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Three weeks had passed since Arthur had returned from the seemingly endless sleep he had endured in Avalon. He could still feel the way his throat had burned as he struggled to make his way out of the lake and to the shore. His chainmail suffocated him, limbs numb as the frigid water soaked him down to his bones. Relief came once he stepped onto the shore, feet meeting solid ground and his drenched body encircled by warm, trembling arms. Those same arms that had held him upon the day of his return held him now as they sat on the couch in Merlin’s modern-day flat. They lay entangled in one another, watching something mundane on the box with the moving pictures that Merlin had yet to properly explain to him.
Arthur had come to dread the stillness that evenings brought with them. Their days were filled to the brim with things Merlin insisted he absolutely needed to see. There were inventions he would never have dreamed of, a culture so different from his own, and a language he couldn’t understand without Merlin’s constant need to translate. It was overwhelming at the best of times, but it kept him busy. It kept his mind busy. When the bustle of the day died down, and the quiet settled in, the thoughts that had plagued him since his return broke through the dam that the distractions had built up. A fresh wave of grief washed over him as he remembered.
He would never see Camelot again. Not as it once was. The people that had been so loyal to their now fallen king, the markets littering the streets, his knights, his friends -they were all now lost to time. The weight of 1500 years lay heavy on his shoulders in those moments. The faces of those that had passed flitting before his eyes as he desperately tried to hold on to them. A part of him, a small part that only came out in these quiet moments, wished that the waters of the lake he had crawled out of would have claimed him instead. It wasn’t a thought he entertained often, choosing instead to shove it to the back of his mind as soon as it surfaced.
The soft click of the moving picture box turning off ripped him out of his thoughts. The arm that had been loosely thrown around him tightened now, chapped lips grazing over his hair and lightly kissing his forehead.
“I can feel you thinking, Arthur,” Merlin said softly.
“You should try it sometime, Merlin. Might do you some good,” he responded, his words holding no real heat behind them. The sorcerer huffed amused beside him but didn’t bother to respond. “You didn’t have to turn it off,” Arthur added, desperate to break the silence again.
“You weren’t watching.”
“But you were watching,” Arthur argued.
“I’ve seen it a thousand times,” Merlin shrugged, leaning his head further into the crook of the blond’s neck. Arthur wondered if he meant it. If that statement was more than a mere exaggeration. While he had slumbered in Avalon for 1500 years, the man beside him had lived through every second of it. Through the fall of his- of their kingdom. Through wars that caused the sorcerer’s eyes to gloss over anytime he spoke about them. Through new and old friends dying because death would never claim him like it did them. He felt a pang of guilt shoot through his heart as he thought about the mountain of grief the man he loved had carried with him all this time. He had been alone for centuries and Arthur’s heart ached for him.
“What’s wrong?” Merlin asked, removing his arm from Arthur’s shoulder and sitting up to get a better look at him. He missed the absence of his warmth already. The former King opened his mouth to answer, the words ‘nothing’ or ‘I’m alright’ dancing on his lips, wanting to put the conversation to rest. A glance at the other man’s tired eyes stopped him short. They had promised not to lie about things like this again. Not after what happened at Camlann.
“I was just thinking of Camelot again. Of the time that’s passed,” Arthur whispered, not trusting the strength of his voice to speak any louder. Another minute passed before either of them spoke again, their breathing and the steady sound of cars driving by on the streets filling the room.
“I still think about them,” Merlin started quietly, keeping his eyes fixed on Arthur. “I don’t remember what some of their faces look like, it’s been so long. I feel guilty about that sometimes.” The grief that emanated from the other man as he spoke was palpable and he felt his mouth go dry. He could think of nothing to say. Merlin continued.
“I think about what could have gone differently. If it would have mattered if I had told you about my magic sooner. What would have happened had I been there for Morgana before she met Morgause. If we could’ve grown old together and been happy had I gotten you to Avalon in time.” The tears fell steadily now. Arthur was surprised to notice that they were not coming from Merlin but from his own eyes. He could not recall the last time he had shed tears so freely. It was unbecoming of a King according to his late father. But, he reminded himself bitterly, he was a King no longer.
Arthur threw himself at Merlin, holding the sorcerer tight against his chest as 1500 years of pain flowed between the two of them. He could feel Merlin’s hands grasping desperately at the back of his shirt, grounding himself in the reality of the moment.
“For all that I have lost, for all that I have had to endure, I am grateful that you are still by my side,” Arthur breathed, the words leaving him of their own volition.
“I know you’d be useless without your favorite manservant,” Merlin murmured, voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt. He was deflecting with humor again. Arthur had noticed the man’s need to avert anything remotely having to do with his emotions right away. This was no time for aversion, however. He let go of Merlin, bringing him away from his chest and placing his hands on the side of the sorcerer’s face. He let his thumbs run carefully over the man’s trembling jawline.
“No,” Arthur began sternly, finding the strength he had lacked earlier. “I would be useless without you. There is nothing that we can do to change what has occurred. We need only focus on what is happening now.”
“Will you try to focus on the present as well?” Merlin asked, resting his hand on top of one of the hands cupping his face. “I know that you think about it too. What we could have done differently.”
“I will try,” Arthur nodded after a moment. He didn't bother denying that his mind dwelled on those 'what if' scenarios more than he liked to admit.
“Then I will try as well,” Merlin agreed, leaning forward to meet the man he loved in the middle and sealing their promise with a short, chaste kiss. Arthur kept his forehead pressed against Merlin’s as they pulled apart, the warmth of their breaths mingling between them.
“I think we’d best go to bed. We’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow,” Merlin suggested, breaking the silence that threatened to hang between them again. Arthur smiled.
“Let’s go then.”
The stillness of the night seemed to bother him no longer as they made their way down the hall into their room. The pain of losing everything he had ever know hadn’t suddenly disappeared, but the ache in his heart had lessened. He had Merlin, who had waited for him, who was tangible and present when nothing else was. He supposed he wasn’t as lost as he had thought. Arthur may never be able to walk the cobbled roads of Camelot again, but what he had now, it was enough. The darkness that lingered over his mind during nights like these gave way to light at the sound of Merlin’s laughter as they fell on to the bed. For the first time since he had returned, he felt like he belonged. This was his home now. Merlin was his home.