#pendragonnet

Merlin Headcanon:

It takes him a long while - years even (he’s not sure, he stopped counting) - to learn that he couldn’t die. Illnesses and plagues came and went, loved ones lived and died (in sibbe gereste, Arthur, Gwaine, Gaius, Mother…), reckless and suicidal missions were won and gone. Through each, Merlin thought he might die, but didn’t. As it happens, drowning doesn’t work. Neither does poison. Neither magic nor sword do either. He knows, he’s tried.

It takes him a long while - years even (he’s not sure, he stopped counting) - to come to peace with it. Great waves of grief wash over him from time to time, but he is an affront to magic and to life itself if he wastes either. He’s never certain he deserves this power (punishment), but he has come to peace with it. He sets out to live a life (many lives). 

It takes him a long while - years even (he’s not sure, he stopped counting) - to realize that Arthur was truly coming back. Merlin is there, ready, waiting at the lake, to greet him, to take him home. 

It takes him a long while - years even (he’s not sure, he stopped counting) - to realize that he still isn’t aging.

Arthur dies again.

It takes him a long while - years even (he’s not sure, he stopped counting) - to feel human again; it’s too much, too much, too much. He’s still broken when he feels it.

It takes him a long while - years even (he’s not sure, he stopped counting) - to realize that Arthur has many futures. And it’s okay (it’s okay) because Merlin has many futures, or one constant future, or - it doesn’t matter, it’s been so long that he stopped counting. He greets Arthur at the lake.

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Dawn of the first anniversary of the battle at Camlann finds Merlin climbing the steps that lead to the ramparts of Camelot’s castle. The first rays of light are just threading the horizon in pink and gold when he arrives and encounters Guinevere already sat near the parapet.

She is unsurprised to see him, and simply lifts the edge of her cloak - one of Arthur’s - that he might sit beside her. They sit in silent vigil for several hours, watching the kingdom slowly wake before them, bathed in sunlight and the warmth of peace from war.

Something passes between them in those hours that goes beyond the shared grief of mutual catastrophe. It transcends words and bypasses revelation, unidentifiable and indefinable; it simply is. 

Sometime after the noon bell, Merlin begins to speak, his voice gravelly with disuse and emotion. Slowly, slowly, he tells her everything, leaving no secrets between them. Guinevere listens to him, making neither move nor interruption through his words. In the months following Camlann, Guinevere had lifted Camelot’s ban on magic and invited Merlin to the Council. She had asked, then, about him and about his magic and about the events that transpired after the battle, but Merlin hadn’t been able to bring himself to talk. She hadn’t pressed again, waiting for him to be ready on his own, but still treating him with kindness and trusting him in all matters as was her way.

He loves her for it.

He finishes his story. “I failed, Gwen. I failed Morgana then, and I failed Arthur and I failed Albion.” He makes as if to go, and she lets him, but not before she says, “Arthur was very lucky indeed to have you, Merlin. I don’t think you failed him at all. Thank you.”

Ok but AU in which Arthur and Merlin have been friends for years and they’re fiercely competitive with each other.

At one point Arthur almost gives in to the urge to kiss Merlin and so he leans forward into Merlin’s space, eyes on Merls’ lips. And when Merlin doesn’t move away, Arthur, surprised, looks him in the eye and asks “what, you’re not going to move?”