[fucking fix-it fic] welcome home
title: welcome home
wordcount: c. 600
rating: T
warnings: spoilers for entire series, tone (loneliness)
notes: don't care how awful, psychologically necessary
summary: Cafall had been a good idea.
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Every time Merlin walked by the lake, he stopped and remembered and never looked. He thought about Arthur (always). The lake and its heart used to make him feel like he would die in the vastness of being alone forever. But now when Avalon gently tugged at Merlin in its ebb and flow, it only made him faintly sad. Time had never been capable of healing any of it, but it had stopped being unbearable a long while ago. Sometimes he had gone months without thinking of Arthur. And sometimes he had spent years sleeping. It only split open and hurt to breathe once in a while.
Merlin kept walking, passed the lake, and smiled a little when his boots no longer felt like they were filled with lead and history. Despite it all, things were pretty good these days. The reason that they were pretty good quickened his footsteps, because lingering at the lake was the last thing he wanted to do.
When Merlin opened the front door of the pretty brick house with herbs in the window boxes that had been home for the past fifty years, a ridiculous golden creature bounded to greet and snuffle at him while Merlin hung his great coat and retied his long white hair, damp from the wet spring afternoon. Merlin bent to fondly pat the dog on the head and a fluffy tail wagged over black-and-white tiles. Cafall had been a terribly misbehaved puppy, but had grown to be a fine, gentle-hearted dog that reminded Merlin of his golden crown prince so much that he cried some days, noiselessly and always in secret.
Cafall had been a good idea, though. Arthur's idea, actually, even if Arthur gruffly, quietly worried about Merlin on those days.
Merlin never let Arthur see him cry. Had not since the days of Camelot, not once since Arthur stopped his immortal heart sixty-seven years, two months, and eighteen days ago on one autumn morning by simply turning a corner and existing in the world again (and Merlin, who had been just shy of thirty for a thousand years, started living again.) But Merlin always let Arthur hold him with careful arms after the fact, when Merlin’s eyes were bone dry even while his heart still felt cracked open and empty.
Cafall, silly thing, ran away from Merlin when Arthur stepped into the hallway, and it didn’t matter even a little bit that they’ve had over a half a century together this time and that they’ve been allowed to grow old together, because Merlin’s heart still burst and his head still swam with love every time. Arthur. Arthur, who loved him back, and insisted that had he loved Merlin the first time too. Arthur, who was striding towards him down their front corridor, who was now reaching a hand to the back of Merlin’s neck to tip down his face for a swift, sweet kiss. Arthur, who still had the bluest eyes and who still grinned the same way, who said “Welcome home” easily to Merlin’s playful hey when Arthur stepped back. Merlin looked and looked at the man who by now long had a head full of perpetual, perplexing gray but who would always be Merlin’s golden king.
Arthur, who had waited too, and understood.
Merlin linked his fingers through Arthur’s and followed his king into their sitting room, their dog padding behind them. It still felt like drowning, most days, but in a different kind of vastness altogether, and Merlin was stupidly grateful when Arthur roughly swore more than anything when Merlin doubted. Things were more than pretty good these days. Things were beautiful, things were brilliant, and forever was a luminous new promise.
#
#
wordcount: c. 600
rating: T
warnings: spoilers for entire series, tone (loneliness)
notes: don't care how awful, psychologically necessary
summary: Cafall had been a good idea.
#
Every time Merlin walked by the lake, he stopped and remembered and never looked. He thought about Arthur (always). The lake and its heart used to make him feel like he would die in the vastness of being alone forever. But now when Avalon gently tugged at Merlin in its ebb and flow, it only made him faintly sad. Time had never been capable of healing any of it, but it had stopped being unbearable a long while ago. Sometimes he had gone months without thinking of Arthur. And sometimes he had spent years sleeping. It only split open and hurt to breathe once in a while.
Merlin kept walking, passed the lake, and smiled a little when his boots no longer felt like they were filled with lead and history. Despite it all, things were pretty good these days. The reason that they were pretty good quickened his footsteps, because lingering at the lake was the last thing he wanted to do.
When Merlin opened the front door of the pretty brick house with herbs in the window boxes that had been home for the past fifty years, a ridiculous golden creature bounded to greet and snuffle at him while Merlin hung his great coat and retied his long white hair, damp from the wet spring afternoon. Merlin bent to fondly pat the dog on the head and a fluffy tail wagged over black-and-white tiles. Cafall had been a terribly misbehaved puppy, but had grown to be a fine, gentle-hearted dog that reminded Merlin of his golden crown prince so much that he cried some days, noiselessly and always in secret.
Cafall had been a good idea, though. Arthur's idea, actually, even if Arthur gruffly, quietly worried about Merlin on those days.
Merlin never let Arthur see him cry. Had not since the days of Camelot, not once since Arthur stopped his immortal heart sixty-seven years, two months, and eighteen days ago on one autumn morning by simply turning a corner and existing in the world again (and Merlin, who had been just shy of thirty for a thousand years, started living again.) But Merlin always let Arthur hold him with careful arms after the fact, when Merlin’s eyes were bone dry even while his heart still felt cracked open and empty.
Cafall, silly thing, ran away from Merlin when Arthur stepped into the hallway, and it didn’t matter even a little bit that they’ve had over a half a century together this time and that they’ve been allowed to grow old together, because Merlin’s heart still burst and his head still swam with love every time. Arthur. Arthur, who loved him back, and insisted that had he loved Merlin the first time too. Arthur, who was striding towards him down their front corridor, who was now reaching a hand to the back of Merlin’s neck to tip down his face for a swift, sweet kiss. Arthur, who still had the bluest eyes and who still grinned the same way, who said “Welcome home” easily to Merlin’s playful hey when Arthur stepped back. Merlin looked and looked at the man who by now long had a head full of perpetual, perplexing gray but who would always be Merlin’s golden king.
Arthur, who had waited too, and understood.
Merlin linked his fingers through Arthur’s and followed his king into their sitting room, their dog padding behind them. It still felt like drowning, most days, but in a different kind of vastness altogether, and Merlin was stupidly grateful when Arthur roughly swore more than anything when Merlin doubted. Things were more than pretty good these days. Things were beautiful, things were brilliant, and forever was a luminous new promise.
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