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Merlin let a frustrated sigh pass through his lips as he leaned forward in his seat, his fingers pinching the area between his brows in frustration. It had been centuries since he last saw Arthur, and yet, the ache of losing him still persisted- flaring up almost coincidentally between his bones when most inconvenient for the Professor.
He had so many papers to grade, none of the motivation to do it, and he could swear he was feeling a headache about to come to fruition. The pointed ticking from the smaller hand of his office clock did nothing to help the situation, vindictively marking every single moment since he failed his destiny. The cruel hands of time, flaunting his immortality in front of him. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. He’ll never die, he can’t die, but time will pass anyway.
Suddenly feeling that something had to be done, he was standing, his chair pushed far away from his desk. He needed to go outside, he needed to move- he couldn’t remain trapped in this small room. Without much care, he walked out of his office and towards the front of the building, his hands rummaging through his pockets for a cigarette. Smoking was a foul habit he’d picked up around the 19th century- it wasn’t like anything could kill him, so why not? His fingers shakily put the cigarette between his lips, distracted by his feeling of imprisonment, as he walked straight into someone who was turning the corner. Merlin stumbled backwards slightly before he caught himself, his annoyance igniting in sharp sparks throughout his body, curses ready to tumble off his lips, immediately halting when his eyes met with the person’s he’d run into.
Blue.
A blue he hadn’t seen in centuries. One that was so rare, with tiny gold flecks scattered in its bright depths- he’d only ever seen it a few times throughout his life. Most notably, in his other half’s face.
His mouth fell open, the now forgotten cigarette falling to the ground.
He’d forgotten what Arthur’s eyes had looked like, the intensity they held when focused upon you. Merlin’s eyes greedily ran over the face in front of him, hope pathetically lodging itself in his heart, only to be ripped away when he realized that he was staring at a young woman with brown skin and inky hair. It wasn’t Arthur, perhaps it never would be. He gulped harshly, trying to stifle the pang of grief in his weak body.
“I’m so sorry.” She rushed out, a soft pink beginning to dart her round cheeks.
Merlin raised a hand towards her, shaking his head. “It’s alright.” He croaked out, beginning to walk past her.
“Wait!” She almost screamed, her body turning quickly to keep her eyes on him.
Those blue eyes.
Eyes she was using to stare at him with admiration.
His eyes.
A soft quiet anger began rushing through Merlin.
How dare she look at him with those eyes?
Arthur never would have gazed upon Merlin in the way she currently was.
It felt violating, like an inappropriate resurrection.
“You’re Professor Myrddin?”
Merlin nodded slowly, his lips tightly pursed so that he wouldn’t say something that he’d regret.
“I’ve been trying to get into your class, Arthurian Legends Through the Ages, for like, ever. I hear it’s a great class. I’m currently on the waitlist.” She began, her words fumbling out of her mouth at record speeds. “If anyone drops during syllabus week, I’d really love it if I could join.”
He looked down at her, and then quickly averted his eyes, not wanting to repeat his earlier mistake. It wasn’t her fault that her genetics somehow had led to the unfortunate replication of Merlin’s- well, what was he to Merlin at this point? A friend? They were friends for about a decade, which is such a small blip when compared with the rest of his immortal life. Even then, Arthur only ever truly knew Merlin at the end of his life. Would Arthur even consider them friends?
Merlin felt his mood sink even further. What would Arthur think of him dedicating his whole life to him? Academia on King Arthur was such an easy niche to fit himself into, but at what cost? Hearing incorrect hypotheses and stories over and over with no evidence to refute it other than ‘because I was there.’ Would Arthur think it inappropriate? Would it make him uncomfortable?
Merlin blinked, shaking his head softly to try and focus. He noticed that the young woman’s posture in front of him slightly slumped, making him feel even worse. She didn’t deserve to be the person all his negative emotions were taken out on.
“What’s your name?” He asked.
“Morgan Wynn.” She supplied quickly, the edges of her lips slowly twitching into a careful smile.
“I’d recommend that you attend my first class even if you aren’t in it. If someone drops, it’ll be easier for you to take their spot if you’ve already been there the whole time.” Merlin sent her what he hoped was a smile, then a soft nod. After a moment of hesitation, he added, “If no one drops, I’ll just let you in, alright?”
Morgan practically squealed with excitement, doing a small jump. “Thank you!”
He cringed slightly, unprepared for the noise, continuing to nod as he made his way outside. She sent him a wave goodbye, and he returned it.
Once he was finally outside his hands habitually started looking for his cigarette. He groaned softly as he realized it was discarded in the hallway, looking back at the building, and then dejectedly making his way to sit on a bench. He foolishly wondered if had another stashed in a different pocket, even though he knew that his wasted cigarette was his last. His hands began a more frantic search, working haphazardly through his clothes to miraculously find another cigarette, only to pause as he felt his phone buzz in his pocket.
Giving up the search for one addiction to move straight to the other, he fished his phone out, one of his eyebrows slowly raising as he looked at his screen.
‘Portrait of King Arthur Realized’
Setting alerts for King Arthur, Arthur Pendragon, and Camelot often resulted in the oddest articles being pushed at him, but he couldn’t help himself. What if they had actually done it? Suddenly found out something true, or magically made a portrait that looked exactly like him.
His thumb pressed the article, scrolling down and down and down until it finally landed on the painting.
Merlin’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening slightly.
Those eyes.
Again.
But, his lips and nose were all wrong.
It wasn’t his Arthur, but some crude imitation. They’d gotten the shape of his face incorrect, his hair too short, and they'd given him an absurd amount of facial hair. But, of course, his eyes were almost identical to the one’s Merlin used to be so familiar with. It felt like a merciless trick that what he’d be most haunted by was Arthur’s eyes. Those eyes seemed to be the one thing everyone got correct. Maybe it was his destiny’s revenge upon him.
To always have to confront the eyes he had to force closed after Arthur’s untimely last breath.
Eyes that he wanted nothing more than to see trained upon him again, studying his movements.
Crinkled at their edges as he laughed loudly, clapping a hand roughly against Merlin’s back.
Blinking quickly when trying to process that he had magic the whole time.
Staring at him with such rage, fear, surprise, sometimes even a soft fondness.
But, they’d never be his. They could look like his, but always belonged to someone else. Apparently now they didn’t even have to haunt him through a person, but a painting. Lifeless. How fitting.
Merlin scoffed as he scrolled to the top of the article, skimming through it, picking up the pieces of information that actually mattered; based on what academics have compiled, using 5th and 6th century art techniques, morphing the descriptions together over the years, blah blah blah. He locked his phone, slipped it back into his pocket and then shut his eyes. He craned his neck, stretching it out here and there. He needed a moment to himself. A moment without Arthur looming over him. He sucked in a deep breath, trying to quiet his mind.
Fresh air was good for him, or at least, the modern equivalent of fresh air.
He remembered when the air used to be crisp, almost cutting into your lungs with how fresh it was to inhale. He used to be able to feel the intoxicating buzz of magic in every intake he took, and now it was unfairly dry, almost empty, stale even. He exhaled, shaking his body out slightly along with it.
Days like this, where he couldn’t escape his first life, were always hard.
Everything reminded him of the past, making his existence almost corrupt- making him want to lash out at everyone and everything around him. He no longer wanted to be surrounded by new technology, air conditioning, modern medicine, or even indoor plumbing- he’d give it all up to be back in Camelot again. To have his purpose back. An aimless life was the worst fate he could’ve had, making him envy the dead. At least once their life was ended, it was truly over.
But some days, he really could pretend that he was only a thirty five year old professor. That he was just as clueless about past historical events as everyone else in his false age bracket. Blood transfusions on the battlefield? How awful for them. The bubonic plague outbreak? That must’ve been so scary then. But just as with the passage of time, the cycle would repeat, he’d be back to the mornings that he woke up forgetting he wasn’t in Camelot, and his bones creaked with centuries of usage, his posture slumped from the harsh loss against destiny.
His immortal existence was a viscous one, that was for sure.
How long could one sanely live in wait?
Surely, the world had long surpassed the need for King Arthur to return.
What would he have to contribute if he suddenly were resurrected?
He’d stab at toasters with his sword probably, be overwhelmed with all the noise modern life had, be scandalized by how he was represented in the media- maybe he’d just prefer staying dead. Honestly, Merlin had given up on the rest of the prophecy long ago. There had been so many times where the world was so bleak, and he’d truly deluded himself into thinking that yes, this had to be the moment for Arthur to come back, but he never did. The world continued turning, and Merlin remained alone through every historical horror forced upon him. The only one that would always live through it, even if he didn’t deserve it. He had watched so many men perish, as knights and soldiers, why them and not him? They had succeeded in their destinies, he hadn't. He usually tried to not think about it, but a day like today made it impossible.
What was he doing with his life?
Nothing, really.
He couldn’t form lasting connections anymore, unable to deal with any more loved one’s inescapable death, always confronted by the reality of being really and truly alone. That’s not to mention the suspicion that would always slowly arise as his peers started forming grey hairs and wrinkles, comparing their aging to his. Wow Merlin, you’re aging so gracefully. You look just as young as the day I met you. What skincare routine do you use? Be honest, is it botox? He’d picked up his life and moved so many times. He’d faked aging and dying, taking on new names over and over. He wanted to scream. He wanted to be let out of his prophecy. If destiny had given up on him, why couldn’t they at least release him from this endless torment? There was clearly no need for Arthur anymore, so why was he still here?
Arthur’s current uselessness was a reality Merlin had to grapple with every time a new invention was introduced. The worst was the introduction to technology. It made everything easier, making so many things Merlin loved useless now. Why use physical cash when you could use a credit card or pay with your phone? No need for scrapbooks, you have the cloud. It was clear to him that the world couldn’t handle its own evolution, becoming reliant on instant gratification, and making many luxury inventions almost necessary in the current day to day life. The way in which politicians and people utilized the next new thing made Merlin more and more jaded over time, they always made the wrong choices, wanting advancement over the good of the world. That’s not to mention all the political failings he’d seen, either.
What would they do with magic? Real and true magic that he had so dearly missed. Magic that was pure and all encompassing, that was a natural part of the earth.
They’d probably try and sell it; can it, bottle it, make it ‘better.’ Infuse it with something else.
Charge at a premium. They’d chain the dragons up, or kill and eat them. The thought made Merlin shudder,
Even Arthur, who had hated magic, wouldn’t have dared to corrupt it like that.
Arthur was a good leader, one who had truly cared about his people, often putting them and their needs before his own. Leaders like that didn’t exist anymore, maybe they never did.
Other than Arthur, of course.
Arthur, who was the picture perfect King, a gold circlet shining softly through his blonde hair. His face chiseled, skin always tanned from his adventures, his eyes calculating and thoughtful. He’d always looked so dashing and regal in red, Camelot’s red. Merlin loved dressing him, letting his fingers expertly buckle and fasten Arthur’s clothes and armor upon him. Dressing him, shielding him. With each piece secured just so, a small charm weaved from his fingers to protect him at all times.
Merlin’s Arthur.
The Arthur that didn’t belong to the Kingdom of Camelot, but to him. In quiet moments, stolen bits of time spent together throughout the day.
The other side of their coin.
He honestly missed him more than he could ever express.
There were no words, in any language, that could capture what he felt towards Arthur. He was so entirely devoted to him, even now. He’d give everything up to see Arthur again. Even his magic. Merlin had only ever used it for him, anyways. His body shook softly with yearning, his breaths stuttering slightly as the hopeless ache of living without his other half overwhelmed him once again.
It had taken about two or three centuries for Merlin to realize that he was gay, and around two more for him to finally admit the way in which he had loved his King.
That was the most unfortunate part of it all, to Merlin at least, learning the way he truly felt about Arthur much too late; being forced to realize his love when he couldn’t do anything about it.
Rather slowly, Merlin opened his eyes, hardly shocked that it was now dark out. Night had taken over the sky as he lost himself in his thoughts. He sadly wiped his sleeve over his wet cheeks, inhaling deeply. He looked up at the stars which were startlingly visible, twinkling almost like they used to, a very long time ago. When the stars were like this late at night, and he was out in nature, he could almost trick himself into hearing the crackling of a fire alongside low hushed voices, interrupted by his King’s boisterous laugh. He could forget where he was, when he was, and pretend that he was just out camping with Arthur and his knights again.