Archive of Our Own

The scratch of the pen on the thick sheet of paper is comforting as always. It's old fashioned, but it's the only way Arthur can think of doing this. He needs to put the words down himself, needs to craft each single one of them with his hands and his heart. Only then he can let them go.

The ink looks black and stark against the paper in the candlelight. Another oddity, he knows, but it helps. It helps him to linger, just for a few more moments, in this world he keeps seeing in his dreams. His fingertips are still tingling from where he touched another's skin, the soft, downy hair at the nape of a neck, the coarse material of a neckerchief. There is laughter still ringing in his ears, blue eyes sparkling with it, crinkling at the side. The longing he feels in his dreams spills over into the darkness after waking. His heart is heavy with it, with words unsaid.

It always takes him a few moments to find his grasp on reality. He feels like his whole being is dissolving, flowing out in all directions and he has to contain it again before he can get up, can light the candle and get the paper. Then he sits down, and he writes.

Dear M,

I met you again in my dreams last night. All I can remember is the sunlight falling on the old, weathered stones of a courtyard. The warmth of it, filtering through my clothes and my skin, sinking into me to where something dark and painful still lingered. There was you, sitting right by my side on the steps. Close and still too far away. I wanted to put an arm around you, wanted to pull you in and hold you, cling to you and lay my head against your shoulder. Maybe I wanted to weep. But even though I couldn't, even though something was holding me back, everything was better for the fact that it was you with me.

But then I woke, and of course you were not there. Like you never are. The only place you seem to exist is in my dreams, which have become an almost nightly occurrence. I know I shouldn't be so glad for that, but I am. I start looking forward to falling asleep, just so that I might see you again. If even just for a moment. If even just for one smile.

Always yours,

Arthur

He never reads the words over, just stares at the letters as the ink dries. Then he rolls up the paper, slots it through the narrow neck of the bottle and corks it up. The thick glass reflects the candlelight, and the message inside looks slightly distorted. It's a piece of his heart, and Arthur stands up to take it where he takes all of his sorrows, his fears and his joy. Out to the sea.

The blue light of dawn fills the narrow streets of the village when Arthur steps outside the house, pulling his knitted cap down over his ears and the collar of his thick jacket up. His steps ring in the silence on his way down to the port. When he walks down the pier, the first breeze catches him and for a moment Arthur closes his eyes, breathing it in. It brings the smell of tang and wet wood, and it tastes of salt and freedom.

Soon the first fishers will come back in with their haul, but right now Tintagel's harbour lies silent and deserted. The Alice, old Gaius' boat, lies lonely at the far side of the mole, the sight making Arthur melancholic like it always does. He has a different destination though. He walks down the wooden planks to where the Avalon is tethered at her berth. The teak deck is covered in the early morning dew sparkling with the first rays of the sun crawling over the horizon. The polished wooden planks of the daysailer are gleaming and she bobs up and down softly in the water, tugging on the ropes impatiently, as if she can't wait for him to take her out.

The Avalon is Arthur's pride and joy. She's not the first boat he built, but she is the culmination of every one of his fantasies, sleek and smooth in the water, made to fit him like armour. She is more his home than anything else has ever been, at least in this life, in this reality. There is this elusive feeling of another home, one he can't remember, one that maybe never was.

Arthur shakes these strange thoughts away with a frown, climbing down into the cockpit and carefully tucking the bottle away in a nook. He never stalls or waits; he wants to take the message out as soon as possible, while he can still hold on to the memory of the man in his dreams. He can never really remember his features, nor his name. As soon as he wakes, all that remains are fragments and the idea of someone next to him, shoulders brushing, always by his side, but even this feeling fades away until all that is left is this intense longing in his chest.

Once on the Avalon, though, Arthur's not in a hurry anymore. He wipes the deck down carefully, checks the mast and rigging and pulls all lines out of their cleats and off their winches. Then it's time to cast off, and Arthur steers the Avalon out of her berth. He hoists the mainsail in the harbour and lets her glide over the rippling water and out through the protective arms of the mole.

He keeps to the fairway at first, letting the main sheet run through his hand as the sail catches the wind before he clamps it and hoists the foresail up. The white cloth is billowing beautifully when the early morning breeze fills it, and the Avalon picks up speed. He runs before the wind and out into the misty blue, eyes on the horizon and whatever might lie behind it.

~*~

When he's far out and the coastline has long been lost in the mist, he finally feels like he can breathe again. He's sailing close to the wind, the spray flying over the gunwale, and the Avalon is riding the dark whirl of the waves, elegant and proud. Everything falls away, and the only thing that anchors Arthur to this world or another is the bottle in his hand.

He weighs it, looks at it, at this desperate call that will fade away over the endless waters that make up the ocean, like all those that came before it. He throws it out anyway. Lets it fly in a sparkling arch out behind the stern, seeing it bob up and down for a moment before it gets lost in the waves.

Arthur has long lost count of the letters, but he remembers the first time, shortly after old Gaius died. Since then it has been the only thing that has helped him, that keeps his mind in the here and now, not drifting off into that realm of dreams where everything feels so much grander, so much more complex and important. And where Arthur isn't alone.

They say no man is an island but, steering the Avalon over the roiling sea, Arthur sure feels like it. It starts with the fact that he has no family. He was found on the beach as a baby, left there in the proverbial wickerbasket. Why and by whom he has long given up finding out. Everybody starts out somewhere and Arthur started out at Tintagel's beach. Maybe that's why he's still here though, twenty-five years later. Maybe he's still hoping that whoever left him will come back, that there is someone out there who will come looking for him.

Arthur grew up with old Gaius. That's what everyone called him, and still calls him, even seven years after he's passed away. Gaius had been a fisher, like most people in the village. Unofficially though, he had been the village quack, and everybody came to him with their boils and rashes and their aching backs. His house had smelled of herbs and camphor, and he had been an awful cook and actually not much of a fisher either. But he had been the most generous man Arthur had ever met, and he had taken Arthur in and had raised him with a matter-of-fact-ness that dared anyone to ask questions. And no one ever had.

But even though he had grown up with him, Arthur had never felt like Gaius' son and Gaius had never acted like his father. He provided for Arthur, gave him food and shelter and advice, and Arthur was quite sure that Gaius had loved him in his own special way. But there was just something about Arthur that had always made him stand apart. He wasn't disliked, in fact he held the grudging sort of respect of most of the village's inhabitants, but it was as if people realised, just by looking at him, that Arthur was different.

As a boy Arthur had helped Gaius with the fishing and, sometimes, even with his witchcraft. But working on the trawler and handling the haul had never felt enough for Arthur. His ideas had been too big, his hands too talented. The first boat he had built had just been a small dinghy, but he had crafted it in his own right, with his sweat and his determination, and he'd been proud of it. He had built another one for the mayor's grandson and after that he had a reputation. It would never make him a rich man, but he loved to see his ideas taking shape under his own hands. He loved to built something up from next to nothing until it was beautiful and fast and could take you to the other side of the horizon.

He also loved to be his own man and not have to bow to anyone's command. Old Gaius had often told him that Arthur lived too much inside his own head, but was it Arthur's fault when the world seemed to make so much more sense there?

When old Gaius died he left Arthur everything he had owned: the weather-beaten house close to the small harbour, his fishing boat, and a room full of smelly books and even smellier herbs. He also had left Arthur a letter, telling him to stop waiting and start chasing his dreams. That had come to be a rather difficult advice to take. Arthur's dreams, after all, had always been the problem.

~*~

The sun has fought her way through the clouds when Arthur comes back and moors the Avalon. His stomach is growling and in his mind he is already half way back in his kitchen, cracking eggs and sizzling bacon. He's crouched down on the jetty, belaying the last clamp when there is a voice coming from behind him.

''A-Arthur...?''

It's more a whisper on the wind, almost a sob, and Arthur looks up with a frown. There is a man standing on the end of the dock. Jeans and a soft brown leather jacket, a blood red scarf around his neck. His black hair is a little long and falls in unruly curls over his prominent ears. He's staring at Arthur wide-eyed, as if he is seeing a ghost.

''Can I help you?'' Arthur asks, getting up and dusting his hands off against his trousers, shaking his blond hair from his face.

But the man just keeps staring at him wordlessly.

Arthur takes a step closer, looking the man up and down. There's something about him, but if they have met before Arthur can't place him.

''Do I know you?'' he asks uncertainly.

The man's face is attractive in an unusual way: sharp cheekbones, full mouth and those very blue eyes. Arthur can't help but think that he would surely remember if he had met him before. The man still watches Arthur dazedly. There is a smile on his lips that looks almost pained.

''The men...,'' he finally says quietly, ''In the pub. They told me where to find you.''

''So, you've been looking for me?'' Arthur asks, cocking his head questioningly. ''Oh! Are you looking to purchase a boat?'' Arthur can't come up with any other reason someone would ask after him but that the man has heard about Arthur's business through the grapevine.

The man hesitates and blinks for a moment, almost confused, then his face lights up and he starts to nod. ''Yes! Yes. A... a boat. You... build them?'' He looks at Arthur uncertainly.

''I do,'' Arthur confirms, then relents, ''Well, it depends on what kind of boat you want. Mr....?''

''Emrys. But... you can just call me Merlin.''

''All right. Merlin.'' The name, as strange as it is, sounds oddly familiar. As if he's heard it before, but Arthur wouldn't know where. ''So... what kind of boat are you looking for?''

''Oh... uh...'' For a moment Merlin looks flustered, and there's even a blush creeping up his cheeks. ''To be honest,'' he says sheepishly. ''I don't know much about boats.'' Arthur blinks, and the man hurries to explain. ''The boat is not for me. It's... for a friend.''

Arthur raises his eyebrows and smiles. ''That must be a good friend then.''

''Yes,'' Merlin says softly, ''The very best.''

Arthur tries to keep the smile on his face, but there is something sad and painful tugging at his heart. From the way Merlin speaks about this friend, Arthur gets the feeling he must be very important to him. It's a beautiful thought, that there is friendship like this to be found in the world, but right now it only emphasises to Arthur how very alone he is himself.

''Would you maybe like to grab a coffee?'' he asks on a spur of the moment. ''Then you can tell me more about your friend and I can tell you what kind of boat I would be able to build.''

Merlin's smile is brighter than the sunlight, and he sounds almost eager when he agrees. Arthur's first thought is to take Merlin to the café close to the harbour, but his stomach is still rumbling and, while her coffee is decent, Agnes' breakfast is nothing to write home about.

''Would it be all right if we go over to my place?'' he asks Merlin. ''It's just down the street, and I can show you a few construction plans of boats I made over the years. It might give you a better idea and you can see if that's what you're looking for for your friend.''

''Oh, yes, sure. That... would be wonderful.''

Arthur looks at Merlin amused. He seems friendly and open, to the point where it makes him look like a bit of a fool, but there's something else about him, something mysterious. He looks like he might be about Arthur's age, but there is a weariness in the corners of his eyes and the slump of his shoulders that gives the impression of hardships fitting of a much older man.

''So what kind of sailor is your friend?'' Arthur asks as he leads Merlin through the narrow streets of the village.

''Oh, I have no idea really, I don't sail myself but,'' Merlin ducks his head as a fond smile spreads out over his features. ''He's always been pretty good at everything so... I'm sure he's amazing.''

For a moment Arthur is almost a bit taken aback, then he throws his head back and laughs. ''Well, it's good that you have so much confidence in him, I guess. But what I meant was: is he a beginner or a professional sailor? Has he been sailing long?''

Merlin looks up at him, and the blue of his eyes is like the deep, murky waters of the ocean.

''Yes,'' he says. ''I guess he's been at sea pretty much his whole life.''

~*~

When Arthur unlocks the door to the small cottage he suddenly feels a little self-conscious. He has lived in the old house for as long as he can remember, but he knows it's a bit old-fashioned and shabby. The ground floor consists of an open kitchen and living area, a small loo and Gaius' old workroom, upstairs are two bedrooms and a shared bathroom. Old Gerda still comes around to clean once a week, so at least there are no dust bunnies collecting in the corners, but the floorboards are scratched and the furniture is still the same as when Arthur grew up here. After old Gaius' death, Arthur mostly left everything as it has been. His true home has always been out there on the water with the Avalon.

But Merlin looks around with a smile on his face. ''This is a nice place you have here. I like it.''

Arthur shrugs. ''It's not much,'' he says and steps into the kitchen, where he takes one of the pans off a hook over the stove. ''But I'm mostly in the workshop next door. I really only come here to eat and sleep.''

''It's cozy,'' Merlin says and curiously goes to peek through the door into Gaius' workroom. ''Are you a herbologist as well?'' he asks with a surprised look at Arthur, who lets out a bark of a laugh.

''No. All those herbs and books... they belonged to the man who took me in.''

Merlin frowns, absently letting his long, elegant fingers glide over surfaces, touching a book here and another knick-knack there, as if his eyes are not enough to take everything in. Finally, he comes to lean against the counter next to Arthur. With his hands in the pockets of his jeans, he watches silently while Arthur cracks eggs and puts bacon in the pan. He is standing rather close and his eyes are intense, so much so, it almost makes Arthur a bit nervous.

''He took you in?'' Merlin asks after a moment, as if to prompt Arthur to continue.

Arthur glances up at him, wondering how Merlin can looks so at home in Arthur's space, strangely at ease in his company when no one ever really is. He clears his throat. ''Yes. He found me down at the beach when I was probably just a few weeks old. They never found out who my parents are, or whether it was them who left me.''

Merlin's eyes widen. ''Oh no... Arthur. I'm so sorry...''

Arthur raises an eyebrow at him. ''It's not like it's your fault,'' he reminds Merlin with a wry smile.

Merlin looks at him weirdly and swallows. ''I'm still sorry,'' he says quietly. ''It can't have been easy for you.''

Arthur shrugs. He knows people tend to feel sorry for him. But it's not like he has ever really known anything else. He's sure there are a lot of people who have it worse. At least he had someone willing to look after him.

''Gaius kept me, so I consider myself lucky.''

''...Gaius?''

''Yeah, one of the fishers of the village. This was his house. He died seven years ago.''

A sad expression flashes over Merlin's face, but he quickly tries to hide it with another of his bright smiles. Arthur can see, though, that this one is not the real thing.

''I'm glad you had someone who took care of you,'' Merlin says softly.

Normally Arthur would baulk at this overly familiar attitude of a perfect stranger, but there is something about Merlin that makes him different. His words seem genuine, his concern more than empty phrases. It still makes Arthur a bit uncomfortable, he's always been a private person by default.

''I'm almost done with these. Would you mind setting the table?'' he says, happy to change the topic. He points at the old wooden kitchen cabinet holding all his crockery and cutlery.

Merlin gives him a fond look that Arthur can't place, but complies.

Arthur has honestly no idea what he's doing. He's always been a bit of a loner. He has no friends in the village and mostly he is fine with that. So it's a bit of a surprise, even to him, how quickly he is taking to Merlin. That he invited someone into his house is a novelty for Arthur, but he has this strange feeling that he can trust Merlin, almost as if he has known him for all his life – which is, of course, completely absurd.

He puts their food on the table and waves for Merlin to sit down, which the other man does with an almost deferential expression that makes Arthur smile. There's something weird about Merlin, but he's also incredibly endearing.

''So how did you find me?'' Arthur asks, digging into his eggs, and Merlin gives him a wide-eyed look.

''What!?''

Arthur frowns, a little taken aback by Merlin's reaction. ''It's just that I don't really advertise my business, so I wondered how you had heard about me?''

''Oh... I, uh... really stumbled over it by accident,'' Merlin says, looking slightly uncomfortable.

''Yeah?'' Arthur raises an eyebrow at him sceptically. ''You've seen some of my previous work?''

Merlin nods. ''Yes. I have. And... I can honestly say that I have been very impressed by it.'' His expression is teasing but his eyes are earnest and Arthur inclines his head with a smile.

''Thank you, that's very kind of you. You're from around this area then?'' Most of the people commissioning a boat with him are, after all.

''Uh, no, not really. I'm only... visiting a friend. I was never one to settle. Well, not for a long time anyway.''

''Always on the move, yeah? What is it you're doing then, if you don't mind me asking?''

''Doing?''

Arthur chuckles. ''I meant... what's your job?''

Merlin looks at him perplexed. ''I guess you could say I was something like a... personal assistant? To a very important man.''

''You were?''

A shadow passes over Merlin's face and he looks down at his plate. ''Yes. He... didn't need my services any longer. So I've been taking a bit of a break.''

''Oh...'' There's something heavy in Merlin's posture, and Arthur has the strange urge to somehow take it away, to reach out and grasp the other man's shoulder, squeeze it in an offer of comfort that's not really his place to give. Hoping to lighten the mood a little he says, ''Well, it must be nice to just be able to travel around?''

Merlin gives him a sad little smile. ''It loses its appeal after a while. I haven't had a real home for a very long time, but I have hope... to one day find a place where I can belong again.''

''Yeah.'' Arthur swallows. ''I guess I can relate to that.''

Merlin looks at him questioningly. ''You don't feel at home here?''

Arthur shrugs. ''Not really? It's hard to explain. The only place where I've ever felt that I belong is out on the water, but...'' He hesitates. ''It's not a real home. There is no one-... it's rather lonely sometimes.''

The smile that blossoms on Merlin's face is sweet and melancholic and almost tender. ''Yeah,'' he rasps quietly. ''I imagine it would be.''

For a moment they just look at each other and Arthur can feel his heart-rate picking up. When Merlin finally ducks his head and turns back to his food, the tips of his ears are a distinct red. It's kind of adorable.

They continue their meal in silence, but Arthur can't help but cast glances at Merlin, taking in his graceful hands, long neck and the somewhat ridiculous but endearing ears. He catches himself staring at Merlin's lips when the other man wipes away a buttery crumb of bread with his thumb, and his cock twitches in interest. Arthur turns away mortified with himself.

He can't deny, though, that he feels drawn to Merlin, and that in itself is rather uncommon. It's been a long time since Arthur has found anyone attractive and it makes him feel almost guilty that he does so now. It might be silly, but he feels as if he's betraying that other man, the one he has only ever met in his dreams but that has been a loyal and dear presence all through his life.

And for all he knows, Merlin might not even be interested. Arthur can't really say. He is either sending very mixed signals, or Arthur has been alone for too long to decipher them. On the one hand Merlin keeps staring at him with a fond and almost dopey smile, going so far as to drift off in the middle of the conversation until Arthur raises an amused eyebrow at him. On the other, Merlin talks about his friend as if there might be more to their relationship than he has admitted so far. It's confusing and it starts to drive Arthur half mad, but at the same time he feels more comfortable with Merlin than he has felt with anyone in all the years since Gaius' death.

Finally, after they have finished their breakfast, Arthur takes Merlin over to the workshop. He has converted an outer building that used to be a stable and has fitted it with big skylights that now capture the morning sun and flood the workroom with a golden glow. The hull of the yawl Arthur's been working on is laid out like an open ribcage on one side of the spacious room. The other is fitted with a long work table over deep shelves that hold the rolls of construction plans.

He pulls a few out and spreads them on the table. When he looks around he sees that Merlin has stepped up to the construction on the other side, slowly letting his fingers glide over the smooth lines of the wood. He looks almost mesmerized.

''You really build these boats all by yourself, from nothing.''

Arthur chuckles, a little embarrassed by the awe in the other man's voice.

''Not from nothing – I'm not a wizard after all. But I've always been good with my hands and, I don't know... I guess I just have an affinity to the sea.''

Merlin turns around sharply, and there's that pained expression again. He comes over and studies the plans, standing so close that Arthur can feel his warmth. Soon Merlin glances up at Arthur with a wry look though.

''I'm sure these are amazing, but I have to admit I have no idea what such a boat would actually look like in reality.'' He bites his lip, which – embarrassingly enough – turns Arthur's attention immediately back to Merlin's mouth. He's so enthralled, he almost misses the next question Merlin asks.

''Could you maybe show me one of the boats you have built?''

''Uh...'' Arthur clears his throat. ''Yes, sure. I sell most of them, obviously, but I still have the first dinghy I built. And then there's the Avalon.''

''The Avalon?'' Merlin asks with another of his weird looks.

''Yes. A daysailer. You might have seen me mooring her at the harbour? It's the one I built for myself.''

''Oh.'' Merlin smiles at him. ''Would you... would you maybe take me out on her? Like I said, I'm not a sailor myself so... that might give me a better idea.''

Arthur has never taken anyone with him when he sailed out towards the horizon. The Avalon is his refuge, the sea is where he escapes to. It never felt right to share that with anyone. So it comes as a bit of a shock that the idea to take Merlin doesn't only make him feel warm and giddy inside, it feels right. He opens his mouth to tell Merlin yes, when he remembers that there is something he has to do this afternoon. The profound disappointment he feels at this is unsettling.

Giving Merlin an apologetic look, he says. ''Unfortunately I have an appointment later today, and there's just not enough time before that.''

''How about tomorrow?'' Merlin asks hopefully. ''I'll be here for another few days certainly.''

Relief washes over Arthur. He had not wanted to reconcile to the idea of the other man just leaving, as quickly as he stumbled into Arthur's life.

''Well then, sure, why not,'' he says quickly, trying not to show too much of his excitement. ''From what the weather forecast says it should be a perfect day for it tomorrow. Warm but with a steady breeze. We can make it a day trip if you want.''

''That sounds fantastic.'' Merlin beams at him, and his blue eyes crinkle at the corners in a way that's as enchanting as it seems strangely familiar. ''Thank you.''

Arthur blinks. Tearing his own eyes away and coughing a little, he turns and rolls up the plans to hide his blush. ''Are you staying with your friend then?''

''No, I... I think I'll get a room at the pub.''

''Ah. Yes, The Rising Sun is a decent establishment,'' Arthur says quickly.

He probably shouldn't feel so glad that Merlin isn't staying with said friend, and he tries to school his features when he turns back to Merlin, going for a smile that's friendly but unassuming.

''Can you be at the mole we met this morning at nine o'clock tomorrow?'' he asks when he leads Merlin to the door to show him out.

Merlin looks like a boy, all enthusiastic and eager. ''Yes, of course. Should I bring anything?''

''If you bring some sandwiches from the bakery, I'll make us coffee and take care of the rest – how does that sound?''

''Perfect.''

Arthur nods. ''If you brought your trunks we could even take a swim if you want.''

Merlin blushes up to the tips of his prominent ears, a sight that does all kind of things to Arthur once more. They shake hands and stumble over their goodbye's, and then Arthur watches Merlin go, feeling unsettled and actually needing to stifle the urge to run after him. He wonders how his life has taken such a sudden turn in the few hours since he woke up this morning.

~*~

That afternoon, Arthur gets into his car with trepidation. He doesn't like driving to the city with all its bustling and noise and too many people. He's even less enthusiastic about seeing Dr. Grayson. His appointments with the therapist are only every two or three weeks, and Arthur actually manages to forget all about them until a glance at the calendar in the kitchen inevitably reminds him. He's only been going for a few months, and he's still not sure about it being the right thing, but sometimes he's scared. The dreams become more vivid and intense and sometimes he's not sure whether one day he won't be able to find his way back.

The office of the therapist couldn't be a greater contrast to Arthur's world. Everything is sleek metal and dark grey leather. Dr. Grayson herself is a slender woman with a silver pageboy haircut and piercing blue eyes behind dark-rimmed glasses.

''How are you, Arthur?'' she asks, as she always does, sitting down across from him in one of the matching leather arm-chairs.

Arthur shifts a little in his seat. ''I'm fine.''

Dr. Grayson just keeps smiling at him. Arthur knows she's waiting him out, so he just looks back at her. Dr. Grayson sighs.

''Arthur, we've been over this. If you want me to help you, you have to tell me what's going on inside your head.''

''Can you help me?'' Arthur raises his eyebrows at her. ''Because you keep telling me that you can, but it's not like anything has changed for me since I come here.''

''Do you want things to change then?''

''What's that supposed to mean?''

''Arthur, when you came to me you told me that you thought you were going crazy because of the dreams that you're having, and I tried to work with you to find out what's fuelling them. I think it is obvious that your subconscious invented this perfect person who gives you the feeling of being loved and accepted – a place where you belong – because that's what you've been missing since your early childhood. But the fact is that you have abandonment issues. You don't let the people around you get close because you think they will leave you, and that way you prevent yourself from finding what you're longing for. This man in your dreams is a crutch, Arthur. He's not real. He feels like a part of you because he is a part of you. He's your own subconscious trying to provide you with the human connection you keep denying yourself.''

Arthur grits his teeth. That's what she's been telling him for the last three months. That it's all just in his own head. She even wants him to stop writing the letters because, apparently, that's just another way of avoiding to socialise with actual people.

It occurs to him that he should probably tell her about Merlin. Even if he only met him this morning, Arthur is aware that he has already broken all of the patterns Dr. Grayson keeps going on about with him. But then she would probably tell him that he's getting too invested in Merlin too quickly. He doesn't want to hear Dr. Grayson telling him that he's transferring. That he needs to start with slow steps. That there is nothing like a perfect match, a person that fits him like the other side of the same coin, who will complete him and take away his loneliness. In the end he doesn't say a word.

He lets her do most of the talking and, when their hour is over, she sighs.

''Arthur,'' she says as he gets up. ''You know you don't have to keep coming here if you don't want to. It's your choice. I can recommend a colleague of mine, if you'd like, but I think you need help. You can't keep going on like this.''

Arthur nods. ''I'll think about it,'' he says.

~*~

That night he dreams of tall, green hedges and paths that stretch in all directions, as he stumbles through what seems to be some kind of labyrinth. He feels anxious, knowing he can't fail whatever it is he's doing here, and in the back of his mind there's the vague acceptance that he might just have to die for it. It wouldn't be so bad, he thinks, if he wasn't all alone.

Finally the walls of leaves open up onto a rocky shore, waves crashing on the grey stones. He is sitting at a table, waiting for him, and Arthur feels so very glad for it. There are goblets gleaming in the light of the sun. There is determination and a bit of trickery. He is not going to let that man sacrifice himself for Arthur's mistakes. And so Arthur grabs the goblet and drinks down death and then there is nothing but darkness and the knowledge that he will be safe.

Arthur wakes up panting, one hand clutching at his chest and the other one reaching – as if by instinct – for what he already knows isn't there.

He rolls out of bed, shaking from the onslaught of images and feelings too intense and disconnected to make sense of them. He lights the candle and sits down to write a letter, but it's difficult this morning. The world of his dreams fades quicker than usual, and Merlin's face keeps popping up in Arthur's mind. The idea of seeing him later fills him with nervous anticipation, which then makes him feel guilty. Trying to push any thoughts of him aside and hold on to the memory of stubborn blue eyes instead, Arthur corks the bottle and then makes his way down to the harbour.

~*~

When he comes back from his early morning trip beyond the horizon, Arthur is still caught up in the world of his dreams. The raw, painful longing for the man with the smiling eyes, who becomes intangible as soon as Arthur wakes, still lingers.

He's just mooring the Avalon when he glances up and sees Merlin strolling down the jetty, and the sight of the other man somehow manages to loosen the knot in his chest immediately. Merlin smiles at him and waves, his eyes sparkling and crinkling at their corners, dimples carving in his cheeks, and Arthur has to blink a little because he's quite sure no one has ever looked so happy to see him. He swallows hard and raises his own hand in what he hopes looks like a casual salute.

''Merlin,'' he calls out to him. ''You've made it.''

''I wouldn't have missed this for anything,'' Merlin says, coming to a stop in front of him and giving Arthur a bright, goofy grin that he can't help but answer.

The morning is warm already and it's looking to become a beautiful day. Merlin has rolled up the sleeves of his plaid shirt, long legs clad in dark blue jeans and feet stuck in somewhat faded trainers. He looks good – comfortable in his own skin in a way that Arthur has never quite been able to accomplish, at least not away from the sea.

Arthur firmly shoves these useless self-doubts away and holds out a hand to help Merlin climb down into the cockpit of the Avalon. ''Well, come on then, no time to waste. The wind isn't waiting for anyone.''

Merlin grins and hands over his backpack, then grabs the offered hand. He stumbles a little, long limbs somehow alternating between graceful and clumsy, and ends up falling against Arthur, clutching his shoulder for support. He stares up at him, blue eyes wide and darkening, before his gaze drops to Arthur's mouth.

Arthur becomes acutely aware of the position of his own hands – one on Merlin's elbow and one gripping his hip. He should probably let go. They both probably should let go. Instead, Merlin licks his lips and Arthur feels a bolt of arousal flashing through him. Quickly he steps back and clears his throat.

''Well, all right,'' he says, feeling flustered. ''Lets sail out and I can show you how it's done, okay?''

Merlin looks at him dubiously. ''How it's done?''

Arthur raises one eyebrow – a look he learned to copy from his guardian as a very young boy. ''Sailing, Merlin. What, you think you get to just lay back and laze around while I do all the work?''

Merlin's eyes turn big like saucers and his hand flies up to cover his mouth, but he can't cover the snort that escapes through his nose. ''No!'' he says quickly, shaking his head. ''Of course not!''

But his eyes have a mischievous glint, and Arthur could swear he hears him mumble something like 'though that would be an interesting change for once...' into the palm of his hand.

Merlin sits down further to the bow then, obviously wanting to stay out of the way, and looks at him expectantly. Arthur tries not to fidget under his gaze. He reminds himself that this is something he knows; sailing is what he's good at.

''I'd normally have to check all the lines and the rigging before we go out,'' he explains, ''but since I've just come in we can skip that.''

Merlin looks surprised. ''You've been out already this morning?''

Arthur steers the Avalon out of the mole, his gaze directed ahead and face impassive – though he's holding the tiller so tightly that his knuckles turn white. ''I sail out almost every morning even before the sun is up,'' he says quietly.

''Yeah?'' Merlin raises his eyebrows. ''I wouldn't have pegged you for an early riser.''

Arthur blinks and then shoots him an amused look. ''I was a fisher before I made my living by building boats, Merlin. Believe me, that's not a job for having a lie-in. I used to work with Gaius on the Alice – his trawler – and we always were out way before sunrise.''

''Well, look at that. I would have never guessed.'' Merlin looks truly mystified, but also fond for some reason, and Arthur just shakes his head laughing at how ridiculous Merlin can be.

When they are far enough from the coast Arthur shows Merlin the basics -- like how to tack and how to gybe. He reminds him to keep his head down since the boom might cross over the cockpit quickly if the wind changes or the boat should turn too fast, and teaches him what to look for when trimming the sails. He stays at the tiller at first, letting Merlin handle the jib sheets – mesmerized by his ruffled look, red cheeks and laughing eyes when Arthur urges him to tighten them faster.

''Come on, Merlin, what are you? A girl?''

''I am not, and you are still a giant prat!'' Merlin gasps.

''It might be easier if you put the sheet the other way around the winch,'' Arthur says innocently. ''Because you're pulling in the wrong direction.''

Merlin gives him a hot glare, but by the smile on his lips Arthur can see that he enjoys himself.

Finally Arthur lets Merlin take the helm. He quickly regrets it though.

''No, Merlin! The other way, the other way!''

He ducks just in time when the boom swings over and bangs into the rigging on the other side, then looks up at Merlin with wide, disbelieving eyes.

''Merlin!'' he cries exasperated and snatches the tiller back. ''What's the hell is so complicated about it? When you move the tiller to the port side she'll turn starboard and vice versa!''

''Huh?'' Merlin gives him a desperate look. ''Where's starboard again?''

Arthur shakes his head, but he feels strangely lenient. Merlin is just too endearing when he's flustered. ''Nevermind,'' he says shoving Merlin towards the bow and getting the Avalon back on course. ''I think I'll take the helm for now.''

Merlin rolls his eyes at him. ''Hey, it's my first time!'' he complains. ''Don't expect me to be a perfect sailor like all the others!''

Arthur raises his eyebrows. ''What others?''

Merlin frowns. ''Don't you do this with your friends or something?''

''Oh...'' Arthur tries to fight the blush that's threatening to creep up in his cheeks. ''Nah... not really.''

''I thought people here would all be into sailing. You know... small harbour town.''

''Some are,'' Arthur says with a shrug. ''But not with me.''

''You're scaring them away with your gentle demeanour and sweet personality?''

Arthur huffs out a laugh. ''No, I saved that up for you, actually.'' Feeling a little awkward he tries to explain without coming right out and telling Merlin that he doesn't really have any friends whatsoever. ''Most families have lived here for generations. I was always an outsider when I grew up, and I still am. They keep their distance, and I'm fine with that. You... you are actually the first one I've ever taken out on the Avalon.''

Merlin's smile is soft, his eyes gentle. ''Oh. Well... then I'm even more grateful for it.''

They sail close to the wind for a while, the Avalon tilting leeward and spray flying over the bow. The white, billowing sails a stark contrast to the endless blue of the sky and the dark waves. Merlin's smile is just as bright when he turns towards Arthur after tightening the sheet, looking for approval. Sailing like this, Arthur has always been the happiest, at peace in a way he is nowhere else. Today is different though, because nothing ever felt so right as flying towards the horizon with Merlin next to him, working together side by side. Arthur wishes they could keep going like this forever.

After a while, though, they turn away from the wind for a calmer course and Merlin picks up their conversation as if they never stopped.

''If people here are so distant and closed off... have you never thought of going somewhere else?'' he asks, studying Arthur with that intense gaze of his.

Arthur unnecessarily fiddles with the main sheet and shrugs. ''No. Not really.''

''Why not?''

''I don't know anything else but this place. I have the house and the workshop. I don't need much else. And...'' he trails of, not sure how to explain that feeling of being tethered and adrift at the same time.

''And?''

''I don't know. Maybe something inside of me is still waiting.''

Merlin sucks in a sharp breath. ''...waiting?''

He feels embarrassed, unable to look at Merlin, and his voice is quiet when he says the words. But he says them. ''For someone to come back. For someone to find me.''

Suddenly Merlin's hand is on his own where it tries to hold the tiller steady. His long fingers are pale against Arthur's tanned skin, like the moon meeting the last rays of the sun in the dusky sky, and when Arthur looks up all he can see is the blue of Merlin's eyes. For a moment Arthur thinks he sees in them the horizon he's been running to all his life.

~*~

When the sun is standing high above them, warming their skin to the point of sweating, they decide to go for a swim, anchoring the Avalon in a hidden nook of a bay. It has calmer waters and steep cliffs that shelter them from the wind as well as keep anyone but the most adventurous strollers from approaching its beach.

Arthur pulls his shirt over his head, toes off his shoes and starts to wriggle out of his trousers when he catches Merlin looking. He seems to be staring at Arthur's chest and the tips of his ears are bright red again. Arthur grins. If there's one thing he feels confident about, it's his body; he's strong with lean muscles form work and sailing, tanned from being out on the water every day. So he gives Merlin a challenging look, raising his eyebrows with a hint of mocking, as if to say 'see something you like?'.

Merlin blinks, almost taken aback, and then blushes even brighter.

Arthur chuckles. ''What's up, Merlin? Aren't you going to get out of your clothes? Don't tell me you're shy.''

Merlin glares at him, but then stands up, feet planted securely apart, and starts to unbutton his shirt, all the while looking at Arthur with the same challenge in his eyes. It's Arthur turn to blush a little. Merlin is leaner than Arthur but still well-muscled. His shoulders are broad and his stomach is flat and there's more hair on his chest than Arthur would have thought, but somehow it's an intriguing contrast with Merlin's pale skin. His long limbs make him look graceful – at least until he starts trying to get out of his trousers and nearly falls over board in the process.

Arthur catches him just in time, his fingers wrapping around Merlin's forearm, and once more Merlin catches his balance by holding on to Arthur. Only this time Merlin's hand presses against the naked skin of Arthur's chest and all Arthur can think is that Merlin must surely feel how quickly his heart is beating.

''Wow Merlin, really smooth. Were you born this clumsy or do you work at it?'' Arthur asks, and then winces when Merlin stares at him wide-eyed. This probably sounded far more rude than he intended to.

''I'm sorry,'' Arthur says, smiling sheepishly. ''I-...''

''Become a prat whenever there might be something like a pesky emotion on the horizon?''

Arthur blinks.

Merlin grins.

Arthur cocks his head and narrows his eyes.

Merlin raises his eyebrows, looking innocent.

Arthur shakes his head, takes a step back and shoves Merlin over board.

Merlin makes a squeaking sound and then hits the water with a splash. He breaks the surface a moment later, spluttering and scowling up at a grinning Arthur while wiping water from his eyes.

''You're a dollop head!'' Merlin accuses, and Arthur throws his head back and laughs.

''What does that even mean?'' he asks, still grinning, and then sits down, swinging his legs over the side, and slides into the water with a lot more grace and a lot less splashing than Merlin.

Merlin's look turns fond then. ''It means: Arthur Pendragon in all his prattish glory. I invented it just for you.''

''Oh wow, Merlin, I feel so special now,'' Arthur drawls. ''Maybe I need to come up with a personal insult for you as well then?''

Merlin shakes his head. ''Nah... you can just call me an 'idiot' or maybe a 'buffoon'. I'm not that special.''

Arthur laughs. ''I don't believe that for a second. But since you obviously have a severe mental affliction, 'idiot' does seem fitting.''

Merlin nods happily, and Arthur shakes his head and dunks him under water. The fight is on then, and while Arthur is certainly the stronger one of them, Merlin is incredibly sneaky and sometimes shows up where Arthur least expects him to.

Finally, when they are completely exhausted from their shenanigans, they swim back to the Avalon and hold on to the hull, panting and grinning at each other like little boys. Arthur shakes his wet hair out of his eyes, showering Merlin with droplets of water.

Suddenly there's a hand on Arthur's neck and he is dragged forward. His first thought is that Merlin is going to dunk him again but that doesn't happen. Instead Merlin presses his lips against Arthur's, wet and a little cold, and then suddenly warm when he opens his mouth and takes advantage of Arthur's surprised gasp to deepen the kiss.

It's incredible and intoxicating and Arthur wraps his free arm around Merlin's shoulders to pull him closer against his chest. Merlin makes a keening sound, hand tightening in Arthur's hair like he's drowning.

Then he suddenly pulls back and turns his head away, but not before Arthur gets a glimps at his distraught expression.

''Oh god, I'm sorry...'' Merlin mumbles. ''I shouldn't have done this. I'm sorry!''

''Wh-What? Why? I- I liked it.'' Arthur looks at him confused and a little bereft, and Merlin blinks at him.

''You did?''

Arthur shrugs awkwardly. He still has his arm around Merlin's naked back. ''Yes.''

Merlin stares at him for a long moment. He looks torn. Then he shakes his head. ''I still shouldn't have, it's not fair to you...''

That's when dread settles in Arthur's stomach. He wants to ask Merlin what that means, but the other man pulls out of his embrace and swims around to the stern to climb back up into the boat. After a moment Arthur follows.

They dry themselves in awkward silence, which seems even worse in contrast to the easy-going and even playful mood earlier. Finally Arthur can't take it any longer.

''Why did you say that? That it's not fair to me?''

The look Merlin sends him is almost guilty. Arthur swallows. The disappointment leaves a hollow feeling in his chest. ''Is there someone else?'' he tries - because really, what else could it be? ''Is it that friend of yours? The one you want to buy the boat for? He's more than a friend? Is he your-''

Merlin shakes his head, and there are tears in his eyes when he says, ''No. He never was. Although I loved him in every way, and sometimes I think he loved me like that too... but we weren't-... We never-''

Arthur's heart breaks a little. ''You're talking in past tense,'' he says quietly.

A shudder runs through Merlin. ''That's because he died.''

''What? Then why-...?'' Arthur looks at Merlin for a long moment. The other man is slumped over, rubbing at his face. ''This is not about your friend,'' Arthur concludes. ''This, the boat... it's for you?''

''I don't know.'' Merlin laughs self-deprecatingly. ''I don't even know what I'm doing here. I just... I had this insane hope to find him here and... I found you.''

Arthur sucks in a sharp breath through his nose. It's almost too much, this coincidence. Because isn't that what Arthur's been waiting for all this time? For someone to come and find him? No, a little voice inside his head whispers at him, not someone. Him. You've been waiting for him. But as far as Arthur can say that other man seems to exist only in his imagination. Merlin... Merlin is real and right here. And he kissed Arthur.

''I'm sorry,'' he says, sitting down next to Merlin. ''About your friend.''

He tentatively puts an arm around Merlin's shoulder, and the other man sinks into the embrace as if he's incredibly weary and very, very tired.

''Shall we head back then?'' Arthur asks uncertainly.

Merlin nods, and his sigh is a warm ghost against Arthur's water-cool skin. ''Yeah. In a moment, okay?''

They end up sitting like this for a lot longer than that.

~*~

When they finally approach Tintagel's harbour again the sun is melting like liquid gold into the sea while the slowly dying breeze is pushing them towards the waiting arms of the moles. They have both been silent for a while now. Merlin is staring out over the waves to the far away horizon, an unreadable expression on his face, and Arthur wonders what's on his mind, whether he is remembering his friend, what kind of man he must have been to leave Merlin so devastated in his grief.

He still feels the overwhelming urge to reach out and wrap his arms around the other man, but he's not sure whether Merlin would want that really. For a moment he had thought-... But that had been stupid. He only met Merlin yesterday and Arthur knows he will be gone in a few days. This is only a vacation for him after all. And even if-... Merlin's heart obviously still belongs to someone else. Arthur can't compete with a dead man.

The thought of Merlin leaving makes Arthur feel like he's pulled under water though, down into the cold, endless depths of the sea. He tries to tell himself that he's being an idiot; his life will simply go back to the way it has always been. He has spent years looking and waiting and longing for the man who lives in the shadows of his dreams, how can he betray him now for someone he has known less than two days? But next to Merlin, with his sparkling eyes and open smile, so real and palpable, Arthur's dreams seem to fade like old pictures on the wall.

They moor the Avalon and climb up on the jetty, standing in front of each other, smiles awkward and eyes darting about. Arthur doesn't want Merlin to go, afraid the other man will change his mind and just vanish without a trace to wherever he has come from in the first place.

''If you want-... I could make us some dinner? I mean, unless you'd rather eat at the pub.''

Merlin lets out a breath he seems to have been holding ever since they stepped back on shore. ''That would be nice,'' he says softly, almost too soft to hear.

Something shifts between them then, the awkwardness making way for a tense sort of anticipation. It lingers between them when they walk back to Arthur's cottage – not close enough for them to brush shoulders, but close enough to be aware of every movement, every step and every breath. Arthur glances at Merlin from the corner of his eyes, catches him looking and they both duck their heads with an embarrassed chuckle.

When Arthur pulls out his keys and unlocks the door, he feels like every cell in his body is aware of Merlin's presence behind him, drawn to him as if he is Arthur's true north. He wants to turn around, wants to reach for Merlin – instead he walks ahead stiffly, head swimming and heart beating like it wants to escape his chest.

He turns on the lights mechanically and lets his jacket drop from numb fingers to the floor. When he steps into the kitchen he stops dead, trying to remember what it is he was supposed to do. Food, he thinks, unable to remember how to go about it because his mind is devoid of anything but this burning, devastating need to-.

Suddenly there are fingers pressing against the blades of his shoulders, and Arthur lets out a shaky exhale of breath. He closes his eyes and just concentrates on those fingers, the way they move, gentle but insistent. It feels like Merlin is painting a map on his skin, from his shoulders to his neck, his flanks, his arms and down to his wrists, moving around his waist to linger on his stomach for a moment before the hands withdraw.

Then Merlin steps around him, coming to stand right there, in front of Arthur. They are of equal height and, even if Arthur is broader, right now Merlin looks strong and calm and so determined that Arthur feels bound by his presence alone. He doesn't move, arms hanging heavy at his side when Merlin puts the palms of his hands on the wide expanse of Arthur's chest. Arthur sucks in a deep breath through his nose, rising his chin. His eyes are burning but he can't look away from that expression of... reverence that holds Merlin's face captive.

Merlin's head is bowed; his gaze seems frozen on the hands lying on Arthur's chest. And when he finally does look up Arthur is lost in the eternal sea of blue that are Merlin's eyes.

''Merlin...'' he says. Because he doesn't understand, doesn't know what's happening. ''Please...''

''Arthur...'' Merlin smiles at him through a veil of tears. ''Oh, Arthur... if you only knew.''

''Knew what?'' Arthur asks, almost feeling like he's begging.

But Merlin doesn't answer. Instead his hand glides up Arthur's chest, over his collarbone and neck until fingers curl into the hair at the back of his head. For a moment they just stare at each other and it's brilliantly clear what is about to happen.

Arthur swallows. ''Are you sure?''

''Oh, yes. So very, very sure.''

Merlin doesn't close his eyes when he pulls Arthur forwards and their lips brush against each other, soft and chaste. Merlin sighs into Arthur's mouth and only then his eyelids flutter down.

Merlin's tongue sneaks inside the cavern of his mouth, sliding warmly against Arthur's own, licking into him like he wants to savour the taste of every corner, and something inside of Arthur breaks. With a desperate moan his hands come up to grab at Merlin's hair and ears and neck. He feels like a man drowning and Merlin is the sweet breath of air when breaking the surface. He wants to drink him in, wants more and more and more, wants to touch Merlin in all his secret places.

When they finally pull back Arthur feels so disoriented he has to briefly close his eyes. Merlin's hand is still in his hair, pulling him closer, and Arthur blushes when his almost painfully stiff cock brushes against Merlin's own. He's unable to swallow another moan, and opens his eyes only to find Merlin looking at him – his gaze a steady, silent confirmation.

Arthur takes Merlin's hand without another word then, and they make their way up to the bedroom, not bothering to turn on any lights. The pale glow of the moon falls through the window painting the room in silver light and even darker shadows. Merlin looks so very beautiful in it. He simply shrugs his shirt from his shoulders and pulls the vest he's wearing beneath over his head, exposing his long, lean torso and sharp hipbones peeking out of the low hanging trousers. Arthur sucks in a deep breath, completely mesmerized.

Merlin's stomach is concave and there's a dark trail running down to where his cock is straining his trousers, but Arthur can't look away from Merlin's face. It's all shadows and angles in the moonlight. He looks almost out of this world. His hands, though, are real and warm when he steps closer and lets them glide under Arthur's shirt, moving along the skin of Arthur's back and up to his broad shoulders.

Merlin lifts the garment off completely and explores Arthur's skin as if he was searching for long forgotten paths, lingering on a birth mark just a little under Arthur's left nipple and a scar at his side from when he got caught on a fish hook as a boy.

''It's like I know you,''Merlin whispers, ''and yet I don't.''

Arthur doesn't know what that means really, but he still feels the truth of the statement. His hand curls around Merlin's neck like it belongs there, and when he presses his nose at that spot behind Merlin's ear, drawing in a deep breath, the smell of Merlin's skin is like a long forgotten childhood memory, familiar in a way Arthur is unable to place.

''I want to taste you everywhere,'' he whispers into Merlin's ear. ''I want to discover your whole body with my lips and fingers, and make you mine alone. Is that selfish of me?''

Merlin's laugh is a soft huff of breath against Arthur's collarbone. ''Not more than usual.''

Arthur draws back because the feeling that there is something – something he should know – it's becoming almost unbearable.

''Merlin...''

''Sshhh.'' Merlin interrupts him with a soft press of fingers against Arthur's lips. ''Just... just hold me, okay? Just make love to me. Please. Let me... you have no idea how long- you're all I want Arthur, all I ever wanted. God, you are... so beautiful.''

Merlin fingers trace his bottom lip, trail over his chin and up to his cheek before he leans in to kiss him and Arthur loses track of any coherent thought process he had before. Merlin is unbuckling Arthur's belt with steady hands, as if he has done it thousands times before. Then he steps back, watching Arthur as he lets his own trousers slide over his hips.

When he holds out his hand, Arthur takes it without hesitation.

They tumble down on Arthur's sheets, legs tangled, breathless, and erections rubbing against each other through their briefs in the sweetest form of torture. Arthur boldly pushes his hands inside Merlin's pants, taking hold of the naked cheeks of his arse and grinding against him. It feels glorious, the way Merlin fits him as if he had been made for Arthur alone.

Merlin draws back, taking hold of Arthur's arms and pulls them up over his head, stretching Arthur out on the sheets to look at him. Merlin's fingers are surprisingly strong where they wrap around his wrists, but it's his gaze that makes Arthur a willing prisoner. For a moment he's not even sure he's still breathing.

Arthur doesn't know how it happens exactly but there is a flicker of gold in Merlin's eyes and then they are naked, skin against skin, and Merlin is propped up over him with his hands planted on either side of Arthur's chest. Their cocks brush alongside each other, hot and hard, and Arthur throws his head back with a guttural sound, fingers curling around the bars of the headboard, and tendons straining under his skin.

Merlin's kisses become hot and wet and filthy, tongue pushing into Arthur's mouth with determination, biting and licking and sucking on Arthur's bottom lip. Arthur feels dizzy with need when Merlin finally pulls back, his forehead pressing against Arthur's and both of them panting.

''I want you to take me,'' Merlin whispers, like a confession, against Arthur's lips. ''Please. I want you inside of me so badly, Arthur. Been empty for so long.''

There's no way Arthur could ever deny him, not when Merlin sounds almost desolate, not when Arthur wants to bury himself inside of Merlin, with his cock, his fingers and his very soul.

He wraps his arms around the other man's lean frame, for a moment just holding him and stroking up and down the long, graceful curve of his spine. He presses a soft kiss against his temple and then lets his hands wander down towards the swell of Merlin's arse. He kneads the pert globes gently, fingers curling into the hot cleft between them, and Merlin shudders.

With another sweet kiss to Merlin's lips, Arthur pulls Merlin up until he is straddling his hips and Arthur's own stiff prick is brushing along the crack of Merlin's arse. Nothing has ever felt this good – this right – or so overwhelming.

Arthur's hands come up to frame Merlin's stunning face, thumbs brushing along the sharp cheekbones, and Merlin stares at him with wide, glistening eyes.

''I feel as if I've always known you,'' Arthur tells him wonderingly – because it's true. ''I don't know how that's possible.''

A tear spills over from Merlin's eyes, slowly rolling down his cheek until Arthur catches it.

''Please...'' Merlin begs again, and Arthur nods.

He's not entirely clear about where the lube and condom come from but he couldn't care less at that moment. He presses a finger into the tight heat of Merlin's arse and it nearly makes him come undone when the other man lets out a sob and grinds down against him as if he wants to take Arthur's whole hand. He lets Merlin ride his finger and then two, staring up breathless at the beautiful sight of him, the lines of pleasure and pain and desperation blurring on Merlin's face.

When Arthur can't take it for another second he guides his cock to Merlin's entrance, but the tears let him hesitate.

''Merlin-''

But Merlin wordlessly shakes his head and then sinks down on Arthur's cock with another shuddering sob. Arthur chokes on a wild moan and his hips buck up helplessly, trying to push even deeper into the slick, burning heat and torturous pressure that's engulfing him. His fingers dig into Merlin's flesh so hard that he's sure they will leave bruises while Merlin is clutching his shoulders with equal force. For a moment they just stay like this, connected in the deepest way possible, frozen in time. Merlin's forehead is resting against Arthur's breastbone and his panting breath tickles over Arthur's stomach.

Then Merlin starts to move and Arthur gets lost in the smooth slide of Merlin around him, in the strength of his hands and the taste of tears on Merlin's lips. He makes true on his promise to touch Merlin everywhere, discovering the sensitivity of his stiff nipples, the long, elegance of his throat and the enticing dip at the small of his back. Inch by inch Arthur claims him, with the tips of his fingers and the full length of his cock, brushing kisses all over Merlin's face.

When he finally wraps his hand around Merlin's straining erection, Arthur is draped over him from behind and buried to the hilt inside of him. Merlin is clutching the sheets, a mixture of sobs and moans falling from his lips while he pushes his arse back against Arthur. Then he's coming, keening and whimpering, wringing Arthur's own orgasm out of him, and for one brilliant moment Arthur thinks he can touch the universe and all its secrets.

There's Merlin though, damp with sweat and pliant in his arms, and Arthur couldn't care less about the universe. He presses his face into the hollow between Merlin's shoulders, revelling in the taste of his skin. Then he lets out a trembling breath and slumps down next to him, exhausted. He pulls Merlin back into the curve of his body and presses a gentle kiss against his shoulder.

''Are you all right?'' he asks, feeling shy suddenly and a little uncertain.

Merlin turns around to look at him. There are still tears on his face but the smile is blinding in its beauty.

''Yes.'' He reaches out and puts the palm of his hand against Arthur's cheek, a gesture so tender it's almost too much to bear. ''For the first time in a very long while, I am.''

There are still so many questions in Arthur's mind. He can't shake the feeling there's something Merlin isn't telling him, but he's tired and happy, every cell in his body brimming with the residual pleasure of sex and the complete joy of having Merlin in his arms. And so he falls asleep, wrapped around the slighter man, and only half aware that someone is pulling up the sheets over their bodies even though neither of them has moved a muscle.

~*~

Arthur wakes up panting, clutching his chest where the phantom pain of his dream still lingers. He was dying - dying in the arms of the man he's been dreaming of since childhood. His friend, who in the end was all that had mattered, more important than battles or kingdoms or duty. When Arthur felt the hand of death on his shoulder – an icy, unrelenting grip – he had known that his time had run out, and he had only one last request. He asked to be held while he fought for another breath and then another, because he needed to tell him... tell him...

But he hadn't.

When the last exhale escaped from his lungs and his heart paused and stilled, the words were still there, in his soul and in his mouth, unspoken. I love you.

Arthur's heart is hammering wildly against his ribs. He has always thought that his dreams are more than just that, has felt the pull of something greater, something inescapable. But this feeling seems too big for one man to keep inside his heart, it's burning him from the inside, destructive and necessary to the same amount. Destiny... a voice whispers inside his mind and Arthur wants to deny it, wants to push that idea away because it seems too ludicrous, too grand- and yet... yet somewhere inside of him, Arthur knows it's true.

He turns his head to look at Merlin – gorgeous, wonderful Merlin – warm and real and already so incredible dear to him, sleeping sprawled out in Arthur's bed. It's a sight he wants to never give up. He wants to curl up against the long curve of Merlin's back and bury his face in the black nest of curls. The sheets have slipped down and there is a glimps of Merlin's buttocks, pale in the light of the moon coming in through the window. For the first time in his life his dreams truly seem like a burden to Arthur.

He can still feel the warmth of lips against his own where the man in his dreams pressed a kiss to them in death. He can still feel where Merlin's long fingers curled around his wrist, his shoulder, his hip. It's as if some sort of barrier has broken and dream and reality are truly flowing into one another.

Arthur swallows. His mouth is dry. He needs... he needs a drink of water. He tries to push away the urge to pull out pen and paper, to sit down and write another letter. Instead he gets up, grabs his pants when he finds them lying on the floor, and stumbles down the stairs and into the kitchen.

He knocks over a chair and curses, turning on the light. When he rightens it and picks up Merlin's jacket that had been hanging over the back of the chair, a piece of paper flutters to the ground. Arthur freezes. For a moment his brain refuses to connect the dots. It's his handwriting on the paper. It's one of his letters. Arthur tries frantically to come up with an explanation for why it's lying on his kitchen floor. But there is none. He has bottled and sent every single one of these letters. Slowly Arthur picks it up.

Dear M,

I've been writing to you for a long time now, knowing that you'll never answer. You are a figment of my imagination, a dream I can't seem to escape – I know all that, I do. I've even contemplated therapy, but I'm too afraid to lose you. I know this isn't healthy, that I shouldn't chase shadows and fantasies, but the idea of not dreaming about you anymore, of not having you for this short amount of time at least – it's unacceptable.

A therapist would probably tell me it's the orphan in me seeking affection, but I live and wait for that smile you bestow on me in my dreams. I wish for nothing more than to hold you. I wish for nothing more than you to be real.

Please, M, should you exist somewhere out there – come and find me.

Yours,

Arthur

He remembers that letter. He must have written it many months ago, and then he had taken it out to the sea. But it seems someone has found it. Arthur doesn't know how to take that. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he has been aware that these letters are just a coping mechanism. That the man of his dreams is not out there to receive them, but the idea of someone else finding them, reading them-

And then coming to find Arthur. Arthur's stomach turns. Merlin. Merlin found this letter. There is no way it's a coincidence that he came here, came looking for Arthur. But why? Arthur's mind is desperately trying to find an explanation, find a reason, anything. Obviously this was never about Merlin wanting to commission a boat. Merlin has lied to him from the moment they first met.

The black letters are swimming in front of his eyes, words he wrote, pulled up from the bottom of his soul to put them on the paper that is now crumbling under his clenching fingers.

''Arthur?''

Merlin's voice, soft and still a little sleepy, is like a stab right through the heart. When he turns around Merlin is smiling, blue eyes searching but without a hint of treachery. Arthur silently holds up the letter. The moment Merlin sees it his eyes widen and he opens his mouth, but Arthur beats him to it.

''What are you doing here?'' he asks, and his voice sounds cold and harsh, even to his own ears.

Merlin swallows. Suddenly he looks nervous, and Arthur wishes it didn't break his heart. ''Arthur... please, let me explain-''

''Explain what?'' Arthur chokes out. ''You lied to me! All the things you said-... was there anything truthful in there? Your friend... was that a lie too? Are you that good of an actor?''

Merlin shakes his head, his face distraught and one hand reaching out, but Arthur steps back, away from him. He's shaking with anger and humiliation.

''Why?'' he asks. ''Why did you come here?''

''To find you.''

''For what purpose!? What were you hoping to achieve? I don't have anything worth taking...''

''No! It's not like that! When I found your letter... Arthur, you can't imagine what it meant to me, how I felt when I read your words. I have been alone for so long and then... knowing that you were out there, that you were waiting for-''

''Those words weren't meant for you! These letters... they're private!''

''But you sent them! You wanted someone to find you. M.''

''Don't talk about-... I know it's crazy, okay? I know you probably think I'm a nutcase, but this...'' He shakes the letter in his hand, crumbling it even more. ''This is not an invitation to come here and make me your little pet project, trying to fix me. I don't need anyone to save me, okay? How would you even know where to find me?''

Tears are running down Merlin's face now. ''Please, Arthur, if you only let me explain. I know it seems crazy, but these letters... what if you wrote them for me? What if I'm that man?''

Arthur's blood runs cold. ''Get out of my house,'' he growls, pushing past Merlin and storming up the stairs to his bedroom.

He hears Merlin following him and grabs the jeans lying on the floor, steps into them and pulls them up over his hips. He feels much too exposed, vulnerable knowing that Merlin has taken this look into his most private thoughts, his soul really. Not even his therapist has ever read his letters. No one has.

He hears Merlin come to a stop in the door, watching while Arthur quickly pulls a shirt over his head. ''Please...'' His voice sounds completely broken. ''I wanted to tell you. I swear I wanted to tell you everything, but I didn't know how. Please, Arthur, just let me explain-''

''I told you to get out! Can't you take an order, Merlin?'' Arthur hisses without looking at him.

''No!'' Merlin sounds defiant, but when Arthur turns around he looks mostly hurt. He stubbornly raises his chin. ''I never could. I'm not gonna start now.''

Arthur stares back at him. His hands are shaking and he clenches them into fists. Merlin looks close to breaking down, eyes red and cheeks tear-streaked, lips bitten almost to the point of bleeding. The sight tugs painfully at Arthur's heart and he swallows hard. He can't do this. It's all too much.

''I can't look at you right now. I want you gone when I come back.''

Something inside of him screams, tortured and angry, but he pushes it away and stalks out of the room, his shoulder bumping into Merlin. He stumbles down the stairs, blindly grabs his jacket and steps into his shoes. Then he flees, out into the night.

~*~

There is only one place Arthur can go, and his feet find the way on their own, close to running when he approaches the harbour. His heart hurts like it's dying in his chest and all he wants is to get away: from Merlin's betrayal, from the memory of his touch and the delusion of a connection that had seemed too perfect to be real from the start.

Arthur knows he's careless but he doesn't even check the rigging and lines in his haste and just steers the Avalon out of the harbour, her bow pointed towards the line of the horizon. The wind has picked up again and the water's surface is rippling in the moonlight. The sails billow pale against the dark blue of the night sky as Arthur hoists them up in a hurry and they catch the breeze.

Then the Avalon is carried out into the night, out over the waves, and Arthur's heartbeat calms a little when his body falls into the familiar motion of his boat riding the swell. Deep inside of him the hurt and humiliation still gnaw at his insides, though, and he angrily wipes the back of his hand over his eyes when they start tearing from the wind.

He knows it's his own bloody fault for trusting Merlin like he did, for letting the other man in and making himself vulnerable. He must have looked like a fool, inviting a perfect stranger into his life and handing him his heart and soul to abuse. That Merlin seemed to be so open and genuine makes the truth even harder to stomach. Arthur clenches his hands around the tiller and sheets, gritting his teeth when the thought of Merlin, the tenderness in his eyes and the ease of his smiles, makes him bleed again inside. Lies, he tells himself, all lies.

He casts a last look over his shoulder at the coastline of Tintagel. The harbour and houses seem dark and brooding now, a prison of his own making. Determined, he turns away from it and towards the sea spread out before him, inviting in her vastness, beckoning him with the salty taste of freedom.

He should just keep going and never look back, cut that odd tether binding him to the sandy shore of Tintagel and let the wind take him beyond the horizon and farther still. Maybe that is where he will find him after all. Maybe that's where his destiny has been waiting for Arthur all this time.

He sails out, further and further, until the pale light of dawn crawls over the horizon, until the sun sets the sky ablaze and paints the top of the waves a sparkling gold, and even then he doesn't yield, doesn't turn around. He sails further still, lets himself fall into this glittering world where the sky has no limit and all he can hear is the murmur of the waves and the whisper of the wind. He sails until his limbs grow weary, and his eyes burn from the brightness of the sun, until his mind starts floating and he can barely keep his head up.

When the sun has sunken back into the sea and the slowly darkening sky becomes dotted with the first light of the stars, Arthur finally turns the bow around. The wind falls into the head sail from the opposite side and Arthur lets the main sheet run through his numb fingers until the Avalon turns her port side to the wind and loses all forward speed. He ties the tiller and lets the Avalon lie by, a rocking nutshell on the waves, drifting with the wind.

His body is beyond tired and his head is weary, and Arthur stretches out on the floor of the cockpit, looking up into the softly flapping sails and the night sky beyond, searching out the familiar constellations of his youth. He's far out on the ocean, truly lost and adrift. It seems strangely fitting.

Sleep doesn't come for a long time, and he finally allows himself to think of Merlin. Arthur doesn't know how it was possible to fall for the other man so fast and so hard that he left Arthur with his heart cut open and bleeding. It's still hard to believe that everything Merlin said was a lie, that every look and every blush was false and manufactured.

Arthur can't stop thinking about their day out here on the water, about Merlin's brilliant smile, or that look of awe and need when he begged Arthur to take him. He wants to hate him, he really does, but in the end what lingers is Merlin's face, and that distraught, broken expression when Arthur left him standing in the room they had, only hours before, made love to each other.

I've been empty for so long... You can't imagine what it meant to me, how I felt when I read your words.

Then why did you have to lie to me, Arthur wants to shout at him, but he is honest enough to admit, at least to himself, that he would probably not have so much as talked to Merlin had he told him the true reason he had come to find Arthur.

I had this insane hope to find him here and... I found you.

Arthur sighs. It'shard to believe that Merlin is some sort of master manipulator. His grief and his need feel too genuine. Merlin has loved and lost someone and it left him broken and as lonely as Arthur has been his whole life. It's hard to begrudge Merlin some measure of foolish hope when it has been the very reason Arthur's been writing those letters in the first place.

What if you wrote them for me? What if I'm that man?

He'd been angry when Merlin implied that. It had seemed like a sick joke at first, but Arthur has to acknowledge that the odds for Merlin of all people finding that message must have been astronomical. Arthur has been drawn to Merlin from the moment they first met, and they seem to fit into each other like two halves of a whole. How is that even possible? What if Merlin was meant to find his letter? Maybe – in this world – Merlin is Arthur's destiny.

With something heavy in his heart, that tastes of grief as much as joy, Arthur realises that it is time. Time to let go of the past and start with this life - anew.

Staring into the endless blackness of the night, Arthur recalls that last dream with astonishing clarity. He remembers the arms around him and the solid warmth against his back. He can still recall how it felt to have his life bleeding out of him with inescapable finality and yet he felt sheltered and secure because of the man holding him. More than everything though, he remembers the words. The words that never made it over his lifeless lips. He wishes there was a way he could still say them, wishes he could tell his friend that he had been Arthur's everything, that he had been loved more than life itself.

He doesn't have his pen and paper, and the only light is that of the moon, but this is not something he can delay. He finds a broken pencil and a piece of paper and writes his last letter to M on the back of a receipt for naval equipment. The only receptacle he has is an empty plastic bottle. It has to suffice. Arthur holds the message in his hands for a long time before he stows it away in the bow. Tomorrow, when he's sailing back to find Merlin, he'll cast it out.

Feeling exhausted but strangely at peace, Arthur finally drifts off to sleep.

~*~

He wakes in the dark of a dense forest. A fire is crackling a little further to his side and there's a man with him, his back turned towards Arthur. It's him, and Arthur is filled with a rush of relief at his sight that almost makes him dizzy. He had thought he'd lost him, had thought he must have surely been hurt or killed. There had been a battle, a horrible, endless battle. The noise and stench of it is still clinging to Arthur like pitch.

''Merlin!'' he calls, struggling to sit up. ''Where have you been?''

He only realises what he called the man when he hears his own words ringing in the darkness. The man turns around and then comes rushing towards him and Arthur can't really believe his eyes. It is Merlin, but he is also the same man that has always been with Arthur in his dreams. It's like a fog has been lifted and Arthur is able to see him – to truly see him – for the first time. He tries to get up but the rush of pain that bursts through him makes him fall back to the ground.

''Lie back,'' Merlin urges, falling to his knees next to him and gently pushing against his shoulder. ''You're bleeding.''

He looks concerned, more than that, he looks scared and guilty. ''I'm sorry,'' he croaks out. ''I thought I defied the prophecy. I thought I was in time.''

''What... what are you talking about?'' Arthur asks confused because this doesn't make sense at all.

''I'm a sorcerer,'' Merlin confesses with tears in his eyes. It's a look that is far too familiar. ''I have magic.''

Arthur feels the ground slipping away from him, as dream and reality, lies and truths, anger and relief, all blur into each other until there is nothing but pain and longing and love.

''You lied to me,'' he says, trying to make sense of it all.

''I'm sorry,'' Merlin says – and he is Merlin, exactly the same as the man Arthur held and kissed and made love to, the same man who has been his friend till the very end. ''You are my destiny Arthur. You've always been. But you are also my friend, and I don't want to lose you.''

The images bleed into each other, Merlin being the only thing solid, the only thing that remains.

''I don't want you to change. I want you to always be you.''

''You're not going to say goodbye.''

''Merlin... everything you've done... I know now.''

''Arthur... come back to me...''

I will, he promises, shouts into the black silence of death. I love you. Wait for me.

~*~

When Arthur wakes this time, he does so slowly. Like the cobwebs of his dream, the lingering tethers of another life, are reluctant to let him go. He remembers... He remembers everything. He remembers Merlin – endearing, loyal and brave Merlin, sometimes wise and sometimes foolish, but always Arthur's.

He sucks in a deep breath; it feels as if it was his first. The knowledge of all that was and is long bygone is overwhelming for a moment before he manages to push the past away and come back to be just Arthur.

He's still far out on the ocean and there is nothing but the slowly rolling sea. For a while he just sits there on the rocking Avalon and watches the sunrise. He might just have found a completely new appreciation for its beauty. Then his eyes fall upon the water bottle with the letter. He smiles softly to himself. He'd better go and deliver that.

The breeze is just picking up when Arthur sheets in the sails. He has to cover quite some distance and it will probably take him most of the day, even with the fair wind. He briefly wonders whether Merlin might have something to do with the latter. He has, after all, always had a way with the wind. Though, knowing Merlin, he probably won't be in the mood to make things easy on Arthur.

He sighs. He has been rather cruel to Merlin the other day, but he should really have learned a thing or two about honesty by now. That is definitely on the list of things they have to talk about. Arthur doesn't dare think about the possibility that Merlin might have just up and left. It's Merlin, right? He wouldn't.

Arthur can't deny his apprehension though, when he steers the Avalon into Tintagel harbour in the early evening. He forces himself to belay all clamps and coil up the lines. He's not stalling for time; it's important to take care of these things.

When there are suddenly fast steps on the planks of the jetty, Arthur looks up. The sight pulls a sigh of relief from his chest, a heavy weight crumbling from his mind and heart, and he quickly climbs up on the landing stage. He is hardly on his feet though when Merlin is upon him like a whirlwind, pushing him forcefully into the chest.

''You stupid clotpole!'' he shouts. ''You cabbage head, what were you thinking? You didn't even take provisions! Where have you been? Do you have any idea how scared I was? You can't just- You can't do this to me! Do you hear?''

''Merlin-''

''No! I don't care what you say. I know I made a mistake. I know I should have explained everything from the start, but it's not that easy, okay?''

''Merlin.''

''It's really bloody complicated! And you're a dollop head who never listens and-... what? What are you smiling at?''

Arthur looks at him fondly. ''Gods... I missed you. Even your inane babbling and your absurd insults.'' He swallows heavily. ''I missed you Merlin. More than I can ever say.''

Merlin blinks, obviously taken aback, and so Arthur just steps closer and pulls him into a fierce embrace. Merlin folds his limbs around him as if he can't stop himself, but there is still a lingering tension to his body.

''I've got something for you,'' Arthur whispers into his ear, and Merlin pulls back looking at him, questioning and confused.

Arthur holds up the plastic bottle. ''I believe this is for you.''

Merlin takes it and for a moment stares at the bottle with a frown. Then, with a quick glance at Arthur, he pulls off the top and shakes the rolled up paper out onto his palm.

''It's a receipt for sheets and clamps,'' Merlin says, raising his eyebrows at Arthur.

Arthur rolls his eyes. ''Look at the back page.''

''Oh.''

Merlin does, and then he reads, and it's fascinating because Arthur can watch while he goes through the whole range of emotions, Merlin's face far too expressive for his own good. There is sadness, surprise, joy, gratitude and finally shocked indignation. And Arthur knows with every change just what part he is reading.

Dear M,

I've been waiting for you all of my life, hoping you would come and find me. And maybe you have. But what's even more important, I have found someone. Someone I believe I can love like you loved me. I know you did. Just as much as I loved you. I will be forever grateful that you stayed at my side, that I had you to turn to. But the time has come to say goodbye. Life is meant to be lived in the now, and – this time – I hope there is someone waiting for me.

With all my love,

Arthur

PS: Merlin you are the biggest idiot I have ever met!

Merlin looks up. The hand holding the letter is shaking and there's so much hope and so much anxiety in his eyes that Arthur simply has to reach out again and pull him into another hug.

''Arthur?'' Merlin croaks.

''The one and only.''

''You remember-''

''Everything.''

Merlin's hands claw at the shirt on Arthur's back and he buries his face against Arthur's collarbone. ''You're back,'' he mumbles into the fabric.

''I am,'' Arthur promises, stroking the trembling back of his friend. ''And I'm glad... Merlin... thank you for finding me.''

When Merlin pulls back his eyes are glistening but he's smiling. ''Messages in a bottle, Arthur?'' he asks laughing through his tears. ''What century are we living in? Have you even heard of the internet?''

''I never expected them to reach you,'' Arthur admits. ''I never expected you to be real.''

''Well I'm as real as they come, which is pretty real for a one thousand five hundred year old sorcerer.''

''One thous-''

''Shhhh.'' Merlin presses his fingertips against Arthur's lips, and Arthur swallows down the words, the idea too horrible to comprehend.

''I've still got something to say,'' he mumbles against Merlin's fingers a moment later, pointedly raising an eyebrow at him when Merlin doesn't move.

Merlin shakes his head. ''Nah, I don't think I want to hear it. Knowing you, it'll be a bunch of insults and mockery.''

Arthur looks at him disbelievingly. The he grabs Merlin's wrist and forcefully pulls his hand away from his mouth. ''Gods, Merlin, will you shut up and let me tell you that I love you already?''

Merlin stares at him wide-eyed, then ducks his head, unable to hide his smile and red-tinged ears. ''Yes, Sire.''

''I'm not your king anymore, Merlin,'' Arthur reminds him.

Merlin smiles his bright, sunny smile. Then he kisses Arthur and whispers, softly, against his lips, ''You''ll always be my king, Arthur.''

The End

– or, you know, the beginning...