Work Text:
Was it worth the lies?
Yes, Merlin thinks. Even though the lies burn his throat every time he has to speak them. Even though it shatters his pride like glass when Arthur looks at him and sees no more than a bumbling fool. Even though he wants to scream it's for you, it's all for you, don't you see how much you're cared for.
But it's worth it, to lie and deceive and stay in the shadows. Not just to protect Merlin's own hide— although the dreams where he burns on the pyre leave him trembling when he wakes up, checking his hands to make sure that they're unblemished by soot and burns. But to stay by Arthur's side, to protect him, to be a secret sword and shield for his prince. He sees the spark of a good king in Arthur's heart, a kind and just ruler. Merlin will be the walls that guard that spark from the storm, nurture it into a golden age. No matter how many lies he must speak.
Was it worth the grief?
Yes, Merlin thinks. Even though his heart feels stabbed through just as cruelly as if he has felt the point of Mordred's sword, and not Arthur. Even though it takes days for him to move from the lakeside, skin wan and cheeks hollow, eyes red and sore and utterly cried out. He lays his strongest wards around the lake, makes the land bloom and sing with remembrance and honor, raises a statute in the castle courtyard as Gwen looks on with a tearful smile. None of it takes away from the crushing grief in his chest.
But it's worth it, to watch the world move on from Arthur when Merlin's heart is still waiting at the lake. Merlin would want no one else to carry this burden, and would think no one else worthy of the task. Arthur deserves no less than someone that's completely devoted to him, that's willing to wait for him as long as it takes. Merlin will carry that charge. No matter how deeply his heart grieves.
Was it worth the loneliness?
Yes, Merlin thinks. Even though he didn't know, couldn't have known how long he would walk the world alone. When the people he loved aged and changed and Merlin found his own body as mutable as the seasons. When no matter how he was hurt, stabbed, bludgeoned, burned, his heart would stubbornly beat once more. When he saw good men and women rise and fall, and far too many evil ones follow, but Merlin remained. A witness to the rise of kingdoms, the fall of dynasties, the scourge of the world. People came and left his life like fleeting shadows, but no one could know him as he really was.
But it's lonely, to be a singular witness to time itself. To wait for Arthur, to speak his legend, to work to care for Albion just as tenderly as Arthur would. He uses his magic to heal people (though they hurt each other far more viciously) to nurture the land (though machines of steel and oil rip it apart) to share with others (though with every passing generation the number of people with golden eyes fade). He waits, and gives, and waits, and gives, and it's worth it. It's worth the loneliness.
It has to be.
Was it worth the sacrifice?
"No," Merlin sobs. "Arthur, I can't, I can't—"
Arthur's face is pale, stricken. He looks more terrified than he did the day after he crawled out of the lake, ignoring Merlin's pleas and rushing outside to a world that was completely alien to him, a world that had left him behind. In the months that have passed since then, he's never again looked so afraid.
Until now.
"I don't even know if you're real most days," he chokes out. He's trembling so hard he feels like the world is going to shake apart, or maybe that's just him. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do, or who I'm supposed to be, Arthur, I'm— I'm ruined, I have nothing left for you, I can't I can't I can't—"
Arthur rushes forward, wrapping Merlin in his arms, and Merlin accepts his embrace even as it breaks him. They sink down to the floor of Merlin's living room, and Arthur's desperately tries to shush Merlin's cries, but they're never ending.
"It's going to be okay," Arthur's whispering, and Merlin wants to believe him. But he can't. Arthur is perfect, his gold untarnished from his centuries away, and Merlin's faith in him is unwavering. For whatever reason he's been released back into Albion, Merlin's sure that Arthur will succeed. But Merlin's different. He's no more than a hollowed, dried thing, looking at the world around him with gray eyes.
"It's going to be okay," Arthur repeats, as solemn as any vow he'd ever taken. "I'll fix it Merlin, I swear." His lips press to the top of Merlin's head, fierce and protective. "I'll show you it's worth it."
Was it worth the sacrifice?
Arthur loves watching Merlin cook. He perches by the bar into the kitchen, still fascinated with how quickly water boils in this age, how milk can be kept cold and not spoil, how fresh water spills easily from every faucet. It's been a long time since Merlin even bothered to care about eating, but he finds himself spending more and more time in the kitchen, eager to spoil Arthur with all the foods of a modern era.
Sometimes a calm silence falls over the two, sometimes they playfully bicker back and forth, the verbal sparring that time could never rot. Merlin loves watching Arthur as he takes a bite, eyes widening with pleasure and surprise, before he swallows and inevitably admits that alright, Merlin, I suppose you have at least something you're good at. Merlin steals a bite off of Arthur's plate, and his mouth bursts with the sweetest thing he's tasted in centuries.
Arthur loves baths. He sends Merlin's water bill near through the roof, which Merlin can't exactly blame him for, as it was a long few centuries he needed to use magic to heat water before the invention of plumbing. When Merlin shows him a bath bomb for the first time Arthur's face positively bursts with delight, like he were no older than the boy Merlin met outside of Camelot's walls. He accuses Merlin of using magic for the bubbles and colors, and it takes Merlin forever to convince him otherwise.
At first Arthur would disappear into the bathroom for well over an hour on his own, but lately he's demanded Merlin's company even as he sits in the bath, mounds of bubbles all around him. Merlin sits next to him, sometimes simply reading to himself, sometimes answering Arthur's questions as to some other feature of the modern era— how do trains work? what are mangos? where do all the horses live now? Occasionally Arthur will blow bubbles at him, landing on Merlin's dark curls, and Merlin shrieks with laughter as he's taken down by a soapy attack.
Arthur loves shopping. He's since gotten over the sheer overwhelming press of the amount of people and goods around them, tempted by the jaw-dropping luxuries accessible even to the common man. He loves fleece blankets (Merlin's bought him several, but his favorite is one printed to look like an old tapestry) scented candles (Merlin's tried to keep the number they're allowed at home to no more than a respectable seven, but Arthur's a sucker for anything that smells like vanilla) silver jewelry (Merlin's never been so grateful for the wealth he's accumulated over the centuries with every new silver chain or hammered ring that Arthur insists Merlin gets for him).
Merlin doesn't really need anything, so he hasn't gotten anything for himself in… decades really. But Arthur starts insisting on purchases for Merlin, too, a red wool scarf with fringe that makes Arthur's eyes shine with delight when he wraps around Merlin, more books for when Merlin's nightmares wake him up in the middle of the night and Arthur reads to him until they both fall back asleep, teas and hot chocolate for the many mugs that Merlin finds Arthur bringing him unprompted. Merlin still doesn't want much for himself, but whenever Arthur presses something into his hand, it makes his heart flutter with gratitude.
"Think this Yule is a remarked improvement on the last one," Arthur says dryly. He's looking over their living room, with a fireplace kept warm and bright with a touch of magic, a small but flush and green tree, a modest collection of gifts underneath (Arthur's rather look like that wrapping paper and tape attacked the gift in a bloody massacre, but it's the effort that counts).
"Christmas," Merlin corrects gently. "Anything's better than you spitting out lake water for three days straight. You smelled like a fish."
"I did not!" Arthur gasps, and Merlin laughs easily as Arthur shoves him in response, his magic keeping his full mug of tea from brimming over. It's quiet, and Arthur's face turns contemplative from where he sits beside Merlin on the couch. "Merlin, have… have you been happy? This past year?"
Merlin frowns. He'd think the answer to that was rather obvious. "Considering before—"
"That's what I mean," Arthur says. "Not considering before. Just… in general. Are you happy?"
Was it worth it?
Merlin pauses, thinks, and then nods. He looks at Arthur with a soft smile, his king's eyes open and pleading on his own. "Yeah, Arthur. I am."
Arthur's shoulders release like the weight of the world has been lifted off them. "Good. That's— good." He pauses, biting his lip as he fidgets with one of his rings. "Look, I'd— I'd meant to ask you this tomorrow, and I have a gift to go along and everything, and I suppose I may be ruining Yu—Christmas." Merlin sets his mug down. "But I— you must know. After— after everything. I've tried to show it, not just to give you what you deserve, but to show that I— that obviously I—"
Merlin leans forward, tilts Arthur's jaw to look at him, and captures Arthur's lips with his own. Arthur melts against him like coming home. They kiss slow and sweet, unhurried. They have all the time in the world.
"Merry Christmas, Arthur," Merlin whispers between kisses. "This is all I want." This is all I need.
This was worth it.