Summary: Set ten years after S5E13, we get a little insight into Merlin's life beside Arthur in Camelot.
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Merlin’s legs ached a little as he climbed the stairs. That was something he’d noticed, recently – small aches and pains, his joints complaining in ways they never used to in his youth. Only the other week, he’d pulled a muscle swinging himself up onto his horse, and now he rubbed absentmindedly at a niggling pain in his elbow as he made his way through the corridors.
So lost was he in his thoughts that upon turning a corner, he slammed bodily into a hurrying Sir Leon. Had it not been for the knight’s quick reflexes – or the flash of gold in Merlin’s eyes – he would have found himself on the ground, with more than just a sore elbow. As it was, they both stumbled a little before disentangling their limbs from one another and each making a valiant attempt at appearing dignified.
That only lasted a moment, though – old friends as they were, such pretences had long since vanished out of the window. Merlin was the first to break into laughter.
“Sorry, Leon. I think my head was miles away.”
Leon mirrored Merlin’s expression of good humour. “Quite alright, Merlin. I should be more careful not to surprise you like that.”
“Me? Surprised?” Merlin snorted, feigning calmness. “I’m never surprised.”
Leon raised an eyebrow. “Well then, you won’t be at all surprised to learn that the King has called a council meeting this morning.”
Merlin’s eyebrows shot up behind the curls of his fringe. “He’s done what?” Surprise was indeed his first response, quickly followed by exasperation, fondness, and the smallest hint of worry that was quickly assuaged by the utter lack of urgency in Leon’s body language.
“I was actually on my way to find you. A good bit of luck that you quite literally ran into me. Come on Merlin, his Royal Highness awaits your presence.” Leon turned and began striding back the way he had come.
Merlin let out a heavy sigh, and grumbled under his breath. “His Royal Pratness, more like.”
If Leon heard his complaint, he didn’t say anything as they walked the short distance together to the council chambers. Merlin studied his companion as he hurried along through the familiar halls of the castle. Was that a grey hair he saw? And were the laughter lines creasing a little deeper on Leon’s face these days? It warmed Merlin’s heart a little to see his friends changing like this – so slowly, yet day by day they all grew a little older. For a moment he tried to imagine Gwaine in the same way, but even after ten years it still hurt to think about for too long. Gwaine would never get the opportunity to go grey, or feel his knees aching from a single flight of stairs.
The chamber doors opening mercifully broke Merlin from his thoughts.
“Ah. Merlin. Nice of you to join us, at last.”
Merlin bit back a smile at the teasing tone of Arthur’s voice. Instead, he arranged his features into something a little more haughty, and bit back, “Well, if the great King of Camelot could find it within himself to give his most loyal aides more than five minutes notice of important meetings, I would be very grateful.”
Arthur cracked then, grin spreading across his handsome features. His hair was a little longer than it had once been, swept back off his face and held there by his crown. A jawline and cheekbones that hadn’t softened with age had only been sharpened more by the short-trimmed beard Arthur had let himself grow in the last year or two. His eyes were as sharp as ever as they sparkled with mirth, but his frown lines were deeper than they once were. He sat back into his chair, the very image of power, strength and kindness – and gestured to the empty seat at his right hand side. Merlin allowed himself to indulge, shooting a twinkling half-smirk in Arthur’s direction before striding around the round table to sit in the proffered seat. He adjusted his robes as he sat, brushing imaginary lint from the navy velvet gambeson, noticing a loose line of silver stitching at the hem and briefly wondering where he’d left his needle and thread.
“Some of you may be wondering why I called a council meeting today.” Clear and confident, Arthur’s voice rang though the high-ceilinged room. It seemed to reverberate through Merlin’s bones, dancing with the dust motes in the shaft of sunlight that perfectly illuminated Arthur’s golden crown and made his eyes shine like blue skies in the summer. Unaware of Merlin’s staring – or perhaps purposefully ignoring it – Arthur continued. “I’m aware many of you have more important things to be doing than listening to your King at council.” His knee bumped Merlin’s under the table, a silent jest full of affection that went unnoticed by the rest of the room. “But next week marks ten years since…” Merlin watched his Adam’s apple bob as Arthur swallowed, next words clearly sticking in his throat. Merlin’s hand found its way to the small of Arthur’s back, warm and steady. “Since the death of my sister, and the resulting peace that fell across not only our kingdom, but many of the other kingdoms of Albion.” Arthur paused again, considering how best to continue. “I know…many of you lost loved ones. I know it is perhaps not a time in our lives that we wish to remember. But I do feel that we owe a great debt to those who fought, those who fell. And we owe it to ourselves to allow a moment of celebration, for the peace we gained from the sacrifices of those brave warriors who gave their lives such that Camelot may see brighter days.” Arthur sat up a little straighter in his chair now, emboldened by the nodding of heads around the table. “It also marks ten years since all peoples became accepted in Camelot.”
Merlin’s heart thudded in his chest. Had it been that long, truly? Sometimes it still felt like yesterday that he had been living in constant fear for his life. But no, they were a whole decade away from that time now…a whole decade in which Merlin had forced himself to unlearn a lifetime’s habits of hiding. In which Arthur had forced himself to unlearn a lifetime’s worth of his father’s words and ideals. In which the King of Camelot had appointed a mere servant to the role of Court Sorcerer.
“Therefore, I propose a festival. I shall give a speech to the people, and we shall provide ample food and drink for every man, woman and child to feast in the streets of Camelot. There will be music, there will be dancing, there will be magic. But most importantly of all…there will be peace.”
Murmurs of assent hurried around the table, knights and noblemen and representatives from outlying villages all united in agreement, for once. In the momentary reprieve from being the focus of attention, Arthur turned to Merlin, leaning over to speak lowly in his ear.
“Perhaps I don’t tell you enough, my love, but…none of this would have happened without you. I’m immensely grateful.”
Merlin met Arthur’s gaze with equal amounts of shock and suspicion, still not used to this older, mature version of Arthur who simply said what he was thinking, without hiding his true meaning behind insults and half-compliments. But all he saw in Arthur’s eyes was adoration, and honesty, and if Merlin was grateful for one thing above all else, it was the way Arthur looked at him now he really, truly knew who he was. He didn’t think he would ever get used to the feeling.
But then the moment was over, because Arthur was turning back to the round table, delegating responsibilities with a broad smile and that gentle air of authority that had become such a hallmark of the King of Camelot over the last few years of peace.
Merlin, for his part, simply watched the way Arthur’s lips formed around his words, watched the way he gestured with calloused hands, watched the way his pulse drummed steadily beneath the skin where his neck met his collarbone, real and solid and alive. Not a day went by when he didn’t think back to it – the day he almost lost Arthur forever.
Just…just hold me, please.
Perhaps his magic had gifted him with an incredible memory, or perhaps those words had just been burned into his very existence, because he could still hear Arthur saying them, feel Arthur’s weight on his chest as the life slipped from him.
But before he could lose himself in the mire of memories, Merlin reminded himself of where he was, when he was. The prophecy of Arthur’s fall at Mordred’s hand had not foreseen the price Merlin was willing to pay to save his King – after all, even for the most experienced Seers, the future was a fickle being. And there wasn’t a day went by that Merlin was not unquestionably, unthinkingly grateful to his past self for paying said price. In doing so, he had finally begun to fulfil his destiny.
Now, an impossible ten years on, it all seemed so distant, so troubled. Peace reigned not only in Camelot, but finally, finally it reigned in Merlin’s heart and mind, too.
The council meeting had come to an end, and Merlin stayed seated at Arthur’s side as everyone else filtered from the room. When the door slammed, and they were finally alone, Merlin felt the kingly pretence drop from Arthur’s posture as he let out the breath he was holding. Arthur’s eyes closed, and he leaned his head back on the wooden seat. His hand found Merlin’s under the table, and he took it silently, fingers twining gently together like ivy. Merlin watched him a moment, drinking in the view, before copying his King and shutting his eyes. There seemed to be a silent conversation between them in the way they squeezed one another’s fingers, the way someone’s thumb would gently rub circles into the back of the other’s hand. For a while, no other words were spoken.
The hum of the square could be heard outside the windows, and occasionally footsteps would pass in the corridor. Merlin let himself relax in the warmth of the sun that now framed them both, a spotlight in an empty hall.
“Merlin?” Arthur’s voice was impossibly soft, barely stirring the air around them.
“Mmm?”
“Have you ever regretted what you did?”
Merlin opened one eye, only to find Arthur hadn’t moved a jot. Merlin closed it again.
“I’ve done a lot of things, Arthur. I regret many of them.”
“You know what I’m talking about.”
“I do?”
“Don’t be coy. You…you gave your immortality, to save my life.”
Merlin shrugged. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat, Arthur. You know this.”
“I know, I know, but…” Arthur shifted in his seat, and even with his eyes shut Merlin could feel his gaze on him, could feel Arthur’s restlessness, his lingering insecurity. “This morning, when I woke up, I looked across at you. You look…different. You look older.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re ageing, Merlin, just like the rest of us. And it’s because of me.”
Merlin sighed, and opened his eyes, rolling his head around to meet Arthur’s gaze, flickering with guilt.
“Do you really think I would have done it if I didn’t want to?”
“Well, I know, but – ”
“But nothing, Arthur.” Merlin’s free hand reached up to brush the side of Arthur’s face. “Stop worrying your pretty blonde head about it. If I’m honest, this…this is the ideal scenario. I can’t say that the idea of immortality ever really sat right with me, anyway. Imagine it, Arthur…I’d have to watch you die. All of you, and then carry on living alone for all eternity.” Merlin paused for effect, trying not to imagine a world in which he hadn’t made it to the Isle of the Blessed in time, a world in which he had never been asked to surrender his eternal life to guarantee the survival of the man he loved. “Instead, I get to listen to you tease me about grey hairs until we die in each other’s arms and they push us out in a boat together on the Lake of Avalon.”
Arthur scrunched up his face in a way that made him look ten years younger. “I’ve never teased you about grey hairs.”
“That’s because I don’t have any. You, on the other hand…”
Merlin’s jibe was met with a friendly shove from Arthur’s shoulder, and their shared laughter felt like contentment and steady, enduring love.
Merlin waited for Arthur’s laughter to fade before he spoke again. “Look, Arthur…if there was anything Gaius taught me about age, it was that it’s not something to be feared.”
A long pause, whilst Arthur absorbed his words. “You miss him, don’t you?”
Merlin shifted in his seat. “Always.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, Arthur. I’m just glad he lived long enough to see peace in Camelot. To see me…doing this…” he gestured one elegant hand across the round table.
“He was incredibly proud of you. You do know that, Merlin?”
Merlin smiled, a huff of laughter escaping him as he remembered the closest thing he had had to a father in Camelot. “Yes…yes, I do. Very much so.”
Arthur squeezed his hand, and his warm smile served to lift the mood a little. “Come on then, o great warlock. We have a banquet to plan.”
Arthur stood, and stretched, clicking the joints in his back and yawning. He offered a hand to Merlin, and pulled him to his feet, landing a chaste kiss on his lips before pulling him into a tight hug.
Merlin voice was muffled in the shoulder of Arthur’s cloak as he spoke. “You’re not going to make me juggle at this one, are you?”
He felt Arthur’s chuckle as much as he heard it. “That depends.”
Merlin pulled back just enough to take in the scheming glint in Arthur’s eye. “On…what?”
“On whether you’re nice to me or not.”
“Oh. Well, I suppose I’d best get practicing then.”
“Yes, I suppose you’d better.” Arthur’s beam gave him away. With a final squeeze of Merlin’s waist, he led them both from the council chambers, leaving behind nothing more than a stirring of the air, and a calm silence that spoke not of all the things that could have gone wrong, but instead of all the things that had gone right.
Peace in Camelot ruled once more.
By frosty_grass on ao3