Archive of Our Own ^beta

It was hard for things to be shocking after 1,500 years of living.

That was something Merlin learned after witnessing about a few hundred years of revolutions, scientific discoveries, cultural movements, and a lot more. Of course, he still felt deeply for everything he’s witnessed, but humans had the tendency to repeat history over and over and over again, which made significant events in the world be much less shocking than it should’ve been.

It was easy to be caught up in the mundane, especially now, when Merlin was living a new life as the owner of an apothecary that he lived right above. It was normal for him to get up, go to work, see his regulars and meet some new customers, close up, and spend the rest of the evening either relaxing or making potions and tonics before going to bed. Then it was the next day and he would do the same thing over again, but sometimes he would break his routine by getting groceries or going out with his friends.

So Merlin hadn’t been expecting anything out of the blue when he woke up in the morning, brewing his tea as he got ready for work. Once he was ready, he turned on the TV and played the morning news like he usually did. He went into the kitchen, where he could see the TV from clearly, and poured his tea into a mug.

The news had been going over the weather report as Merlin prepared himself some toast and spread some strawberry jam on top of it. It was another cloudy day in London, rain expected as always—nothing new.

Merlin prepared himself some eggs as the weatherman droned on and on about the temperatures and the direction of winds. After setting up his breakfast, he went over to the couch and sat down, beginning to eat the way he did any other day.

The news transitioned into another segment, but Merlin couldn’t bring himself to pay attention since it would most likely be about how the economy was crashing or something. He scarfed down his breakfast, pausing when the signature sound for breaking news played.

“Breaking news: law enforcement has discovered that Durandal, also known as the ‘French Excalibur,’ was reported missing this morning in Rocamadour, France. Authorities suspect it was taken at approximately 11pm due to sightings of an unknown man dressed in armor walking around the town hours before,” the news anchor reported, a blurry video popping up of a man who was drenched, wearing chainmail and looking around confusedly.

Merlin promptly spewed out his tea.

He coughed, staring at the TV with wide eyes as a news reporter interviewed locals. No. There was no way that could be Arthur. How would he even be in France? And why would he take Durandal?

“It was odd. There was this man walking around, completely soaked and wearing armor that you would see on a knight or something. I asked him if he was alright and he spoke to me in a language I couldn’t recognize. He was totally freaked out and ran off,” a local explained in French. Merlin’s heart dropped. Oh, shit.

Oh, shit.

That really was Arthur. His Arthur. The one Merlin spent over a thousand years waiting—no, aching—for. And, for some reason, he was all the way in France probably carrying another legendary sword that could very well get him arrested.

Merlin groaned, dropping his head in his hands. “Shit."

Merlin had been in the middle of booking the next flight to France when there was a knock on the door, making him flinch and knock over his empty mug. He was quick to catch it, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the doorway. There was literally no reason for anyone to visit him, especially because the only way to even get to his front door was to go through his store, which was definitely not open.

He felt the familiar spark of his magic, which was surrounding him like a shield. Merlin slowly got up, quietly stepping his way to the front door. He looked through the peep hole, only to yelp at the sight of Arthur Pendragon’s freakishly blue eye peering back at him. What the fuck.

“What the fuck!” Merlin swinging the door open.

He spent literal thousands of years imagining how seeing Arthur again would go. He imagined that Arthur would emerge from the waters of Avalon, Excalibur in hand, as Merlin watched him. He imagined that his throat would constrict, his heart beating faster and faster with every stroke Arthur took to get to him. He imagined that they would collapse into each other’s arms and he would press his ear to Arthur’s chest, hearing the soft thump thump thump of his heart. He imagined they’d leave that cursed lake once and for all, their fingers entwined.

He certainly didn’t imagine that Arthur would be standing in his doorway, still soaking wet and holding a thin and rusty sword in one hand. Really, this was the last thing Merlin was expecting.

But that feeling he imagined when he’d see Arthur again—that was real.

Even the absurdity of the situation wasn’t enough to keep Merlin from tearing up, resting a hand over his heart like it was going to jump out any second. “Arthur,” he breathed out, overwhelmed by the sudden realization that Arthur was here. He was really here.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, eyes wide and, God, hearing his voice was enough to make Merlin sob. He collapsed into his King’s arms, placing his hand on the back of his head as the other went around his neck.

Arthur’s arms slid around Merlin’s waist and he held onto him tightly, not allowing a second of hesitation. Merlin couldn’t help but chuckle when Arthur squeezed because he’d always been a little aggressive. His fingers tangled into the blonde’s wet hair, feeling the strands he longed to touch. “You’re here,” he muttered, the Common Brittonic feeling unfamiliar on his tongue.

Arthur squeezed him once more. “I am. It took too damn long to find you,” he said, and Merlin could practically hear the frown in his voice. “I thought you’d taken me to Avalon.”

Now, it was Merlin’s turn to frown. He leaned back, but not enough to actually pull away. “I did!” he insisted. “How the hell did you end up in France? And how the hell did you get the wrong sword?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to find out! I woke up in the ocean and there was this—this feeling, and I just followed it. And I happened to grab the sword along the way,” Arthur said, having the decency to at least look sheepish. He scratched the back of his head, looking down at Durandal, which he was still holding.

Merlin sighed, shaking his head slightly. “Of course, the first thing you’d do when you return is commit a criminal offense,” he said, shaking his head mockingly.

Arthur spluttered, moving to slap Merlin on the back of his head. Merlin snickered as he ducked, remembering the familiarity of their actions. He tried to run away, only for Arthur to grasp his arm and pull him back into his chest.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Arthur muttered, dropping the sword and trailing his hand up Merlin’s arm slowly. His breath hitched in his throat as his King brought his hand to the side of his neck, his thumb brushing over his jaw. Arthur sighed, his eyes searching Merlin’s as he leaned his forehead against his.

“I just got you back. There’s no way in hell I’m going to let you go ever again.”

Later that day, after introducing Arthur to the concept of a shower and comfortable clothing, Merlin paused in the middle of pulling a shirt over the other’s head.

“What’s wrong?” Arthur questioned, popping his head out of the collar as his arms somehow got tangled in short sleeves of all things.

Merlin scowled. “It’s the goddamn Sidhe’s fault.”