The King and his Sorcerer

[tarayith]

Title: The King and his Sorcerer
Author: tarayith
Word Count: approx. 10,000
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Rating: R
Warnings: Character Death (neither of our boys though!)
Summary: There are many tales told of the Court of King Arthur. This is a tale of the time before the legends had begun. Merlin wakes up in Arthur's bed five times and incidentally discovers time travel along the way.
Notes: This was totally supposed to be a tiny drabble fic but like I said to pobbit it turned into a sprawling, messy epic of Merlin/Arthur love and also the dragon and maybe some dryads...and it grew to 10,000 words O.o



The King and his Sorcerer

There are many tales told of the court of King Arthur. Of the Knights of the Round Table and their quests. Of the sword Excalibur. And of the Sorcerer Merlin. Their deeds weave a tapestry so rich that their splendour will never fade and their names will never pass out of memory.

This is a tale of the time before the legends had begun. When the King was still a prince and the Sorcerer still a warlock. This is a tale of how Merlin discovered that time is not so linear after all.

It began with an odd conversation.

"Merlin," Arthur said slowly, looking at the stains covering his armour. "What do you call this?"

Merlin, just entering the room, stopped at the threshold and blinked. "Er," he said.

"Really, is it too much to ask that you occasionally actually do your job?" he thrust the armour into Merlin's arms, ignoring the vaguely hurt look on his manservant's face.

"But, what have you done to it?" Merlin accused, turning the soiled metal over and over in his hands.

Arthur gave him a look, the one which suggested he was being even more of an idiot than usual. "The tournament, Merlin? Fighting, jousting, that sort of thing. Don't tell me you're developing another mental affliction."

Merlin had just enough time to start worrying that maybe he was, because this armour had been perfectly clean and polished when he left it in his room no more than ten minutes ago, when Arthur said: "And hurry up about it. It needs to be ready for tomorrow."

Merlin blinked, feeling like he must be in a dream. "Tomorrow, Sire? I thought today was the last of the celebrations?"

Arthur, in the midst of pulling off his boots, gave him a look as one would a particularly annoying child. "No, Merlin," he said very slowly. "Today is the first."

"Right," Merlin said, because what else can you say when time has apparently unravelled itself in your sleep? "I'll just be, ah, off then. Shall I?"

He left without waiting for an answer because, well, this could be a problem.

The problem with living time backwards, Merlin rapidly discovered, was that he had no idea of what had come before. As if that wasn't bad enough, his previous memories of a time that went forward were fading, replaced instead by the days that came after them.

All of which had the added bonus of making him seem even more incompetent than normal. There were upsides, however, insofar as being able to dodge a wayward wine goblet, but only because actually he remembered being drenched by it a few seconds later, was at all useful. It seemed to afford him, at times, moments of startling clarity and insight and then promptly relegate him back to the very bottom of mediocrity.

People had started to notice too, not the least of whom was Arthur who was giving him strange looks and making pointed comments like "please try not to embarass me too much in front of Lord DuVere. Or at least, more than normal."

It needed to be sorted out. And Merlin's first source of help was, as ever, the dragon.

The dragon was wholly unhelpful. And also, had a penchant for Capitalising Seemingly Random Words.

"Our Past and Future are Forever Intertwined," it rumbled with a smug air. "Just as are you and the Young Prince, who will be and has been the Once and Future King. Just as I am ever here and yet not. You must find that which connects us all and complete the Cycle."

"Right," said Merlin. "Thanks a lot." The sound of the dragon's gleeful humming followed him up to the surface.

Arthur generally made it a rule of thumb not to enquire too heavily on the subject of his manservant's private life or personal health, for reasons he'd really rather not go into too deeply. But after several very disconcerting conversations, Arthur found himself obliged to ask:

"Why are you even more idiotic this week than last, Merlin?"

To be fair, that hadn't been how he'd planned to ask. In his head, it had sounded much more like "I'm being very caring, really, in bothering to ask at all. So obviously, now you must tell me your problem and I will tell you that you are an idiot."

What Merlin said was: "Um, didn't you say that tomorrow?"

And Arthur decided there was something quite wrong here.

He ended up spending a very unfruitful morning in Gaius' chambers trying to subtly convey the idea that something was up with Merlin while also trying not to just shout: "for God's sake, just open your damned magic books and tell me why Merlin is being stranger than normal!" Except he was fairly certain that Gaius didn't know that he knew, and that if he did know that he knew, he might have a heart attack. He was also reasonably sure that his father knew and that Gaius knew that his father knew, but that if his father knew that Arthur knew, Gaius might actually have to die. And then Merlin would be an idiot forever.

So instead, he spent the morning watching the physician make a show of consulting ancient, moldy, non-magical books and postulating wild theories until he slowly came to the realisation that maybe he needed to leave first before Gaius would consult said magical books.

He took his leave. Later, in training, he accidentally bludgeoned one of his knights when not paying attention. He blamed Merlin all evening.

Except, Merlin was actually here tonight. So he didn't say a word.

It didn't help that time didn't seem to want to move along at a normal pace. Sometimes, he was only seconds out which merely gave him a dizzy sense of deja-vu. Other times he could be days out, which was more troubling. Once, terrifyingly, he had thought himself to be several decades out, standing silent atop a hillock in the dark of night as countless funeral pyres snaked up to touch the inky sky.

There were flashes, sometimes, of a future he'd really rather not see. Of Arthur facing off against the now-grown druid boy and Excalibur lying broken by its King's feet. Of a King's pyre and a King's burial, two giant, ornate doors slipping silently into the world at the base of a hill and a bell tolling solemnly from beneath the sea.

But sometimes, there were flashes of glorious things. A huge oak which felt of home, and a round table cut from its flanks, quests worthy of story-telling, of Excalibur embedded somehow, inexplicably, in the centre of a huge anvil in a church courtyard on a snowy morning or else rising from the lake, water sloughing down her blade.

But mostly of magic returned to its rightful place and Camelot blossoming under her gentle caress. Of how dragons once more filled the skies, and creatures of yore frolicked in the forests in the hours of moonlight, of mermaids spinning between the waves and unicorns standing vigil over quiet pools of silver.

He ached for those times, and when he left them and found himself breathing quietly in the dark of his own room and his own time, he could still hear the distant echo of hunting trumpets in forest glens and the sounds of music and dancing.

Many disconcerting things had happened to him in the last few days (weeks, months, years) and Merlin had felt like screaming several times and had come up with fifty three separate ways of emasculating the dragon, but none of them had been quite so disconcerting as the morning he woke to find himself in Arthur's bed.

With Arthur still in it. Awake. And staring at him.

"Er," said Merlin.

Arthur was, gratifyingly, similarly speechless. "Um," he said. And then: "I think maybe you should leave and we'll never say anything of this again."

"Right," said Merlin and began disentangling himself from the sheets, reasonably impressed at how unflappable they both were. Until, that was, Arthur made a choked noise that sounded half amused and half terrified.

"Merlin, what are you wearing?"

Merlin paused and looked himself over with a feeling of dread.

Right, so, the garlands of pink and yellow flowers possibly weren't the most manly of decorations, but he reckoned his pride could deal with them. Until he looked up and found that Arthur was, in fact, looking at the very, very short breeches he was apparently wearing, which were green and almost shiny and apparently made of vines.

He had a sudden flashback to a glen at midnight and dryads dancing around a bonfire, insisting that he join in. There had been wine involved, probably too much, and although Arthur had been there, it had been a different Arthur and it seemed dreadfully unfair that he was having to face the consequences alone.

He very carefully avoiding thinking of a future Arthur waking up in similar attire, and that there might also have been some kind of weird dryad-bonding ceremony, but he was also very carefully not thinking about that either.

So of course what he said was: "I think I may have got married last night."

And if Arthur looked disappointed before it was replaced with joking and remarks like "Didn't realise this is how it's done in Ealdor! Though the flowers do suit you--", he couldn't very well reply with "No, I think I married you. Only you don't remember because it hasn't happened yet."

Merlin stole one of Arthur's cloaks and ran back to Gaius' chambers as quickly as possibly. He viciously hoped that future-Arthur was somehow in an even more embarrassing situation than this and clung to the thought that when he got this time-thing sorted out, he would one day have the pleasure of witnessing that. And he would laugh. A lot.

Gaius was remarkably unfazed by the whole thing. Merlin decided that if seeing his apprentice bedecked in flowers and vines didn't throw him then hearing how he was jumping through time couldn't be much worse. Apparently, the dragon's nonsensical ramblings meant something to Gaius, because he immediately brought down one of his illegal books from a very high shelf and started paging through it, muttering to himself. Merlin took the opportunity to go and change into something a little less revealing.

"I think you have somehow managed to separate your own time from everyone else's. In order to return to your own linearity, I believe there are first a few things which should be set into their correct times."

It sounded just about as bogus as Gaius' theories usually were. Return to your own linearity? Really? But Gaius had usually been right before, so Merlin very carefully didn't say what he was thinking, and instead asked Gaius what he thought those "things" were.

"Oh, I shouldn't think I would be able to know that, dear boy. I imagine you'll have to find that out for yourself. Try thinking of something both of the past and the future and see if you may unite them."

Gaius and the dragon should set up their own group. Truly, they might even be able to riddle each other to death.

Merlin could think of nothing that dwelt in both the past and future, except for maybe himself. It was rather difficult to think of the matter, granted, when he found himself catapulted at not a moment's notice to either the past or the future, or the lord knows where (because, sometimes, he wondered whether he was even still on Earth when he saw things like horseless carriages and boxes that beamed magical pictures and machines that flew).

Two dragons circled the sky above Camelot, wheeling and trumpeting their war-cries. The red was smaller than the white, younger by far though no less fierce for it. The hide of both dragons gleamed with blood in the early morning light and on a hillock not-far distant from the castle, stood a silent army shimmering metal-grey in the rising sun. At the head of the army stood a young king, a king of potential untold and a greater destiny unfurling--

The dragons' screams cut the air as they grappled. The red lunged, jaws spread wide and the white fell limp in the red's grasp, wings beating feebly. A loosening of its jaws and the white dragon plummeted to earth and where it fell sprung up a crop of snowdrops in the height of summer.

The red dragon turned a large golden eye to the young king. "And so Camelot is yours, Uther Pendragon," it rumbled in a voice that echoed of caves and great, unfilled spaces. "Will you release me now?"

Uther made his decision.

He was no longer the legend, but would be the father of the legend.

The red dragon languished in chains beneath the castle it helped to conquer.

And magic was henceforth forbidden in Camelot

While in the middle of a dreadfully important, dreadfully boring Kingly Meeting involving the settling of some dispute between some farmers and their cows, Arthur experienced a sudden, unfortunate flashback to that morning. While before he had been bewildered and yes, a little upset at the idea of Merlin getting married to someone else without telling him, he could abruptly appreciate the sheer hilarity of Merlin waking in his bed covered in flowers.

He burst out laughing.

And promptly flushed red as the entire court turned to look at him.

"Arthur," his father asked. "Is there something you would like to share with us?"

He couldn't very well say "Sorry, I was thinking of something else which made me laugh, because this is so tediously boring". So he started trying to hash his way out.

"Er," he started, looking at Farmer number one who was watching him with his jaw agape, piece of straw sagging from out of the corner of his mouth. "I was just thinking that there is a very easy solution to this dispute," he hedged hopefully, until he realised that all the expectant looks were waiting for him to divulge said genius solution.

He looked at Farmer number two, a weather-beaten old gargoyle, who was standing with his hand proprietorially resting on the back of a large, shaggy cow, which was apparently the source of the dispute.

"I think we would all like to hear this solution, Arthur," his father stated and all assembled nodded.

"Mr," he racked his brains, "Giles here," he said indicating Farmer number two who nodded, "claims that this cow has belonged to him since it was calved while Mr Ham here claims that since the cow grazes on his land it rightfully belongs to him." Both farmers nodded and Arthur hurried on, aware that his father was watching him closely. "It would seem that the dispute can not be easily be settled since ownership of a single beast may not be divided between two families. So, why not divide the cow?"

There was silence, utter stony silence. Arthur unflinchingly gazed back at Farmer Number One who's piece of straw had finally succumbed to gravity and fallen from his mouth. "Well, er," the farmer said intelligently, "Ah, s'pose we c'n work wi' tha'," and Farmer Number Two nodded like a demented hen.

"If'n we...divides up 'er milk and calves and suchnot," he added dubiously.

Arthur had actually been thinking more along the lines of literally dividing the cow, as in butchering it, but he supposed that was maybe a bit much for a family living on next to nothing.

The meeting was hastily closed and his father stopped by to congratulate him. Arthur learnt a very important lesson that day. That, mostly, people would go with whatever he said. Because he was the prince. It seemed a suddenly terrible thing, to have that much power over people.

The second time it happened, Merlin was happy to find himself merely naked as opposed to wearing any strange magical-creature clothing. Until Arthur shifted in his sleep and was also apparently very naked and Merlin was not panicking very hard indeed. At least Arthur wasn't awake this time and he could probably slip away unnoticed.

Which was of course the moment when Arthur awoke.

"I thought you were married," was what he said which was actually quite calm of him, considering.

"No, not for a while," Merlin replied and ignored Arthur's confused look.

"Did I have too much wine at the feast last night?" Arthur wondered aloud, hoping he was still drunk and therefore hallucinating, because otherwise he would have to start thinking about the fact that Merlin was once more in his bed. Only this time, he was naked and there were certain parts of Arthur which were entirely too interested in that thought.

Merlin stared at him. "If you're asking whether we got plastered and had drunken sex, then--no. No, we didn't."

Arthur stared. "Um--no. That--that wasn't what I was wondering." Although actually, now that he mentioned it, it did seem like a rather nice idea.

Merlin nodded decisively. "Good. So--I'll just. Be on my way. Things to do, you know."

It only occurred to Arthur after Merlin had already bustled out of the door in a whirlwind of yet more stolen clothes that his manservant had most definitely been lying to him. Firstly, because there was nothing Merlin had to do, because Arthur had not yet told him to do anything.

And secondly, because he was coming to the realisation that his manservant might be a bit magical. And that would explain quite a lot.

The third time it happened, Merlin took careful stock of the situation. Firstly, he was wearing a nightshirt. Secondly, so was Arthur. So far so good (he ignored the part of his brain that was most emphatically saying that actually, no that wasn't any good). He shifted slowly, peering out of the covers and surveying the room. Which was where things started to go down-hill.

Unless Merlin had accidentally magicked them into some sort of boudoir, and he really hoped he hadn't, this was most definitely not Arthur's room. There were tapestries and cushions everywhere and it altogether looked a lot more like Morgana's room than Arthur's. Beside him, Arthur stirred, groaning faintly and Merlin turned to look at him. Arthur was a messy sleeper; his limbs sprawled at odd angles all over the bed, sheets tangled around his hips and there was a faint line of drool on the pillow. Merlin jumped in shock when one blue eye opened to look at him blearily and then was suddenly horizontal again when Arthur fisted a hand in his nightshirt and pulled him back down.

"Go back to sleep," Arthur mumbled and shifted, throwing a possessive arm over Merlin's hips.

Merlin blinked, more than a little confused as to why Arthur was taking his new bed-mate so calmly this time.

Arthur's eyes snapped open unexpectedly and he looked at Merlin intensely for a few seconds before shutting them again and swearing softly. "You did say this would happen occasionally," he muttered, sitting up and untangling the sheets from his hips.

Merlin watched for a moment and then: "What? I--what?"

Arthur finally succeeded in getting up and turned to look at him. Merlin must have looked thoroughly bewildered because Arthur started laughing and it was an older man's laugh than Merlin was used to and, actually, now that he looked closer, Arthur was older and oh crap.

He'd managed to wake up in the future.

Merlin had found it hard to resist gawping when he saw the Round Table (because he knew that he made it, had seen it). He'd found it even harder not to make a fool of himself the first time one of the Knights had turned to him and said "My lord, what do you think we should do?" This future-Arthur was finding it all far too enjoyable and Merlin settled for glaring at him through most of the rest of the meeting, until Sir Bedevere said:

"Sire, is there any news of Morgan le Fay?"

And Merlin knew he was referring to Morgana and he hated the way Arthur's eyes stopped smiling and his jaw tightened.

"She has stolen Excalibur from me," was Arthur's curt reply. "I fear we will not see it again."

There were sighs around the table and Merlin knew that this wasn't right. "Actually," he said and felt a small thrill as everyone turned to look at him, "the sword is recovered." Arthur was staring at him, mouth agape and Merlin spared a jubilant moment to think at least he could apparently still surprise this Arthur. "The Lady of the Lake holds it now."

Later, as the two of them plus Lancelot and Bedevere prepared to ride, Arthur took him aside quietly and said "How do you know?"

Merlin wasn't quite certain how he knew, but his reply was "Because I put it there," and it seemed true enough.

Merlin had very carefully avoided mentioning exactly who the Lady of the Lake was but he supposed it may have been too much to hope that Arthur wouldn't recognise the heavy, suffocating feeling of her magic.

"Nimueh," Arthur murmured angrily and Lancelot and Bedevere, too well-trained, immediately dismounted and drew their swords, looking around warily.

"She will not harm us," Merlin said, "I have trapped her here and she will do my bidding for now." Or at least, future-Merlin would trap her, but Merlin was rather enjoying what he was saying without wholly meaning to, so he stayed quiet. Besides, Lancelot and Bedevere just thought he was acting a little strangely today. There was no need to inform them that their King's Sorcerer was as good as incapacitated right now should anything untoward happen.

Lancelot was looking at the lake, silent and serene even though the wind was strong and bent the treetops. "This is no natural lake," he said and watched Merlin carefully. "I would suggest that we go no further."

Arthur watched the lake silently for a moment before turning to look at Merlin. Merlin merely shrugged and when Arthur turned back again, a small, grey boat waited at the shoreline.

Lancelot and Bedevere were dwindling in the distance, their boat carried across the mirror-like surface of the lake by unnatural currents. Eventually, the boat slowed and came to a halt and the two of them watched each other silently.

"Er," said Arthur after a long pause, "What happens now?"

"Um," said Merlin after an equally long pause, "I don't know. I hadn't really got that far."

Arthur nodded as if he were used to this. "Well, do you think you should...maybe ask for it?"

Merlin stared. "Me?" he hissed, "It's your sword!"

Arthur glared at him and then abruptly turned to the lake. "I, Arthur, High King of Albion, have come to regain the sword Excalibur which was lost to me." There was a long pause and then...nothing. Merlin frowned, thinking Arthur had maybe overdone it a bit. Nimueh was quite temperamental after all.

Arthur rounded on him. "If this is some wild--" and he broke off because the clouds were parting and the surface of the lake was abruptly swelling and writhing. The wind whipped the white-caps into a fury, rippling towards the shore and crashing against the sides of their boat. Abruptly, the wind calmed and the sun seemed to shine more brightly upon them. Ahead, at the bow of the boat, the tip of a sword appeared, rising slowly until they could see the golden hilt come into view, clutched by a slim, pale hand.

The sword remained there, risen out from the surface of the lake, held upthrust by Nimueh's arm.

Merlin watched Arthur and was gratified to see him looking impressed. "It is Excalibur," he said happily and he grinned at Merlin.

"Well, go on," Merlin said, grinning back at him. "Take it."

"What? But she's holding the hilt. You know how sharp that sword is?"

Merlin sighed and levitated the sword into the boat. So much for pomp and circumstance. Arthur was apparently thinking the same thing.

"Let's not mention that bit to Lancelot and Bedevere."

Lancelot and Bedevere were duly impressed and were apparently very taken with the idea that their King had ordered a sword to rise from a lake and, more, appeared to wrestle it from the grip of an evil sorceress.

Arthur regaled them with a slightly edited version which included less of the awkward conversations and more of the dramatic posturing. On passing by Merlin's horse as they mounted ready to leave, he added, "Let's really not mention that bit. I think this could become quite legendary."

Yes, Merlin thought, it will. He tried to ignore the sickly, dark feeling of Nimueh's magic swirling around them as they left. She would not be contained for long. He thought of the great oak from which he had fashioned the Round Table and he thought she will make that tree my tomb.

He fell asleep that night, in future-Arthur's bed and in future-Arthur's arms. When he awoke the next morning back into a cold, empty bed and a world where magic was still outlawed, he longed suddenly for that bright future and wished he had never left it.

There is one time that Merlin finds himself alone with Uther as the King lies dying in the grip of a mysterious illness which has plagued the kingdom for almost a year now. Merlin knows that this is magic rebelling, that Camelot is falling apart at the seams as the magic forces its way back into the world.

He regards the King quietly, seemingly peaceful on a small mountain of pillows. "Arthur will be greater than you," he tells him not unkindly and Uther nods, knowing it for fact. "Because Arthur knows that magic may not be denied." Uther's eyes widen as he finally realises what Arthur has known for years, what Morgana and Gwen and hell, nearly all of Camelot save the King have worked out by now. "I am a sorcerer," Merlin confirms and he sees the fear in Uther's eyes. "And I will make him great. His name will never pass out of memory."

Uther struggles to sit and Merlin goes to him, helping him up, ignoring the flinch as his hands touch the King's arms. "Promise me," Uther rasps, "swear an oath you will never harm him."

Merlin smiles. "He knows I will not, and I do not need to swear anything to you. But I will, I do, and in return, you will hold to the promise you broke almost thirty years ago. Free the dragon."

Uther stares at him and finally smiles, gives a nod and sighs his last breath. There is a moment of silence and then the ground rumbles as if struck by a terrible earthquake.

Later, people will tell tales of how a dragon rent the main courtyard asunder and rose up through the castle towards the bright, blue sky, shrieking in triumph as the King died. Others will tell of how Magic itself rose to greet the new King in the form of a dragon when all know that the last had been killed by Uther himself.

People start to run for cover, screaming, as the ground shakes. Merlin sees Arthur on the battlements, turning suddenly, hand going for his sword. Before he has finished drawing it, the courtyard cracks with a resounding boom and the earth beneath it starts to rise like a mountain thrust suddenly through the centre of the castle. Merlin watches, his breath caught in his throat as the earth turns and starts falling back in on itself and is pushed away by something rising from beneath.

The dragon bursts into the courtyard shrieking and Merlin has never realised before now how huge it is. It struggles against earth and stone for a moment, until Merlin uses a burst of magic to free its trapped wings. The dragon turns to him and nods, climbing to its feet and Merlin can see it shaking, muscles gone weak with disuse straining in excitement. The flap of its wings creates a whirlpool of wind and everything left in the courtyard is swept to the edges. Merlin is vaguely aware that Arthur is suddenly beside him, a hand on his shoulder as the dragon starts to rise.

The dragon hovers level with them for a long moment, golden eyes swirling. Its hide which had seemed dull and dark underground now sparkles a vivid red, the colour of blood Merlin thinks, and then the dragon is gone, rising up above the castle and into the clouds. Merlin thinks he will miss it but he is happy that it can at last enjoy its freedom.

He turns to watch Arthur who is watching the courtyard right itself, earth pouring back into the ground, stones realigning themselves. All around them, the castle is breathing anew, the cracks which had appeared a year ago and only got larger with time, now closing, cleaning, repairing. Camelot looks brand new and unmistakably magical and the people in the courtyard below who had hidden at the edges are now carefully making their way to the centre making excited gestures.

"My father," Arthur manages and cuts himself off, voice dangerously close to breaking.

Merlin seeks his hand out with his own and squeezes hard. "I'm sorry," he whispers.

Below them there is a shout and then it rises, swelling as the castle swells around them. "Long live the King! Long live King Arthur!"

The coronation is two weeks later and magic has been going haywire in the time between. It is July, the height of summer, but the church is bathed in a snowstorm while less than a mile away lambs frolic across daisy-strewn fields.

There is a scuffle and a disagreement and Merlin hears someone shouting something about challenging Arthur's right to succeed, but then there comes another shout from outside, one of the young pageboys, and they file outside to see an anvil at the centre of the courtyard and a sword embedded in the centre of it. It is the first time Arthur has truly seen Excalibur and he immediately falls in love with it, knowing it was forged for him alone.

Someone bends down to read the writing edged in gold across the base of the anvil and his voice echoes around the small courtyard as the snow continues to fall silently.

"Whoso pulleth out this sword of this stone and anvil, is rightwise king born of all England."

He tries his own strength but the sword moves not an inch. There follows much laughing and bantering as the young and old alike try to budge the sword which stays stubbornly fixed in the anvil. Just like Arthur, Merlin thinks, they deserve each other. There is a crowd gathering now, because of course people would notice it snowing on a July morning and peasants of any kingdom and any time are nothing if not nosy. They murmur of a miracle, it can be nothing else, and finally the Archbishop steps forward and says,

"If he is here, that shall achieve the sword, doubt not God will make him known."

And all eyes fall on Arthur as if there had previously been any doubt, but Arthur is looking not at the sword but at Merlin, something unreadable in his eyes and something that looks a little like fear.

"Go on," Merlin whispers, "take it." He experiences a dizzying moment of deja-vu, he has said that before. "It's alright, I put it there," which is also the truth and he smiles.

Arthur smiles back and turns to the sword. The people part for him as he passes until he stands before the sword. Excalibur slides out easily, silently, and with no help from Merlin. He smiles again and Arthur echoes it. The scabbard at his waist turns to one of gold and beauty and above them, the clouds disperse and it is summer again.

"Lo, here is the sword of the stone: Excalibur," says Arthur. And Merlin thinks wherefore he must be king of this land.

When Merlin once more awakes to his own bed without the freedom of magic, the dragon still chained below the castle, Excalibur resting at the bottom of a lake where he threw it and no more of Arthur's smiles, Merlin cries for a long time. When morning has come and he has cried his last, he wakes Gaius from his slumber and begs him to please, please help me. Please fix it.

Because he is beginning to forget how to live in this world. And he is no longer sure he wants to remember how.

Arthur had been getting used to strange conversations recently because he was pretty convinced that Merlin was no longer all there and that was pretty frightening when he stopped to think about it, so he didn't.

"That manservant of yours," his father said at the end of a war meeting and a very long morning indeed, "he's been acting very strange recently."

Arthur froze and very carefully schooled his face to avoid the sudden, choking fear from creeping across his features. "I haven't noticed him being any more strange than usual, father," he replied.

Uther watched him silently and Arthur thought, suddenly, he knows, oh god he knows and Merlin will--

"Have Gaius take a look at him," his father dismissed, turning away and Arthur started breathing more easily. "He seems ill to me and you can't have your manservant passing something on to you."

"Yes, of course, father," Arthur said and bowed, turning to stride hurriedly from the throne room.

Gaius had better have found something to fix Merlin.

Arthur attempted to both look interested in what Lord DuVere was saying while at the same time trying to come up with interesting and varied ways for the man to die. The lord had been dropping veiled hints and threats for the duration of the entire celebrations and Arthur was this close to losing it and braining the man over the head with the goblet held tight in his fist.

"Your servant," DuVere began and Arthur thought don't you dare go there, "Merlin is it? He's certainly a strange one. Where's he from?"

Arthur gritted his teeth and very carefully set aside his goblet before temptation became too much. "I'm not sure," he replied which was of course a blatant lie. He'd put his life on the line for Ealdor and all because it was Merlin's home. "We don't talk that much."

"Really," DuVere leant closer. "That's not what I've heard." Arthur felt alarm frisson down his spine, because he can and has handled threats directed at his own person but Merlin is another matter altogether.

"Really," he said, trying to act disinterested. And suddenly, Merlin started moving toward them. Idiot, what does he think he's-- Arthur stared at the empty goblet he'd set aside, feeling strangely like he wanted to laugh. Because Merlin had never managed to act the proper, attentive servant now and why, why did he have to start when he really needed to be as far away as possible right now?

DuVere reached out and caught Merlin's wrist as he tried to move away. "Fill me up too, will you?"

Merlin nodded, eyes cast downwards and complied but DuVere refused to give up on the grip on his wrist. "I wouldn't be averse to a night of your company," the slimy hog said and his eyes flitted towards Arthur briefly. "If your master does not need you?"

Arthur felt like cursing a storm, because he had as good as told DuVere himself that he and Merlin weren't---like that. No matter how much he might wish it. Merlin stepped away, somehow managing to gracefully pull himself out of DuVere's grasp.

"I'm afraid my master and I are otherwise occupied tonight," he replied with such a haughty tone of condescension that Arthur found it hard not to burst out laughing at DuVere's shocked, outraged face. Merlin winked cheekily at him and he returned to join the other servant's.

Arthur ignored DuVere's spluttered exclamations of fury. Merlin had never before been comfortable enough to tease him like that in the presence of others. That was not his Merlin.

His whole life, Arthur had been given whatever he desired. Now, all he wanted was Merlin, back again and his. And he was helpless to make that happen.

The dragon was, if anything, even more unhelpful the second time around. "The Rules of High Magic are governed by debts that must be paid," was all it would say on the matter of Merlin's vision of the two dragons. "You must discover for yourself, Young Warlock, the things which may dwell in the Then and Now. They are few and far between, but should be anchored in all times."

Merlin could almost swear that the infernal beast had been talking to Gaius. "I don't suppose that you could give me a shove in the right direction?" he asked hopefully.

The dragon laughed, curling its great neck until the giant, golden eyes were almost level with his. It's breath was warm on his face and Merlin had a sudden horrible thought that this was the same creature which had forged a sword out of fire, a fire which had come from the same mouth now breathing the smell of dead sheep and goats all over him.

"Um," he said nervously, "actually, that's alright--"

"You should return to regain that which was thrown away." And the dragon was off, flapping its wings in a way that was very unnecessary on such a small ledge.

It figured that the damn thing would finally give him an answer which made sense once he'd decided he could do without one.

Excalibur rose silently at his command, light glinting gently off the blade. The lake relinquished her grasp easily and Merlin could hear the gentle laughter of the naiads mixed amongst the sweet, thin calls of early birds. He took a closer look at the blade, which he had never stopped to do before. Two golden chimeras curled up the hilt onto the blade. There were words carved into the base of the blade and Merlin tilted it toward the light to read it. "Take me up," it said, and on the other side "Cast me away."

Apparently, being Arthur's manservant gave him more privileges than anyone, indeed even Arthur himself, had bothered to tell him. The new blacksmith didn't even bat an eyelid when he asked if he could have Tom's old anvil as if it were an everyday occurrence and that people were always stealing anvils. On the other hand, he probably assumed that Merlin was only asking on behalf of Arthur although, honestly, what could a prince possible want with an old anvil? It could, however, make for a potentially risky conversation if Arthur were to find out that his manservant had been appropriating anvils on his behalf.

With his newfound power, Merlin asked some young boys to carry the anvil for him a mile through the twisting streets of Camelot and place it square in the courtyard of an old, ruined church. He could have done it much more easily himself with magic but it was rather improbable for one person to be able to carry the blasted thing and besides, it was rather fun to watch the boys sweat away at it, and just because Arthur's crazy manservant had ordered it.

The sword sank into the anvil easily, improbably, and Merlin ignored the strange looks of the servants and their exclamations as they tried their strength to no avail. Even as he walked away, their memories began to fade and the sword too faded from sight, hidden once again until the moment of its return. As Merlin walked down the derelict path to the church gate, withered plants blossomed in his steps, turning green once more, crumbling paving slabs righting themselves. Stone became cleaner, smoother and metal gleamed suddenly in new life.

Merlin regarded it, this small church reeking of magic, of the waiting space in the courtyard and he thought, This is where Arthur will be crowned.

Arthur was angry for several reasons. Firstly, he was being suddenly inundated with requests to resolve every spat between the peasants regarding the grazing of cows and sheep and goodness knows what other manner of beasts. Secondly, he had been informed that his manservant had, for some inexplicable reason, acquired an anvil in his name, and Arthur really did not want to know why. Thirdly and most importantly, Merlin was a sorcerer and a very inept one if his current habit of apparently jumping through time was anything to go by. And also, he was a very inept sorcerer in a place where his father had those more cunning than Merlin executed.

On the up side, he didn't think Merlin was an evil sorcerer, per se. And actually, if he thought about it (which he had been, a lot) he might even have Merlin to thank for saving his life on a number of occasions. And then there were things like the time he had apparently been knocked out with a branch by Merlin the night he may or may not have eloped with Sophia and no doubt there were some much more satisfying, much more heroic happenings on his part there that Merlin was hiding from him.

And then he wondered if maybe Merlin had intended for him to find out, because surely there was no way anyone could be that bad at keeping magic a secret. And then he remembered that this was the same Merlin who stole anvils and apparently frolicked around wearing flowers and vines and he was suddenly very angry for a very different reason.

The idiot's going to get himself killed, he thought. And then, but not if I get there first.

The guards knew him well enough by now that they just carefully ignored him as he passed by on his way to yet another meeting with the dragon. The corridor was unlit for some reason this time, as if the dragon had sighed too loudly and accidentally puffed them all out. As Merlin emerged from the passageway onto the small ledge to stare into even blacker darkness, he suddenly found himself imagining what it must be like to be cooped up in this dark, damp place for twenty years under the castle you captured.

"How do I free you?" he asked the darkness and then there was a single pinpoint of gold, the dragon's eye burning with an inner light.

"Only the one who has captured me may free me," the dragon replied without its usual bluster. "Such is the way of the High Magic. But I shall have my day and due to you." It shuffled forward and opened the other eye, regarding Merlin with something more of its usual self. "You have brought me a present?" it asked, amused and almost...hopeful.

"Er...not exactly," Merlin replied and immediately resolved to bring something with him next time when he saw the dragon slump almost imperceptibly. Maybe some nice dead goats. "I've got this scabbard...and I wondered if you could---er. Do your fire thingy. Like with the sword."

The dragon's laughter echoed off the walls of the cave and it bared its teeth, grinning. Merlin decided it really had too much time to kill because he didn't like the look in its eyes at all. "Of course, the sword must have its scabbard," it said and Merlin couldn't help but feel that there was some dirty innuendo in there. "The scabbard protects the sword and is its home, its place of rest." If the infernal thing started talking about him and Arthur and destiny, Merlin thought he might have to kill it anyway.

And then it opened its mouth, Merlin hastily thrust the scabbard aloft and the cavern was bathed in warm fire. The torches in the passageway beyond immediately flared back to life and Merlin lowered his hand, staring at the newly-made scabbard. Made of leather and gilt now with burnished gold, two dragons curled up either side to breathe fire down the edges. It was beautiful, fit for a King's hand, fit for Excalibur.

"With this scabbard, the wielder of the sword will never bleed. He will never die of wounds while he still wears it. It is meant only for Excalibur."

Merlin nodded, but he heard the note of sadness in the dragon's voice and he understood because he too has seen the fate of the scabbard: stolen by Morgana, once she descends into madness, for the druid-boy and the sword Clarent, forged for peace and knightings, never meant to taste the blood of men. And they both know how that will end, but they also both know that the scabbard will save Arthur's life countless times before that day. And that this, all of this is the very reason Merlin is doing what he is now, because in this way, he ensures Arthur's immortality.

The fourth time it happened, Merlin woke to see a much older Arthur smiling down at him.

"Good morning," said Arthur and leant down to give him a thorough kiss. Merlin's mouth opened in astonishment and Arthur's tongue slipped inside, exploring his mouth and caressing his own tongue and oh, that was really rather nice. He shut his eyes and relaxed and gave into the kiss which went on for---a long time. Long moments later, Arthur pulled back and pressed his forehead to Merlin's, looking into his eyes.

"Ah," he said eventually and smiled ruefully. "You're gone again."

Merlin blinked. "Er--what? And also, since when do you have a beard?"

Arthur laughed and the sound was richer, more mature than his Arthur's laugh.

"Do you not like it? Last night you said it felt, what was the word you used? Sublime while I was sucki--"

"Alright, enough," said Merlin, because that was more than he could handle. "Um---when am I?"

Arthur smiled and pushed back his hair. He looked...edible was what Merlin wanted to call him, except his own Arthur was pretty tasty too. But this one had a more refined look and there were smile lines on his face and Merlin's stomach did a little dance at the thought that this future Arthur would be his.

"Almost ten years into my reign, which probably doesn't help you much. How about, almost fifteen years since the day you woke up in my bed covered in flower garlands and vines?"

Merlin flushed instantly red and tried to hide under the bedsheets. "Now, none of that," said Arthur and peeled back the covers. "There were actually certain parts of me that really liked those breeches." Merlin blushed even redder if that were possible because this Arthur was certainly a hell of a lot more lewd that the one he knew. He kind of liked it.

"Actually," he began, "I wanted to know what happened with you that night." It was Arthur's turn to flush red and he groaned, burying his face in Merlin's shoulder.

"We were---found by the knights in the morning," he mumbled eventually. "You were fine, of course, but I may have also had a crown of berries and some weird blue symbols painted all over my chest." Merlin burst out laughing and Arthur smiled again. He could really get used to all these Arthur-smiles. "Kay's never let me forget it. Called me the Fairy Queen for almost a month after. You laughed. A lot. Though at least the dryads will cooperate with us now that we did their weird bonding ceremony."

Merlin must have looked confused because he elaborated. "Scared the shit of of Lord DuVere when the forest began marching against him," he said with a boyish grin and Merlin had a sudden flash of another age and another forest and the Scottish Play.

"I think," he said, "that that will become something of a legend."

"Funny," was Arthur's reply, "that was exactly what you said at the time."

"Huh, must be a genius then."

"Obviously."

And Merlin had been about to bring him up on that because he sounded dubious and surely you ought to think the world of the person you'd married, be it at a weird dryad-ritual or not, but then Arthur kissed him again and his hands were roaming underneath Merlin's night shirt and skimming across his belly--

He stopped thinking.

Some time later, Arthur pulled away, lips red and bruised and Merlin imagined his must look much the same from the way Arthur was staring at them. "Er--about this," he ventured, waving a vague hand which was meant to encompass them. "When--how did that happen?"

Arthur smirked. "I believe you pounced me one night. I think it might have even been the last night of that dreadful tournament."

"Oh, right," Merlin said, rather distracted because the light was playing off Arthur's hair in the most annoyingly beautiful manner.

"So I reckon that you only do that because you know about this. So I'm giving you a crash course."

And he leant in for yet another kiss and Merlin couldn't find it in himself to argue. They fell asleep a while later, tangled in the bedding, Merlin sprawled atop Arthur in the gathering light, cradled in his arms, content for the first time in a very, very long time.

On the third day of the tournament, Arthur almost accidentally skewered his opponent on his sword when he saw Merlin in the crowd, making weird hand gestures. The fool, he thought viciously, does he think no-one will notice him doing magic in the middle of a tournament? and he made several of his own hand gestures back at Merlin until he realised that actually Merlin had just been cheering him on in a wholly uncoordinated, flailing manner.

His opponent was trounced effortlessly in a matter of minutes and Arthur retired to the tent to fuss with his armour and generally vent at unsuspecting servants.

"You're doing well," was Merlin's greeting as he stepped through into the tent, grinning like a loon.

"Of course I am," Arthur spat, "I've been trained since birth." He could almost see Merlin thinking after that, and how long have you been training to be a prat?

Merlin blinked in confusion, apparently uncertain as to what he'd done to deserve Arthur's temper.

Arthur sighed. "I thought you were--" and he wiggled his fingers.

Merlin frowned in confusion so Arthur looked at his fingers pointedly and wiggled them again, this time waggling his eyebrows for added emphasis.

"You thought I was---what?"

"In the crowd, when you were waving around, I thought you were doing...you-know-what."

"I was cheering you on," Merlin said slowly and Arthur couldn't tell if he was being deliberately dim or if it was just sheer natural talent.

"Whatever," he sighed, frustrated. "Then next time please cheer in a more graceful manner. The point is that you've been lying to me all this time and how the hell did I not notice? Because you're hardly Mr. Subtle. And, also, what on Earth did you need an anvil for?"

Merlin looked like a frozen rabbit in the face of a very hungry lion. "Er," he said and then followed that up with something that sounded very much like a frightened rabbit.

Arthur looked at him, blue eyes blown wide in sudden realisation and fear, face drawn of all colour, and he felt like hitting him and kissing him all at the same time. He snorted.

"I'm not as stupid as everyone seems to think I am," he began. "I know about you--alright it took bloody ages and you're frighteningly careless with it if even I can work it out, but I did. And I know about Gaius too. And I'm starting to think about some other things too that don't add up, like the time you said you knocked me out with a branch?"

He looked at Merlin expectantly and was gratified to see that the terrified look had abated somewhat and was being replaced with a slow, spreading smile that looked a little bit like hope. Merlin backed up and sank bonelessly into Arthur's chair but Arthur decided to be magnanimous and not remove him. He had had a bit of a shock, after all.

"You drowned," was what Merlin said and Arthur stared. "Er, I mean...Sophia, and Ulfric, were Sidhe and wanted to get back to Avalon--"

"She?" Arthur interrupted, confused. "Who?"

"No, Sidhe, idiot. Like faeries, only less mischievous, more evil. Anyway, she put you under a love spell because she wanted to get to Avalon and the price for passage was a mortal prince and Ulfric offered them you, so she made you elope with her to this lake which was actually the Gates of Avalon and then she drowned you."

Arthur blinked slowly. "And?"

"Er, I killed them and rescued you?"

"You killed them?"

"Er, yes?"

"While I was drowning?"

"Maybe?"

"Right, so I suppose thanks are in order. And we are never talking of this again. Alright?"

"Alright," and that ridiculous grin was back on Merlin's face. It was the work of seconds to stride across the tent, pull him up by that ludicrous scarf and kiss him soundly.

He could feel Merlin grinning into his mouth and he bit down firmly on the lips beneath his to stop it. Merlin moaned quietly, hands coming up to wrap around Arthur's neck and he parted his mouth--

"Sire," someone called outside and Arthur cursed loudly.

"What?" he snapped, not looking away from Merlin's bitten lips or his eyes, pupils blown wide with pleasure.

"Er, the jousting is about to begin. You're up against Sir DuVere."

The squire hurried away and Arthur pulled away reluctantly. "Bloody DuVere, I can't stand him."

Merlin came forward and helped him with his armour. "I have it on a very good source, that you will one day 'scare the shit out if him'." He grinned as Arthur stared at him, surprised.

"That sounds like something I'd say," he said dubiously.

"Mhm," Merlin hedged and helped Arthur to pull on his vambraces.

"Oh, good," Arthur replied smugly. "In what kind of way?"

"Um, I think maybe the forest surrounds his castle?"

Arthur grinned and for a moment Merlin could see a glimpse of the man he would become. "Excellent. You know, there's fodder for all sorts of bard's tales in that."

Merlin chuckled. "You have no idea."

Arthur won the tournament, of course and there was yet another feast to celebrate, of course. Merlin slipped out after the third round of drinks to go and see the dragon once more. On his way past the kitchens he snuck in and stole a whole roast boar bound for the feast, employing cunning use of magic and flirting to get away without being seen.

The dragon was already smirking when it came into sight. The smirk widened into a grin once it caught sight of the boar Merlin had balanced over his shoulders, juices dripping obscenely down his back.

"A present for me?" it wondered, its neck stretching forward until it could nudge at the boar Merlin had dumped on the ground.

"Um, so, I was wondering," he began once the boar had been thoroughly devoured, "whether I've managed to find those--what was it--things that dwell in the then and now? Because I'd quite like to stop jumping through time now, if it's all the same."

The dragon laughed and it sounded happy. "Young Warlock, there are very few who are allowed to dwell in the Then and Now, mortals upon Avalon's Blessed Isles. You and Arthur will be forever intertwined, as will the sword Excalibur. Your names and the future which you have forged here will never pass from memory. And," it continued in a softer, less destiny-laden tone, "I have you to thank for my eventual freedom."

Merlin decided to take that as a yes.

Later, in Arthur's chambers after Arthur has had much too much wine and Merlin has had the most sensible talk ever with the dragon, Arthur pulls Merlin over to his bed and sits them both down.

"You should have told me," he says quietly and his words hardly slur at all. "I'm still angry that you didn't trust me."

Merlin stares at his hands in his lap which are wringing each other worriedly. "Arthur," he starts and his voice breaks. He chokes back tears and starts again. "I know, but Arthur, your father has people like me killed."

And there's really nothing more that can be said about that.

Arthur pulls him close. "But I won't," he says fiercely. "I promise you that. I will not let him hurt you and I will not let him find out."

Merlin thinks about the time he saw Uther dying and wonders if the King would be so accepting were he to find out now and reasons probably not. He is still too adamant that he has done the right thing, that Camelot prospers under his ban on magic and that the people are happy. It will take a thousand lives and a year of plague and magic pulling down the castle around him to see otherwise.

"And when I am King," Arthur continues, "you shall be my Court Sorcerer."

Merlin smiles. "I know," is all he says and Arthur punches him on the arm.

"I'm trying to be all Kingly here."

"Sorry," though he's not. He leans in anyway and gives Arthur a gentle kiss and then another and before he knows it, Arthur has turned them around and pushed him into the pillows and is straddling him.

"I think I deserve some kind of reward for winning today," Arthur says superiorly and yelps in protest when Merlin pinches a nipple.

"Prat," Merlin mutters affectionately and fists a hand in Arthur's shirt, pulling him down on top of him.

There is silence for a while as they kiss, or as silent as the two of them can be, which is to say, not very. The sound of moaning and rustling clothes echoes around the chamber and Arthur spares a moment to be glad that most everyone in the castle tonight is drunk because he intends to make Merlin scream.

The fifth time it happened, Merlin awoke in Arthur's bed, in his own time, with his own Arthur languidly stroking his cock.

"Morning," he grinned and cut off Merlin's choked moan with a kiss. Merlin couldn't spare the thought needed to retaliate or hit him as he might have liked and he settled instead for moaning helplessly, making ridiculous choked noises when Arthur bent down and took him in his mouth. Arthur stroked his balls, fondling them and slid one hand further back, a finger circling and then pushing in and Merlin bit down on an aborted scream, back arching as his hips bucked without control and he emptied himself into Arthur's mouth.

He came back to himself several minutes later to find Arthur propped up on an elbow looking supremely satisfied with himself. "Prat," he muttered weakly and pressed ineffectually at Arthur's chest.

The laugh rumbled through Arthur's chest and he slid down to join Merlin, pulling the boneless sorcerer to rest against him.

The sun was shining through the windows, bathing the room in light and Arthur's skin was golden and warm where the light hit it. Merlin thought that it was very like the morning he spent with future-Arthur and he smiled, content.

And then he thought that future-Arthur may have been right and maybe this Arthur needed to start growing a beard.

And then he thought angrily that future-Arthur lied about the whole pouncing thing and that was wholly unfair because he hadn't been prepared for Arthur to do the pouncing.

And then he fell asleep, cradled in his Arthur's arms.

Later, after another two rounds and bouts of dozing in between, Arthur said: "You know what? We should get that--what's his name--Monmouth chap? Geoffrey. To start writing about some of this stuff, because it's the kind of stuff you just can't make up."

Merlin smiled one of those secretive smiles that Arthur suspected with a sinking feeling he was just going to have to learn to live with. "Well," he said. "We could. I don't think anyone would take it too seriously though."

Arthur pouted and then appeared to forget it. "So, what did you need with the anvil?"

There are many tales told of the court of King Arthur. There are also many tales told of his sorcerer Merlin.

There is a tale told of a sunken city that lies dormant beneath the waves. And of a nearby hill, Arthur's seat, from where Arthur set forth to conquer and unite all of Albion. On a midsummer's midnight, two golden-gilt doors fade into view as though they have always been there. Through the hill on a midsummer's night ride the legends of old and before morning's break they will return to their slumber and only the trees and the animals will have witnessed their silent passing. At dawn a single church bell can be heard tolling from beneath the sea. And the world breathes and waits for such a time when it can see its King and his Sorcerer again.