This man who held him as he fell apart in his arms and told him to never apologize for how he felt. His lips moved against Arthur's in a shallow, almost chaste dance. They were slightly chapped, and Arthur wet them with his tongue, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth to feel the other man groan against him before releasing the plush mouth completely. They remained in each other's embrace, recovering from the suddenness of the kiss. Merlin tucked Arthur's hair behind his ear.

"You're absolutely maddening, you know. Gaining my sympathy only to assault me," but before Arthur could begin to feel bad about what he'd done, Merlin swooped in for another kiss, stealing the reply from Arthur's lips. "Absolutely maddening."

Arthur huffed a laugh. "It wasn't my intention, but you don't seem truly upset so I feel I should congratulate myself."

Merlin snickered before becoming somber once more. "Our dream is almost over. I don't want to leave you."

"Then come again tomorrow. Dream again, I'll be here."

"I will," Merlin said. The sun was fading and Arthur knew they had moments before they were separated. "Arthur," Merlin started. He hesitated, as though struggling with what to say. "The man who hurt you. What was his name?"

Arthur sighed heavily. "It isn't important, raven. He is in the past now."

"Tell me this before you go, please."

His voice was pleading even as he faded away, and Arthur relented.

"Emrys. His name is Emrys."

And then he was gone.