Chapter Text
The trembling and massive sound of snow running down the mountain in the distance took Merlin by surprise. His flinch shook his entire body, and the vial he was preparing dropped on the table in front of him. Merlin looked up by his old wooden foggy window and saw nothing apart from the white coat of snow all over the trees and everywhere. It wasn’t even snowing right now.
Leaving his wasted vial and the preparation he was brewing in their current state, he tried to run by his other window above the sink to have another view of the mountain. His hut was crowded with all sorts of equipment and books, which made it difficult to quickly navigate.
Years of living there alone resulted in the accumulation of a lot of things. Some of those things were kept because they were useful—like all his potions and concoction supplies from the early nineteenth century—but many others were kept just solely out of nostalgia.
While an outsider might consider Merlin's home a messy place, he would strongly disagree. Merlin eventually went through all the furniture and instruments to get to his window and wiped the fog from it to have a better sight.
From this side of the hut, which was the side where he heard the sound of the avalanche, he couldn’t see anything unusual either. The old weeping willow tree was still covered in heavy snow, its branches deeply rooted in the wide rug of snow beneath, making it seem like an iced organic cage.
None of the many snowy pines had moved an inch. His little cabin by the end of the pathway was still up, his shovel leaning against the dark planks. The backyard was, as usual, the same calm, reassuring, and unmoving place as it always has been.
However, the terrible sound he had heard earlier couldn’t have been mistaken for another, and Merlin was quite taken aback. For all these years he had spent in this hut, knowing all about these mountains, it was not the first time an avalanche occurred.
The other side of the mountain where he lived was well known for being unforgiving to the brave – stupid – skiers and hikers willing to take the risk for a thrill.
No, it wasn’t the avalanche itself that surprised him that much. It was the intense, uncontrollable urge running wild inside his veins, compelling him to go out and find. Lately, his magic seemed to know something was coming. Lately, his magic seemed to sense something approaching—something devastating, beyond his control, and likely something that was happening right now.
Merlin closed his eyes, his hand cold on the window. He extended his magic through his body into the ground, inside the very core of the mountain. There, he searched for any sign or clue that would trigger his magic, but found nothing. Only an old sense of déjà vu, a familiar and intricate feeling of longing and devotion, intertwined with his magic. Merlin opened his eyes, gazing out the window once more. Nothing had changed.
Merlin was feeling his heart rate quicken, and the urging impulsion inside his chest roared to be freed. Merlin knew he had to follow his magic. He gathered his long ice hammer on the way to the door of his hut, along with his backpack with some of his hiking stuff inside. He hurriedly put on his warm coat, gloves, and snowshoes. With the hammer under his arm, he draped a coil of rope across his body.
Even though Merlin didn't know where he was going or how long his task would take, he raised his hand in the direction of the fireplace of his hut and murmured a spell to keep it as it was. The fire was difficult enough to maintain when he was home; he didn’t want to take the risk for it to die over one bloody stupid nonsense of an impulsion.
Sighing deeply, Merlin pulled his hood over his head and opened his door to brave the icy cold of the mountain.
::::: * :::::
Hiking slowly through the pine trees, Merlin was sure of one thing: he was going in the right direction. The impulse he had felt nearly half an hour ago was not exactly soothing itself, but it was stirring inside of him in the right way.
Although it wasn't snowing when he left his hut, it had begun to snow now. Little snowflakes were slowly falling in silence all around him, covering him in another coat of fading white. The sleeping sound of snow accompanied him with comfort and quiet dread. Merlin knew the weather could change ever so rapidly in the mountains, and not necessarily for the better. He sped up his pace, shifting his backpack into place.
The small hamlet he lived in was not far behind, tempting him to turn back and seek refuge in his warm and cosy home. But Merlin had to go on and find out what sort of destiny was waiting for him, this time. Just like always, he couldn’t bring himself to ignore the call of his magic when he was feeling it. That was the curse he had been living with since his very birth, fifteen centuries ago.
Merlin silently prayed whatever Gods and Goddesses above, that it wasn’t just another wild sorcerer driven mad by the ancient magic that was triggering his own. The Old Religion had well and truly been dormant for centuries; sometimes it just appeared randomly over one poor unfortunate lad who had magic, drowning them into insanity and making Merlin’s life very complicated.
Even as powerful as he was, Merlin was helpless to deal with this issue with the Old Religion’s magic. He had tried several times to cut tides and cure all the poor lads, but in vain. As long as magic wouldn’t be able to freely run again on the surface of the earth, he wouldn’t be able to help anyone. And the people triggered by this specific kind of magic would meet a dreadful death if they had the misfortune to be chosen by the Old Religion. No matter how hard he had tried over the years, Merlin couldn't prevent it.
‘Hello, Merlin!’ Shouted a voice inside the trees. The warlock stopped as a young woman on skis emerged from the pinewood forest. He smiled, recognising the familiar features of the mountain guide, who also lived in the small hamlet. ‘Good afternoon, Tabby.’ He said quietly, lifting his ice hammer to greet her.
‘I was skiing by the waterfall above the river when my father called. A massive avalanche, he said. Help from the valley is on its way, but any additional assistance is always welcome… well, you know the drill. Are you heading north? ’
‘Actually, I was—’ Merlin hesitated. He didn’t know where he was going, and he was going to lie to her about it. Nonetheless, Merlin felt that going north was exactly where he should head to. ‘—Yes, I was. And I can certainly help.’ Tabby’s smile was brief but genuine.
‘Fantastic. Thank you, Merlin. My father took the path of the old cistern, and I’m on my way to join him. Will you be going by the river? The second avalanche site is up ahead.’
‘Sure thing. I will contact you or Ignatius if I find anything.’
Tabby agreed with a nod and told him to be careful before skiing away. She looked so much like her father when he was younger. Ignatius had been the same gracious and athletic person as she was. Although age and health had taken their toll, Ignatius still did his best. Setting his mind into focus again, Merlin turned his head and started to hike in the direction of the river, where Tabby had told him to go.
He arrived at the place in no time. The impulse inside him had kept tingling and was even more so now that he was seeing the river. Merlin crossed the small bridge and finally witnessed the aftermath of the terrible sounds he had heard earlier.
The avalanche had indeed been massive. All the trees above were bent at unnatural angles, with only the tops of their branches visible above the snow. Some trees had been uprooted and were now upside down in the snowslide, exposing their roots to the air.
Merlin felt a strong shiver but swiftly refocused on the task at hand. He looked at the wide expanse of snow before him with very attentive eyes, determined to trigger whatever funny feeling he could from the sight.
When his eyes landed on a particularly twisted tree, he felt that he had found his goal. His magic surged even stronger within his veins, urging him forward. Merlin gave in willingly. For the second time today, the warlock called on his magic to find any soul alive beneath the snow.
Luckily, this time, he was successful. A faint pulse brushed against his magic, confirming his instincts. Merlin practically ran towards the tree and threw himself onto the snowy ground, clutching his ice axe and beginning to dig.
He was moving carefully, not wanting to risk injuring the person beneath the snow. The rush of magic coursing through him made him feel slightly lightheaded. Domestic magic had become his norm, and he wasn't accustomed to such intense surges anymore.
Merlin dug methodically, unearthing more of the tree trunk with each shovel of snow he removed. He briefly glanced up to assess the safety of his surroundings. His hands remained focused on the task, nearly missing the sight of a red wool glove covered in snow emerging from the hole.
His heart sped up inside his chest as he tossed the cloth aside along with his ice axe to pursue his digging now that he knew that there was indeed someone in danger beneath the snow.
‘Hang on, I’m gettin’ closer!!’ Merlin shouted to the ground, hoping the person beneath the snow could hear him.
The warlock felt unexpected tears fall on his cheeks. The feeling of having someone's life between his hands wasn’t exactly a new thing, but it has been a really long time since the last time it occurred. Suddenly, the blurry yet warm image of Arthur appeared in his mind. Now is not the time.
‘Please hang on.’ It was barely a whisper, more to himself than anyone else.
The next digging proved to be really efficient, as he discovered a bunch of yellow fabric. Merlin let out a joyful cry as he brushed away the snow surrounding it, revealing an arm. As soon as the arm was freed from the snow, it moved frantically and blindly grabbed Merlin's hand with its glove-covered grip. Merlin squeezed back.
‘I’m here, pal; I’m here, let’s get you out.’
With a part of the body exposed, removing the remaining snow became easier. Merlin soon spotted a red ski helmet emerging from the snow, polarised glasses in place, and a face covered by a long neck warmer. Only the person's nose was visible, reddened by the cold. Despite the recent occurrence of the avalanche, who knew how long this man had been exposed to the freezing temperatures?
‘Thank you,' the man said weakly, aiding Merlin in removing the snow with his free hand.
::::: * :::::
Sitting tiredly in the snow, Merlin watched in silence as Ignatius and the man talked to each other. He had already talked to the local police officer and the paramedics. Ignatius and Tabby had arrived soon after Merlin got the yellow-coated man from the snow.
Ultimately, the other avalanche site appeared to be much smaller than expected, and the two mountain guides had come by the river to help along with the paramedics and rescuers.
Tabby had already left the site with an injured older woman who was also trapped below the river, where the man that Merlin helped was. The warlock did not see the face of the woman, as she was in a worse situation than the yellow-coated man he had rescued. Tabby had laid her on a stretcher with a paramedic, and they had left as soon as the injured woman was ready to go to the hospital down the valley.
Ignatius had been impressed to see Merlin helping out the man in the snow, seeing that he didn’t even have any beacon research with him. The warlock hadn’t had the time to explain himself that Tabby called for her father to help, saving Merlin from having to lie to the old man.
Merlin closed his eyes briefly, putting his chin inside his joined hands, and listened to the conversation between Ignatius and the man he helped from the snow. They were so different from each other. Ignatius was shorter and older, obviously. The man he saved was standing straight and proud, holding his ski helmet under his arm.
‘Are you sure you don’t need more medical support?’ Ignatius was using his grandpa's tone, the one no one dared say no to. But the stranger didn’t know that, did he?
‘The paramedic already checked on me. I’m fine.’ The man looked in Merlin’s direction. ‘Thanks to him.’
Ignatius sighed deeply and impatiently. He seemed about to say something more but closed his mouth instead. Reluctantly, he let it go, gave Merlin a quick salute, and went to check on the remaining paramedics nearby.
Merlin got up, ready to head back to his home. His work here was done, even if deep inside he still felt that strange and powerful longing. Yet his magic was strangely a calm flow inside him now, at peace. He dared look at the man in front of him one last time before turning on his heels. A hand softly grabbed him by the shoulder.
‘I meant it. Thank you. For everything.’
I want to say something I’ve never said to you before… Thank you.
The warlock felt the old, bruised memory rushing inside his mind. He could not remember the last time he heard Arthur’s last words resonate so loudly. Probably because he could not remember Arthur’s voice much at all.
‘It’s okay. You’ve already thanked me enough.’ Merlin did not want to turn around, did not want to acknowledge the powerful feeling that he had sorely fought since the man had emerged from the snow.
‘I don’t think I did. You saved my life! How can I ever pay you back? I owe you.’
No, you don’t.
When Merlin didn’t respond and kept walking, the man ran to root himself in front of the warlock. He had removed his ski helmet and glasses when Merlin had helped him out of the snow, and now he was just with his wool hat and neckwarmer rolled down his neck.
‘Can I at least know your name?’
Merlin looked at him for good. He took his time, examining the inviting face in front of him. His face was red, his lips were chapped, and his eyes… His eyes were so clear, so clear Merlin lost his breath for a second. He did look like Arthur, damn it. Bloody hell. The warlock’s magic was now quivering inside his guts. It’s not him, it’s… I would know.
‘… Merlin.’ he finally replied.
The other man’s eyes went a little bigger at that. Merlin narrowed his eyes and waited. He was used to people’s reactions when he told them his name—his real one, that is. Most of them found it funny and blamed his parents for not considering all the bullying that implied his name. Because, ironically, his name was also part of the legend. And because people weren’t creative.
‘Merlin,’ the man repeated, a small smile forming on his face. ‘I’m Gabriel.’
Even if Merlin had braced himself for this, it hurt all the same. This man wasn't Arthur, and he should have known better than to indulge in such delusions. He had experienced this disappointment countless times throughout his long, lonely life without his king.
How many times had Merlin believed that Arthur was on the verge of returning? How many centuries had he waited with unwavering faith for the fulfilment of this bloody prophecy? This wasn’t his first time. Far from that. Then why did it still hurt? Would not his mind and heart be used to this already? Why was his magic interfering now? That was the real novelty of all this pain. Merlin felt a wave of nausea that made him dizzy.
Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t pay attention to whatever Gabriel was saying to him until he realised the man seemed to be waiting for an answer. Now Merlin was just tired. He wanted to go home and take care of his potions, as he did before this chaotic event unfolded. The warlock was an old man. An old man trapped inside a young man’s body, but an old man still. He had his habits. Rescuing Arthur's doppelgänger didn't mean throwing his carefully organised life into rotting hell.
‘Please?’ The demand was teasing, and Gabriel’s smile, handsome as it was, didn’t work on Merlin.
…
Well, not entirely.
‘Sorry, I don’t have time for this,’ Merlin replied, his answer deliberately vague to cover any questions the young man might have asked. He wanted to be left alone, for bloody sake.
‘You don’t have time for me to walk you home?’ Gabriel's teasing took a bolder turn; his tone clearly amused.
‘I… right.’ Merlin looked away, incapable of maintaining eye contact. He cleared his throat and shifted his gaze to the river in front of him. The water flowed heavily due to the unexpected abundance of snow. Ignatius walked past a small bridge that barely remained afloat in the water below. The mountain guide was engaged in a deep conversation with the paramedic, and a local police officer had joined them.
‘My home isn’t far; I can walk there just fine.’
‘Fantastic! Then lead the way; I’ll grab my stuff.’ Gabriel was out of sight before Merlin could answer anything.
Realising that he couldn't avoid the situation, Merlin briefly contemplated casting a spell to escape this predicament. However, he surprisingly found himself reluctant to do so. Sure, his retreat deep inside the woods was intentional, and he was happy to live the life of a hermit, but… His loneliness was too heavy to bear today, and honestly, he could have used the company. Especially if it meant indulging a young, really attractive man willing to come home with him.
Hm.
Merlin started to walk home, not really paying attention to whether Gabriel was following him or not.
‘Not the kind of man to be patient enough, aren’t you, Merlin?’ Gabriel's voice carried a wry laugh as he shouldered his skis, a dark hiking backpack strapped over his other shoulder. His ski helmet hung loosely from the skis, bouncing with each step he took.
‘You’d be surprised.’ Merlin responded. Waiting for the return of a dead king for more than a millennium was not what he considered impatience by any measure. So, yes, he could define himself as someone quite patient.
Gabriel didn’t respond to that as he adjusted his snowshoes. In fact, the walk they shared to Merlin’s house was quite silent on both parts, except for some little indications like ‘we’ll turn to the left after this path’ and so on. Merlin liked this simplicity and this kind of… bonding they shared through this little hike. He liked the energy that radiated from Gabriel and the way he was so at ease with silence and just… being present.
Living in seclusion in the mountains, Merlin had grown accustomed to the quiet. He had chosen this remote place for a reason. After years of waiting, unwavering dedication, and unyielding faith in this cursed prophecy, Merlin had finally decided to escape. He was tired of resembling a grieving widow, wandering near Avalon like a lost soul. To hell with that lake.
Initially, it had started as a brief respite from his monotonous existence, but gradually it became his real life, leaving behind everything that had defined him before. Merlin often felt a deep sense of guilt for abandoning his mission, but at the same time, he cherished the newfound freedom to live his own life.
Besides… He was sure—he was so sure, deep in his bones—that Arthur should return tomorrow; he would sense it within his magic. He would know. It could not be otherwise. If it were not the case, if his magic failed to inform him of the return of his king, he would lose his mind, consumed by guilt.
Eventually, they emerged from the pine trees and reached Merlin's hut. Nothing had changed since he left in pursuit of that magical impulse. The sensation still faintly pulsed within him, like a cat purring on its master's lap. Merlin let out a deep sigh and continued walking towards his front door.
‘How long have you been living here?’ Gabriel asked, his tone light.
That was always a tricky question. Merlin had never been able to honestly answer such inquiries, so he responded with a half-truth, as he usually did.
‘This home was one of the first built in this little village. There always has been a Myrddin that lived here.’ Merlin paused to settle his ice hammer next to his door and looked back at Gabriel. ‘And I think there always will be.’
Gabriel’s look was unreadable. He slightly narrowed his eyes. ‘You make it sound like it's a curse. You know you have the choice to leave this place, don’t you?’
Merlin snorted. ‘Yeah sure.’ He opened his unlocked door, gesturing for Gabriel to enter, which he did. Merlin closed the door behind them as Gabriel proceeded to remove his warm outdoor clothes and backpack, leaving himself in trousers, wool socks, and an undershirt.
He cast a curious gaze at Merlin's belongings, his fingers lightly grazing some of the chemistry instruments. However, it was Merlin's telescope that captured his attention. Merlin also removed his coat, observing Gabriel as he explored the room and examined his possessions. The warlock nearly magically removed some of them so Gabriel could walk more freely, but stopped just in time.
‘Well, I guess I owe you a cup of tea since you came all the way to my cabin.’ Merlin said while walking towards his open kitchenette.
‘Yes to the tea, but I would barely call your house a cabin,’ Gabriel replied, once again drawn to the telescope. ‘Your chalet is wonderful.’
Merlin looked again at Gabriel’s frame. He was leaning over the telescope and looking at his sky maps pinned on the wall. Truth be told, his house really had started as a humble hut. Years passed by, and Merlin slowly upgraded his home to the point where he had three floors, including his mezzanine inside his main room, where his bedchamber, his bigger bathroom, and a second fireplace were.
But Merlin couldn’t bring himself to call his home anything other than his hut. Habits die hard, or so it seemed, especially when you’re just an old, old sad warlock.
‘I’ve put a lot of effort into it.’ Merlin replied softly. He placed the kettle on the hob, stealing a brief glance at the fireplace. His previous spell had worked perfectly, and the flames burned brightly and evenly.
The water would take a little while to reach the desired temperature, so he moved to his cluttered table and sat down, watching Arth-Gabriel, who was still observing his sky maps.
‘Are you interested in stargazing?’
Gabriel smiled, his eyes focused on the biggest map pinned on the wall. ‘Of course.’ He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. ‘It’s fascinating what humanity can achieve.’ The young man turned slightly to look into Merlin’s eyes. ‘It's incredible. The vastness of space, the mysteries it holds... It's humbling, really.’
‘Indeed, it is. The more we learn about the universe, the more we realise how small we truly are. And yet, it's a reminder that even the smallest actions can have a profound impact.’
Gabriel looked back at his pinned maps and went towards his shelf with books and more maps rolled up and stored in a wooden open box. He took one of them and unrolled it, spreading his arms out.
‘It's you who drew all these maps, isn’t it.’ It wasn’t a question; it was more of an impressed statement. Merlin felt his ears warming at the disguised compliment and nodded, turning back to clean up his previous wasted potion from earlier just to do something.
When Merlin arrived in these mountains many decades ago, he had decided to explore all kinds of sciences. His main excuse was to be ready with all sorts of knowledge for when Arthur would finally be back and would have to catch up with his time. But if Merlin was totally honest with himself, he knew he had just fully indulged in all that he was curious about, including astronomy among other sciences.
His first attempts at creating sky maps were calamitous, but with practise, they became better and better. Living in the mountains certainly helped with having such clear skies. It not only filled his heart with breathtaking scenery but also permitted him to considerably enlarge the many accurate details he put in his maps.
He didn’t really share them with anyone else, but they were precious to him, just like the dozens of books he had about potions and remedies. A very small portion of them came from his time of learning with Gaius, and the few that survived through the centuries were the ones Merlin found comforting to an extent but not really efficient.
Merlin may have forgotten some of his past, but some memories and some actual things could not be erased that easily from his heart.
Lost in his thoughts, Merlin didn't notice Gabriel approaching him until he felt a gentle touch on his arm. Startled, he looked up to find Gabriel standing beside him, his eyes filled with curiosity.
‘Merlin, these maps are incredible,' Gabriel said, his voice soft.
Merlin couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions. Part of him wanted to push Gabriel away, to protect himself from the pain that could come from getting too close, and his resemblance to his long-gone king wasn’t helping either. But another part of him longed for companionship, for someone who could understand him.
‘Thank you,' Merlin replied, his voice filled with genuine gratitude. ‘It's a passion of mine, something that has kept me grounded.’
Gabriel smiled warmly, his hand still lingering on Merlin's arm. Their eyes met, and in that moment, Merlin felt a flicker of hope. Perhaps this unexpected meeting held more significance than he initially thought.
::::: * :::::
They were sitting in silence again, their tea in their hands. Merlin looked out the window while gently blowing at his tea to accommodate the temperature of the beverage. It was snowing outside, blurring the sky.
‘What an odd day,’ Gabriel remarked, taking a sip of his tea and grimacing at the hot sensation. Merlin observed him intently, studying his face. The more he looked at the young man he had saved, the more he could picture Arthur in his shoes. The resemblance troubled and tortured him equally.
‘I’m sure it has been tremendous for you.’ Merlin said with honesty.
‘Yeah… Tremendous indeed.’ Gabriel fixed his intense stare on him once again, his face half hidden by his cup of tea. ‘I have the feeling you’re not that unaccustomed to this; am I wrong, Merlin?’
‘In another life maybe,’ answered Merlin, shifting in his chair to sit straight again, ‘but one could say I’m retired now.’
‘You’re pretty well preserved for a grandpa.’
Merlin had a deadpan smile. ‘Not so bad for someone more than fifteen centuries old, am I?’ He let out a little wry laugh before sipping his tea again. Gabriel's surprised expression turned into laughter as well.
‘Yeah, I've heard of the miracles formalin can provide,’ Gabriel’s wink was absolutely charming. He leaned over the table, mischievously looking at Merlin. ‘Now I understand the smell I couldn’t pinpoint in your home.’
‘My home smells perfectly fine.’
‘So you take offence at the smell but not the age? Interesting.’
Merlin leaned over the table, mirroring Gabriel’s position.
‘Is this usually how you thank someone who just saved your life?’ A warm feeling spread through Merlin as Gabriel smirked at him and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms in front of him.
‘Well, you said you were thanked enough. That’s a shame, really, because I am pretty good at thanking people.’ He briefly extended his palm towards Merlin, as if this gesture proved his point.
Merlin couldn’t stop himself from thinking that Gabriel was hitting on him. Was he? It's been so long since the last time he got caught up in somebody. In fact, he didn’t believe he had been intimately with anyone since Ignatius almost four decades ago—as Merlin’s grandfather.
Back then, same-sex relationships weren’t really as common as they were nowadays. Ignatius and Merlin had a brief affair before the mountain guide got married and Tabitha was born. It had been secret, lovely, and so comforting at the time, even if their relationship hadn't lasted long.
But Merlin hadn't been deeply affected by it because, since Arthur's death, he hadn't been interested in pursuing a true and prosperous romantic relationship. It had taken him several years after his king's departure to realise just how much he had loved Arthur, not only as his devoted and loyal manservant.
Ignatius and the few others who had shared a small part of his life weren't Arthur, but they had sometimes eased the empty sore spot inside his tired heart. So what if Merlin wanted to indulge himself with this man who reminded him of Arthur? Who would judge him anyway?
Merlin made up his mind. He purposely lowered his voice to see how Gabriel would react.
‘And how exactly do you usually thank people, then?’ Merlin wasn't disappointed in the slightest by Gabriel’s reaction.
Gabriel's smirk stretched a bit as he opened his mouth in impressed surprise, raising one hand to gently stroke his jaw pensively.
‘Considering the big amount of gratitude that I feel towards you, I would pull out all the stops.’ Gabriel got up and leaned on the table, placing both hands on its surface. ‘First, I would take your hands and hold them close to my chest. You did save my life; you deserve to feel that I’m still breathing. Second, I would get rid of your neckerchief to be able to feel your own pulse and put my lips there to feel it myself.’
Merlin was absolutely dumbfounded. His eyes were fixed on Arth-Gabriel, rotting hell of shit, Gabriel. Merlin felt his insides twist as he obediently listened to the delicious words he was being fed.
‘See, then I would look into your eyes, just like I am doing right now, and I would ask for permission to kiss you—
‘Yes.’ Interrupted Merlin while getting up as well. Gabriel laughed.
‘I have not asked you anything yet.’
‘Anticipating for later.’
Gabriel’s smile was softer now, almost tender. Merlin's heart constricted at the sight. He reminded him so much of Arthur. So, so much. The same charming and impossibly handsome man that knew, just knew he was so attractive and played it so damn well.
‘So now you want to be properly thanked?’
‘I think I well deserved it. Saved your life, and so on.' Merlin was nervous and impatient. 'You know.’ He nodded his head to emphasise what he was saying.
His guest moved closer to Merlin and took one of his hands in his own. The warlock looked amazed at his hand being pressed softly against the chest of the man in front of him. Gabriel's breathing was deep, though uneven with nervousness. Merlin couldn't take his eyes off his own hand. Mesmerized by the large hand covering his, he traced with his eyes the apparent veins on the back of Gabriel's hand.
Once again, he felt an impulse in his magic, as if he were precisely doing what he was meant to do. It felt like the purpose of this day, of his existence, had led him to be held by this man. And again, he felt this strange, strange connection between the both of them. Arthur’s doppelgänger. Could it be… ?
Gabriel moved his hand towards his neck to remove the piece of cloth there. Merlin looked up into his eyes and was taken aback by the intensity of the sight before him. All Gabriel’s eyes were expressing was longing. Like he’s been waiting a very long time for this moment. Why would he ever feel like that?
‘Merlin’ Gabriel whispered in a breath. He placed his hand against Merlin's throat and slowly caressed his cheek with his thumb. Merlin was speechless. His magic flowed through his veins like a heavenly current. His balance threatened to collapse, but another hand held him tight around the waist, anchoring him to the other body.
‘Where have you been?’ Was the following quiet question over his own lips. Merlin frowned. His magic flow intensified and pulsed against his skin.
The sudden realisation and profound upheaval he felt then were great enough to throw him off track. No. Nonononono, it can’t be. It cannot. I would know. Merlin’s breath quickened, and he was grateful to be held; otherwise, he would have fallen. Gab... Gabriel's eyes were on him, patience reflecting in them, and Merlin couldn’t bring himself to remember. Had… he been really patient like that back then?
But when the soft tone of voice resumed talking, Merlin could not focus on anything else. ‘Even now, you can’t just follow simple orders.’ The man leaned back to properly look at Merlin’s face. ‘I had to chase you in these mountains and nearly die again for you to find me.’
Merlin took a sharp inhale at the words.
‘Arthur,’ he breathed, the name feeling foreign on his tongue. He couldn't believe he was able to use it again. Merlin furrowed his brow, gripping the strong shoulders in front of him on each side. ‘How… ?’ His words trailed off. So many emotions swirled inside his gut. Overwhelming guilt, mostly. But he also felt sadness, mourning, and a shy happiness blossoming within his heart.
So the man explained.
As he told his story, Gabriel slowly faded away, making room for Arthur to reclaim his full presence, more powerful than ever.
He explained that he had woken up almost two years ago on the shores of Lake Avalon with no memories at all. People took care of him at the hospital, and then he was given a choice of a name from a list. And his journey of rediscovery began.
Sometimes he woke up in the night after nightmares involving dragons, fire, witches, and knighthood. Sometimes he woke up with memories of horseback riding and hunting in the forest. And sometimes he dreamed about a beautiful lady with long brown hair whom he knew he used to love fondly.
More often than not, he dreamed about a young man with dark hair who wept over him, unable to move.
Merlin sat back in his chair, his hand on his mouth. He couldn’t take his eyes from Arthur’s. And Arthur sat back in turn and brought his chair near Merlin’s so he could take his hand in his own. He then proceeded to continue with his story.
Arthur had shared all these dreams and random knowledge that popped into his head with his psychiatrist.
‘You have a psychiatrist.’
‘Yes, Merlin, I do. Can I go on?’ Arthur didn’t wait for a response. His psychiatrist had helped him so much with all this, sorting out what was core memory and what was pure dream. One day, she suggested that he take some fencing lessons, just to see what would happen. And then Arthur went. And it was so natural, so aligned with who he was, that he just knew.
He was Arthur Pendragon. He was not imagining things, and he had to find Merlin.
‘How did you manage to locate me?’ Merlin interrupted, then shook his head vigorously. ‘Scratch that, never mind. Arthur, I can’t express enough how sorry I am that I wasn’t there when you returned from Avalon. I failed in my duty to you, and for that I am deeply sorry.’
‘You didn’t fail anything. Fortunately for you, I’ve worked hard with my psychiatrist on my anger towards you.’
Merlin felt his heart sink.
‘I was not angry that you weren’t there when I woke up in Avalon. With memories slowly returning, I remembered all those secrets that you kept from me. That was the reason I was so angry.’
‘Arthur—‘
‘I know.’
Merlin fell silent. Two years. Almost two whole bloody years. And there Merlin was peacefully living his life— his break from his mission well hidden in his mountain. And meanwhile, his king had returned, and he had no idea. How could it have happened? Why hadn't his magic—
But it had. His magic bloody well informed him of Arthur’s return. He had just been so blind to it. Self-absorbed as he was, he didn’t take the time to read the signs around him.
‘Merlin. Don’t be an idiot, and spare us some of your self-flagellation. I promise it’s fine.’ Arthur tightened his grip on Merlin's hand and placed his other hand on his shoulder, seeking his gaze. When their eyes met, Arthur smiled softly at Merlin. It was a sight he wasn't used to.
His memories of his time in Camelot drew him back into his mind, and none of them included this version of Arthur. Merlin couldn't remember him being so patient and caring, let alone the romantic side of him. Which led him to...
‘You… wait, you flirted with me earlier? Was that a part of Gabriel?’
‘No.’ Arthur chuckled briefly, straightening himself in his chair. ‘I figured this part out on my own.’
‘But what about Gwen? What about girls!?’ Surely Arthur hadn’t changed that much.
‘I think you know my wife died more than a millennium ago. And I had some time to grieve her as much as I remembered her at the time.’ Arthur stated. He was calmer than a moment ago. ‘I still appreciate women, though.’
Arthur leaned back in his chair, propping his elbow on the backrest for support. ‘Aren't you the one who's crossed the ages, or are you just as clueless as before?’ His tone was amused again, and he smirked at Merlin. ‘Don’t you know about bisexuality yet?’ The utter clotpole gave him a wink.
And Merlin lost it. Completely lost it at this final statement. Of course, they needed to discuss so many more subjects. But Merlin knew the main events. Arthur seemed fine. Seemed mature and relaxed. And Merlin be damned if he didn’t find it absolutely and hopelessly attractive.
So Merlin did what he did best: magic. With a small movement of his hand, Arthur was pulled from his chair onto Merlin's lap and thoroughly kissed on the lips. If Arthur was surprised by Merlin's sudden change in behaviour, he didn't show it and eagerly kissed him back.
Arthur rested his upper arms on Merlin's shoulder, his fingers exploring Merlin's hair. One of his hands moved to stroke Merlin's cheek, just as he had done before their conversation. Their breathing was erratic through their passionate kiss as they opened, bit, and licked each other's lips. Merlin responded with equal fervour, holding onto Arthur's back and tilting his head back to deepen the kiss.
Merlin's hands slid under Arthur's shirt, embracing his smooth skin covered in goosebumps. Arthur moaned into his mouth and straddled closer to him.
Merlin loved every second of it. He loved Arthur's passion, his touch, their kisses, and the weight of Arthur on his thighs. With all his repressed feelings, he had almost forgotten how desperately in love he was with his king. Everything that he had buried deep inside resurfaced all at once, overwhelming and exhilarating.
Arthur leaned back over Merlin, but this time, the poor chair on which they were passionately kissing didn't approve. It tumbled down, and Merlin, with a swift movement, stopped their fall just in time with his magic.
They stared at each other, breathless, until Merlin gently let them drop to the floor, Arthur still on top of him. He sat up on Merlin's hips and took a deep breath with a long exhale, his eyes fixed on Merlin.
‘Still weird seeing you perform magic.’ Arthur commented.
‘You didn’t work on it with your psychiatrist?’ Merlin was half-joking.
'I didn’t fancy the idea of explaining magic to someone who is science-based. It would have been like explaining to you how to properly use a sword.’
‘Ass.’
Arthur smiled at that. ‘Didn’t you usually call me a dollophead instead?’
‘I have a wide range of adjectives for your royal pratness.’ Merlin emphasised his words by pressing his fingers into Arthur's muscular thighs.
Arthur put his hand over Merlin’s on his thighs, stroking them gently. His smile grew fonder as he examined Merlin’s face again, like he was the one who hadn’t seen the other’s face for fifteen centuries.
::::: * :::::
Later that day, they found themselves sitting on a small two-place sofa facing a large window in the mezzanine. They had shared a meal together, with Arthur observing Merlin as he prepared their simple cottage soup. Between sips of red wine, Merlin took the opportunity to ask Arthur more questions about his awakening. As Arthur shared more details, Merlin couldn't help but feel guilty and sorry for his King. He deeply regretted missing out on all these significant moments in Arthur's new life.
But amidst his regret, Merlin also felt a strange sense of gratitude, albeit in a twisted and selfish way. If he had been present on the shores of Lake Avalon when Arthur returned, without any recollection of who Merlin was or anything from his past, Merlin would have struggled to accept the unfairness of the situation.
‘There’s still one thing that I don’t understand.’ Merlin said, breaking the cosy silence between them.
‘I highly doubt there's only one, but go ahead,’ Arthur replied teasingly.
Merlin smiled, decided not to take the bait this time, and posed his question. ‘Why didn’t you say who you were upfront?" What was the point of Gabriel?’
Arthur glanced at him briefly before turning his gaze towards the snowfall outside, the snowflakes growing denser. It was a scene to admire from the warmth and closeness of their cosy spot.
‘I didn't want to trick you, if that's what you're asking,’ Arthur said in an apologetic tone. ‘At first, I wasn’t even sure it was you. You may not have aged, but…’ He hesitated. ‘I don’t know.’
‘You didn’t have enough memory of me to know.’ Merlin stated, more as an affirmation than a question.
‘I did! I do remember you.’ Arthur ran his hand through his hair, and suddenly, Merlin had a vivid image in his mind of their time in Camelot. Such details had faded over time, and Merlin was both happy and sad to remember this little habit Arthur had when he struggled to express himself.
‘I believe you, Arthur.’ Merlin said, hoping to alleviate the worry and unease in Arthur's mind. It seemed to work, as Arthur lifted his eyes to meet Merlin's once again, offering a soft smile.
‘Gabriel is one small bit of me now, I guess.’ Arthur shifted on the sofa to face Merlin. ‘Listen, I know it sounds strange, but I wanted to take things slow. Not like that, you idiotic moron,’ he added, noticing Merlin's sceptical look. ‘I wanted to wait for the right time, and... I just wanted to enjoy some time seeing you as someone else, to meet you through new eyes.’
‘I rescued you from an avalanche, and you wanted to meet me through new eyes?’ Merlin retorted.
‘Well the avalanche wasn’t really planned.’
‘But you had planned to trick me beforehand; that’s what you’re saying?’
‘I’ve told you, I didn’t want to trick you!’ Impatient, Arthur sighed. ‘Merlin, I’m sure you know that.’
Merlin could understand Arthur’s reasons. Finding Merlin must have been the final piece that allowed Arthur to fully acknowledge that his memories and dreams were real. That he truly was Arthur Pendragon, who had lived over a millennium ago, and that Merlin, his manservant and best friend, was the greatest sorcerer to have ever walked the earth. Merlin contemplated how Arthur must have felt upon seeing him, hearing him say his name, and following him to his home.
‘Yes, I know. I’m sorry I…’ Merlin trailed off, wanting to say that it had been a long time. But Arthur already knew that. He had been there. Even if his memory still lacked some information, it was functional.
Merlin was startled when he felt Arthur's hand on his upper back, gently caressing his nape with his fingers while gazing at him. Merlin relaxed into the touch and, with newfound courage, placed his hand on Arthur's thigh as he had earlier that day.
The sun had descended behind one of the distant mountains, but the sky remained clear, casting ethereal colours through the large window. The glass of wine Arthur held projected a rainbow of colours onto the sofa in the beautiful light. Merlin looked at Arthur's face once again, appreciating its complexity and beauty.
I kissed him. I know how his lips taste against mine. And I know the texture of his tongue.
Merlin felt a blush creeping onto his face.
‘Hey.’ Arthur’s voice was soft and low. ‘Don’t get lost, dollophead. I need you here.’
‘Can I kiss you?’ Merlin asked, his voice filled with anticipation.
Arthur's hand on his back stilled for a moment before sliding towards his shoulder as he moved closer to Merlin, setting his wine glass aside. Their faces were now mere inches apart.
‘Yes,' Arthur whispered.
Merlin's heartbeat quickened. A small smile formed on his lips before he pressed them against Arthur's, initiating a slow and deliberate kiss. He wanted to savour and explore Arthur as he deserved to. Kissing him felt natural and effortless. Merlin pressed his lips against Arthur's, savouring the sensation.
After a moment, they parted slightly, their foreheads touching. Merlin gazed into Arthur's eyes before focusing on his lips once more. He lightly licked Arthur's upper lip, causing him to inhale sharply and respond with an eager kiss.
Their tongues intertwined, Arthur leading with a certainty Merlin wished he possessed. They kissed, their caresses filled with deep longing and tenderness. Merlin felt his magic surging within him, pulsating against his skin, making him shudder.
Arthur broke the kiss to look at Merlin, his appearance slightly dishevelled.
‘You’re trembling; are you okay?’ He asked, short of breath.
‘My…’ Merlin tried to sort words inside his mouth. ‘My magic is particularly loud.’ The warlock straightened his back as he tried to gain some control.
‘Is it… your magic that I can feel against your skin?’ Arthur's gaze wandered to the skin beneath his touch, his fascination evident.
‘Not properly feel it; no, magic isn’t something that you can actually touch. But yes, you’re feeling the echo of my magic.’ Merlin replied, still breathing heavily but more composed.
Arthur looked at the skin he was touching, fascinated. ‘How did I miss so much?’ he asked quietly, his fingertips continuing their gentle exploration of Merlin's skin.
Merlin didn’t answer. He just looked at Arthur in silence, allowing him to explore his skin. He leaned again to catch Arthur’s lips once again. Arthur groaned, pressing his hand more firmly against Merlin's skin. Merlin responded by pushing Arthur back onto the sofa, straddling him, and kissing him with renewed intensity.
Arthur shifted under him, letting his hands wander around Merlin’s body like he was mapping him. They kissed like that for a long moment, altering between passionate and urgent kisses to more tender pecks.
When they eventually parted, their foreheads touched again, and a deep sense of contentment enveloped them both.
::::: * :::::
Arthur was lying next to Merlin with his eyes closed. The warlock was looking at him with deference as he was learning all his features again. He couldn’t fathom all the aspects of this new king, nor did he really need to for the moment.
Magic, old magic—the Old Religion was on the verge of awakening to reclaim its rightful place in the modern world. Despite his great age and wisdom, Merlin had no clue how magic would manifest itself in this new era.
The warlock wasn't in a rush for anything in the world. Destiny had made him wait more than his fair share, and he wasn't eager to dive into a magical mess so soon after Arthur's return. Destiny would learn, just as he had, what it meant to wait until unknown forces were ready and willing to move.
Merlin was no longer the kind of person who forgave infinitely, as he had in the past.
Arthur stirred slowly, stretching lazily and completely relaxing. His eyes fluttered open and locked onto Merlin almost instantly.
‘You’re creeping me out when I wake up, again?’ His voice was croaky, as if his tongue was still asleep, and the slur didn't really have any impact.
Merlin snorted and got up from the bed. He hadn’t slept at all last night.
They had spent the entire evening discussing their experiences during their time apart. Merlin made sure Arthur hadn't suffered too much from his memory loss. When he felt Arthur needed a reminder of certain events, he told him the missing parts, such as the time when Arthur had to convince his father not to kill Merlin after he confessed his magic in front of the whole court.
‘So you were saying the truth!’ Arthur had blurted out when Merlin recalled the moment.
‘Of course I was! I’ve always—‘ Arthur’s wooden glare stopped him. ‘—Almost always said the truth to you! It’s not a surprise.' He paused to look Arthur in the eye, his face reflecting his usual mix of sassiness and seriousness. 'You shouldn’t be surprised.’
And the evening stretched into the night without either of them really realising it. And it was fascinating how Arthur’s personality came back as they talked. The more memories they shared, the more their old dynamic bloomed once again. Gabriel had been a little different—but had he, really, for the few hours they actually interacted with each other?
Merlin was starting to believe that he just had to come to terms with the fact that Arthur had changed during his time alone since he rose from Avalon. And that Merlin wasn’t with him when it happened. He felt a strong, menacing nausea take over his body at the thought.
Sighing at all his body's aches from the tiredness of a sleepless night, Merlin looked back at Arthur. He was still gazing at him, now sitting in his bed with one arm supporting him behind him. He gave the impression of someone studying a rare specimen, not wanting to scare them off.
Merlin asked him what he wanted to eat for breakfast just to escape this examination. This… this, between them, was so unfamiliar that Merlin needed some time. He had dearly missed his king, and having him back all at once was kind of overwhelming after all his years of loneliness and quiet existence.
Arthur stood up from the bed, ignoring the question, and stood in front of Merlin, placing his hands on his friend's shoulders, mimicking the gesture from the day before.
‘Merlin.’ Arthur said, his eyes softening. ‘Talk to me.’
‘I don’t know if I can go back to Avalon with you.’
There. It was finally said. Arthur’s hands fell by his side, and his head lowered as well. He seemed lost. Merlin felt even more guilty, but he had to speak his mind.
‘Why?’ asked Arthur, meeting Merlin's gaze.
‘Everything changed. I changed. I don’t even know if magic can really go back to what it was in our time.’
‘How could we know if we don’t try? You said you felt your magic being loud yesterday. Isn’t that proof enough for you?’
Merlin said nothing. Yes, his magic seemed to react and draw strength from an unknown source lately. But did it mean that it was finally time to restore and spread magic again?
‘This time isn't ready for magic. They won't accept it. I and others like me will be condemned just as we used to be.’
Arthur looked hurt by his statement, but he didn't let go and instead held onto Merlin's hands.
'Look, I don't know why I was brought back now either. I don't know what purpose I can fulfil in this world filled with technology. Magic may seem like a scam compared to all of this, but then what's the point of it all?’ Arthur gestured to himself and Merlin with one hand while keeping Merlin's hands in the other.
‘I don’t know.’ Merlin spoke quietly, looking at their joined hands. He lowered his head, resting his forehead against Arthur's, just as they had done the night before.
‘You’re not alone anymore.’ Arthur whispered, closing his eyes. ‘We’ll figure it all out together.’
‘No one is here anymore to answer our questions. We are the old ones.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
Merlin looked up and straightened his back, pulling away from Arthur’s embrace.
‘It does matter, Arthur.’ The warlock crossed his arms over his chest, frowning while narrowing his eyes. ‘There is a reason for me to live impossibly long and for your prophesied return from Avalon. We are supposed to restore magic and unify Albion altogether.’
Arthur mirrored Merlin’s posture and stroked his jaw with his hand. ‘There is still someone we can ask for guidance.’
Merlin raised his eyebrow, waiting for Arthur to explain himself.
‘The Lady of the Lake, the one who told me where to find you.’