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“I know about the magic,” Arthur says.
Merlin’s fingers clench in a spasm against his best efforts, tangled in the rough sheets of his bedding as he blinks feverishly awake. Arthur stands illuminated in the early morning light like a particularly pleasant dream, but saying such nightmarish things. Merlin pinches himself. The door of his tiny little bedroom is shut tightly behind Arthur; the sharp snap of the latch having been what woke Merlin to begin with. He swallows, eyes stinging sharp and miserable. “What?” Merlin rasps. It's hopeless. Yet Arthur’s hands were empty, and his face was… annoyed. Not anything—well. Not anything worse. The everyday noise of the citadel came in through the open window, a booming laugh making him wince, eyes flickering away and back to Arthur.
“It’s fine, we have bigger problems,” Arthur waves one hand imperiously. As though he had not just gutted Merlin and left him for dead.
“What?” Merlin repeats numbly, his tongue tripping over the word.
“You need to pay attention this time,” Arthur commands, sitting on the edge of Merlin’s bed and pushing one of Merlin’s knobbly knees away to make space without so much as a wince. “I’m sick of explaining this,” he continues, as though it makes any sense. “I’m stuck,” he complains. “Over and over, the same day; it’s been dozens of times now! More!” Arthur drags a hand through his blond hair, looking manic.
“What?” Merlin says a third time.
“You’re useless,” Arthur groans. For a moment he is as still as Merlin has ever seen him. The red of his tunic fairly glows in the morning sun, reflecting a blush of color across his face. Underneath though, he is pale. Distressed, Merlin dares to think.
“You’re telling the truth?” Merlin asks, although he suspects he knows the answer.
“Of course I am,” Arthur grits out. All his melancholy evaporating into ire. “I always am! Why would I lie about something like that? How else would I know about your-” His blue eyes widen in shock as Merlin slaps a hand over his mouth.
“Well shut up about it then!” Merlin hisses. They are so close the tips of their noses nearly brush, and the heat of Arthur’s breath feels just a shade too hot against his palm. His finger pads tingle. Merlin wrenches his hand back. “It’s a secret,” Merlin says inanely.
“Of course it is,” Arthur agrees, looking away.
“You’re… not angry?” Merlin hedges.
“I was,” Arthur says, refusing to meet his eyes. “I’ve had time to get over it though,” he snorts. “Plenty of time.”
“I didn’t do this,” Merlin says frantically.
“I know that,” Arthur rolls his eyes. “I’m not sure why it’s happening, but I know it wasn’t you.” He nudges Merlin’s knee again. “Hey,” he presses, when Merlin doesn’t reply. “Hey! Don’t you want to know how I know it wasn’t you?”
“Go on, then, how?” Merlin bites the inside of his cheek, nervous. His hands twist in his lap.
“Because you’re useless.” Arthur grins at him, and Merlin hiccups a laugh.
“That’s me,” he agrees, just to see Arthur’s smile stretch even wider.
“Maybe don't be useless today though,” Arthur suggests. “We only have a day to fix it, after all.”
“Seems to me like you have a lot of days to fix it,” Merlin argues.
“Not if I have to explain it every time,” Arthur argues right back. “I’ve wasted a lot of time holding your hand about it all, since you are the biggest girl’s petticoat in all of Albion.”
It feels very unfair that Arthur had held his hand and Merlin won’t remember it. He probably didn’t mean it literally, anyway. With great effort Merlin stops twining his fingers into knots. “Ha.” He says dryly. “So what have we tried?”
“I have ingested more potions…” Arthur turns wild eyes dramatically towards the ceiling, unable to contain his disgust. “I don’t know what goes into them, I stopped asking after the first few. You’ve tried to curse-break with a some things. A rock,” Arthur says, which does not help at all. “Some sort of red rock? Shiny?” He elaborates at Merlin’s deadpan stare, which is only marginally more helpful. “And you hit me with a bundle of sticks once, but I’m not entirely convinced that had anything to do with curse breaking.”
“We could try it again,” Merlin offers. “Maybe hitting you will work the second time. Actually a lot of magic has power in threes,” he says, feeling somewhat like he’s floating, “so maybe we should try it—0of!”
Arthur’s aim with a pillow is just as deadly as that with a sword.
“Come on,” Arthur says, standing. “I’m well done with today and ready for tomorrow. Why couldn’t I have been stuck on a feast day? Or a hunting day?”
“What is on today, then?” Merlin asks, pulling his blue tunic on over his head as quickly as he can while Arthur is turned away.
“You’re supposed to know,” Arthur complains. “Aren’t you my manservant?”
“I—am,” Merlin says, pondering. “I still am, right?”
“Yes, idiot,” Arthur sighs. “And it’s just a normal day, as far as I’ve been able to tell. And if you’ve ever discovered anything you haven’t told me about it. There is court, in the morning, but I only have to show my face. Training. The day is… unremarkable.”
“So it’s something else,” Merlin says as he stuffs his feet into his boots. “How many times has it been did you say?”
“A hundred, at least,” Arthur says. “Maybe more. I wasn’t counting at first, I thought I was going mad.”
“Do you tell me every time?” He can’t help but ask. He wants to know, to hear Arthur say so, that he can’t get by without Merlin.
“Now, yes,” Arthur says, looking out the little window. Merlin should clean the glass, he thinks, suddenly embarrassed. Although if he were to make a list of the things he should clean Arthur’s chambers should probably be at the top; and even though Merlin has been in Camelot for years that notion still hasn’t stuck. At least Arthur seems to have given up hope on that front.
“But not always?” Merlin pushes.
“I was—not at my best,” Arthur admits. “When I first learned. I thought-well. I thought some things were true, and it turns out they are… well, they’re not.” Beneath his light answer there is a heavy sadness to Arthur’s eyes. A sheen that Merlin assures himself is not tears, just a trick of the morning sun.
“It’s alright,” Merlin finds himself saying, pulling Arthur closer by his elbow; Arthur lets himself be pulled. “It’s a new day.”
“Yes,” Arthur smiles at him, throat bobbing. “A new day. We’ll get it right one of these times,” he sniffs. A brave front, Merlin knows. Before he can even attempt to offer any comfort the prince has pried open Merlin’s door, striding away like there’s no time to lose.
Merlin hops after him.
“Oh, Merlin-” Gaius begins, only for Arthur to cut him off rudely.
“We’re going, no time for that today!”
“Later, Gaius!” Merlin promises, although he has no idea what he’s promising. Arthur is halfway down the hall, turning smartly to avoid colliding with a maid who is over-burdened with linens. His hand reaches out to snatch one before it can hit the floor, depositing it back on top of the stack without looking.
“Your highness-” the maid gives a wobbling curtsy, but Arthur is already gone.
“Good morning,” Merlin says briskly as he jogs past her.
“Oh, Arthur,” Leon’s voice comes from around the corner, and Merlin steps double-time.
“This afternoon,” Arthur says without breaking his stride. “And no, and yes!”
“One of these days will stick, you know!” Merlin chides as he catches up to Arthur, waving bashfully over his shoulder at a put-out looking Leon.
“Hopefully,” Arthur nods.
“Shouldn’t you treat every day as though it will last? What if something happens that you’ll regret forever?”
“Probably hate myself forever then,” Arthur nods.
“I am not certain you mean that,” Merlin narrows his eyes at the prince.
“I do mean it, actually, I just don’t think today is the day,” Arthur wrinkles his nose.
“Well why not!?”
“I don’t know, just a feeling I suppose.”
“And you’re quite certain you don’t know what caused this?” Arthur turns sharply to stare at Merlin, livid. He has to pull up short to avoid collision. “I’m not trying to say—look,” Merlin holds up his hands. “I want to help. Any ‘feelings’ you have, anything you know-”
“I know,” Arthur concedes after a sharp exhale. “I know you want to help. You always do.” They stand awkwardly in the hallway for a long moment. “It’s starting to feel a little bit hopeless is all,” Arthur says.
“It’s not,” Merlin says with unearned confidence. But he will save Arthur, he knows. One of these days.
“As you say,” Arthur’s mouth twists.
“We’ll figure it out, together,” Merlin insists, not liking the look of Arthur’s false smile one bit. “Maybe… maybe if we can’t figure it out in one day we can figure out how to make me remember? So we both have more time?” Arthur winces. “Do you-do you not want me to remember?”
“It’s not that.” Arthur looks side to side, making sure the hallway is clear. “Not anymore, I mean. I—I behaved poorly. You-” Arthur does that manly sort of sigh where it’s supposed to seem like he doesn’t care, all while he cares very, very much. Merlin is very, very used to this. “You suffered for it.”
“Oh,” Merlin blinks.
“Because of me.” Arthur blinks right back. “If there is one blessing in all of this,” Arthur waves his hands around. “It’s that you don’t remember it. I never-” he snaps his mouth shut.
“It’s alright,” Merlin comforts him again, feeling adrift. “It’s all alright now, none of it stuck, you know?”
“I still did it,” Arthur says. “It’s still real—even if just to me.”
“What did you do?” Merlin asks before he can stop himself.
“Please don’t ask me,” Arthur begs. Begs.
They walk silently to the stables, although neither of them seems to have a plan. “Maybe we should go for a ride,” Merlin suggests. “I think you need a break.”
“I don’t-” Merlin stares at him, and Arthur’s eyes shutter closed again. “Yeah, alright. Maybe. Go to the kitchens or something,” he orders. “We’ll go out. Maybe being out of Camelot at midnight will do-something.”
“Something,” Merlin scoffs even as he breaks away to the kitchens.
Arthur does not seem well. He’s lighthearted and weary in turns, setting Merlin’s teeth on edge. Mercurial. Away from Arthur Merlin’s hands have begun to shake. He flexes them at his side in time with his steps to get them steady. The prince might have had months to deal with his magic, but Merlin- He breathes in sharply, the smell of bread and herbs hitting him like a slap in the face. His feet had carried him all the way to the kitchens on their own, it seems.
“Are you alright?” One of the kitchen boys eyes him. “You aren’t sick, are you?”
“It’s the smoke?” Merlin asks. “In my eyes.” The younger boy does not look convinced. “Maybe I am getting ill,” Merlin says instead of putting up a protest. “Can you get some things for the road—Arthur wants to go riding.”
“Oh, fine,” the boy complains, very put-upon, in the way of tiny young brats. Merlin feels quite above it all. He wonders if it's too much to ask for those little pies Arthur likes so well, but he's already being done a favor so he keeps it to himself. It’s barely a wait before a bundle is pressed into his hands. “Don’t get sick,” the boy says, which is nice of him.
“Thanks,” Merlin shouts as he takes off down the hallway. No one knows, he reminds himself. Just Arthur.
Arthur who ‘behaved poorly,’ whatever that meant. It’s hard to hold it against him though, given how terribly sorry he seems.
Maybe it is a blessing, Merlin thinks, feeling rotten for it even as he does. It seems like some other Merlin and Arthur have done all the hard work. Merlin as he is now didn’t even have to have a particularly difficult conversation on the matter.
Maybe he did do this, he speculates. To get out of—whatever it was that Arthur won’t speak on.
He’s waiting with two horses, and Merlin takes a moment to look at Arthur before the prince sees him return. His expression gives away little, but they’ve been… whatever they are for years now, and Merlin would like to think he knows Arthur pretty well. The tension in his neck, the slope of his shoulders. He grips the reins of Llamrei in one hand, the other idly stroking down her neck in soothing sweeps.
“Provisions,” Merlin says with false cheer.
“Took you long enough,” Arthur answers. “Let’s get out of here.”
They set out on the well-worn path out of the city, and Merlin holds his tongue even as the crowds grow thinner and thinner. He’s brimming over with questions, but can’t bring himself to disturb whatever meager scrap of peace Arthur is finding in the quiet.
It’s not until they are settled under the shade of a tree until Arthur speaks again. “You didn’t get the little pies,” he complains. “You always remember the little pies.”
“I didn’t pack it,” Merlin says ruefully, digging the toes of his boots into the ground. It’s rich and damp, the nearby pond rippling and shimmering under the sun. “One of the kitchen boys did. Rest assured I would have indeed gotten the pies.”
“Hm,” Arthur hums, settling for a bit of cheese and bread, plucking a handful of blackberries up at the same time. Merlin leans back into the tree roots, trying and failing to quell his curiosity. “Alright,” Arthur says around a mouthful, cheeks bulging in a most unflattering way; all courtly manners forgotten when it’s just the two of them. “So. You think you can make it so you can remember, too?”
“Well, it was just an idea,” Merlin admits. “I don’t… really know how to do it.” Arthur raises an eyebrow at him. “Oh, shut up,” Merlin flushes. “I could maybe figure it out.” Arthur merely raises the eyebrow further, and Merlin laughs. “I could!”
“Maybe,” Arthur finally allows. “You’ve done a lot, after all.”
His good humor dries up immediately. “Are we going to talk about all of that?”
“No,” Arthur shakes his head. “I just want you to know I know, I guess. We’ve talked about some of it, sometimes, at least. Shouted about it. And I can put the rest together, believe it or not. I know I owe you.”
“You don’t,” Merlin insists.
“I do,” Arthur says sedately, picking at the crust of bread. “It’s not really fair that you don’t remember. If you think you can—maybe that’s for the best. It’s cowardly of me, to be glad you can’t. I just-I keep getting it wrong.” Merlin opens his mouth to argue, but Arthur flicks a look at him that shuts him up quick as anything. “One time, after a really bad day, I mean—I told you to leave Camelot. To go somewhere and be a farmer.”
“Did I?” Merlin wonders what constitutes a really bad day.
“No,” Arthur smiles, slow. “Of course not.”
“Yeah, I didn’t really think so,” Merlin smiles back.
“You always try and help,” Arthur says again. “Always.”
“I’m glad, then,” Merlin rolls his shoulder into Arthur’s, even though the summer day is too warm for body heat. “When… did you find out about my magic?”
“The first day,” Arthur presses back into him. Merlin feels a flutter of fear skitter up his spine. Was it him? Had he cursed Arthur, even on accident? “When I told you I was stuck—you believed me, and you said you’d fix it.” Merlin finds it hard to believe he ever had the courage to tell Arthur, no matter what the circumstances were. He’d kept his secret over plenty of dire situations, at the cost of… well. Suffice it to say that sometimes Merlin wonders about the cost of his secrets. “Of course you are as useless at magic as you are at everything else,” he mourned, “so I’m still—”
“Shut up,” Merlin knocks him over, joyful.
“You shut up,” Arthur throws a blackberry at him, but it goes wide by a mile and Merlin cackles. “You sound like a bog hag!”
“How do you know what a bog hag sounds like?” Merlin shoves Arthur’s face straight into a scrubby bush, feeling giddy right up until Arthur twists and lifts Merlin up over his shoulder with a shout of effort. Leaves stick out of his hair like a wild-man.
“In you go!” Arthur jeers, lugging a struggling Merlin over to the edge of the pond, boots skidding in the mud as he struggles to stay upright.
“No, Arthur, no!” Merlin shrieks, face red with laughter, digging his fingers into Arthur’s tunic and refusing to let go. The reeds part around Arthur’s boots, and Merlin will be the one to clean them, of course; he latches on all the more firmly.
They both go in, in the end.
The cold water feels wonderful on such a hot day, so Merlin doesn’t even really mind. He surfaces and pushes his hair out of his eyes, black and weighted with water. Arthur whips his own hair off of his face like a dog, splashing Merlin twice over. He’s beaming, his little crooked fangs that Merlin adores so dearly on full display. Merlin can’t stand it for even a moment longer, and so he kicks forward, savoring Arthur’s shocked expression before Merlin dunks him in the water once more. Arthur’s hand around his ankle is by far the least surprising thing that has happened so far today, so Merlin has already taken a deep breath before he feels the pull.
It’s a long while later that they lay side by side in the green grass. The heat of the sun feels perfect on his skin, the wet clothes drying so quickly that Merlin doesn’t even to use magic to dry them; even though in theory he could. He could. “Hey,” he calls out, catching Arthur’s eye as he squints over. Merlin breathes a cloud of gold smoke and sparks up like a dragon, twisting it into the Pendragon crest, just to see Arthur’s face while he does it.
Maybe another Merlin another day has done this countless times, but this is for him. Arthur blinks, pleasant and contented, and blows his own stream of air at the dragon. Merlin’s magic has a will of it’s own, it seems, for the dragon turns into the new breeze, gliding along the air above them in ambling circles.
“It is nice,” Arthur admits sleepily, “to get out of the castle for a change.”
“Yeah,” Merlin mumbles his agreement, half asleep himself. His eyes can’t seem to stay open in the glare of the warm sun, it’s far easier to close them. The rustle of the grass and the tiny splashes of the lively pond fish soothe him.
“I lied, a little bit,” Arthur confesses.
“Yeah,” Merlin says, only half paying attention.
“Just a little. You always try and help and you never leave me to be alone,” Arthur continues in a whisper. “But I found out about your magic on accident, that first day,” he admits. “You didn’t tell me.” Merlin knows this is important, but he can only muster up so much feeling right now. “I just wished that's how it had gone, so I lied about it so we could have a nice day. That’s all.”
“I’m sorry,” Merlin whispers back, peering at Arthur through the long grass.
“It’s not your fault,” Arthur says, blue eyes shining. Merlin can’t pretend they aren’t tears, not now. “You were right, of course, not to trust me. I've been trying to sort it, but-”
“I do trust you,” Merlin argues, feeling more awake by the minute, and resentful over it. He’s grumpy as he reaches out to take Arthur’s hand in his and give it a squeeze. They’d held hands before, Arthur had said so, so it was alright.
“You shouldn’t,” Arthur croaks. “It was all my fault.” He clenches Merlin’s hand back so tightly he fears it will break under the hurt of it. “My father—I won’t let it happen again. I swear it to you, on my life-”
“I believe you,” Merlin stops him, unable to bear hearing even a single word more. He knows full well what happened, even as it has his stomach churning to think of it. It’s written plain as day across Arthur’s miserable splotchy face. “You don’t have to tell me, I believe you.” He sits up, reaching over to Arthur, who only pulls him back down again, burying his head in Merlin’s chest where his heart lies. His arms are a vice around Merlin’s narrow waist, and one rough, ugly sob escapes him before he can bottle it down—and Merlin doesn’t know how to fix this. He pets through Arthur’s hair, feeling lost.
“Do you think…” Merlin starts, after the sun has moved across the sky, and Arthur still has not resurfaced. “Maybe I did do this? Got you stuck, I mean?”
“You wouldn’t,” Arthur says, his hair tickling the bottom of Merlin’s chin.
“Not on purpose,” Merlin agrees easily. “What if it was an accident though? If I was trying to help, but got it wrong?”
“That does sound more like you,” Arthur huffs. Merlin dares to press his cheek down onto the top of Arthur’s sun-warmed hair. “You couldn’t have though—you were-” Arthur cuts off, voice breaking.
“If I wanted to try it all again from the start, but it was you who got caught up instead of me-”
“Do you think?” Arthur asks, but still doesn’t lift his head.
“I… maybe. If I died-”
“Shut up,” Arthur grits out, arms tightening impossibly further. “You’re not dead.”
“I am alive,” Merlin rolls his eyes, since Arthur can’t see. Perhaps he should be more troubled, but he's hardly dead now. “Clearly.” Of the two of them, Arthur is by far the worse off; Merlin tries not to think on him suffering through it all alone. It seems a far crueler fate.
“I’m glad,” Arthur says. “If it’s-if it can go a different way. I mean. It will be worth it. All of it. I don’t care how many days.”
“I’ll figure it out,” Merlin swears.
“Take your time,” Arthur huffs, snuffling his wet nose all over Merlin’s only good tunic. “I’m not going anywhere, after all.”
"Do I die every day?" Merlin finds himself asking, not sure he wants to know. He thinks Arthur has the right of it; some thing are better unkept.
"No, of course not," Arthur says. "I can change things; and I make sure nothing happens to you, now, but the day starts over regardless. I thought... if I could save you. That would be enough. It's not. It never is."
Arthur still doesn’t let him go, not even after the sky starts turning a blaze of bright red under the setting sun. It’s still a long way until midnight, if that is indeed when things change over. Merlin can’t bring himself to push Arthur away, so he thinks on what other things break curses.
If it is a curse at all.
He’s stopped time before, but nothing like this.
If Merlin had done this to keep his own secrets… he’s ashamed of his fear, but he wonders if it can be undone. If the only condition for time to continue is for Arthur to forget. This Arthur, who hugs him back, who accepts his magic—Merlin is not so eager to say goodbye.
Nor can he keep him trapped.
“I don’t know,” Merlin breaks the silence again. “I don’t know what to do—if I was trying to make you forget.” He’s too afraid to suggest it. He doesn’t want to.
“Oh,” Arthur says, a sorry little sound of realization.
“I don’t want you to forget though,” Merlin lets go of Arthur enough to scrub a hand against his cheek, wiping away a frustrating tear. “I’m so happy that you know.”
“I don’t want to forget, either.” Arthur shakes his head. “I don’t want to—what if I…” He trails off into telling silence. “I’d rather live an infinity of ordinary days with you,” he says eventually, each word deliberate. “Than risk you again, you must believe me.”
Merlin can only nod; he understands, of course. He’s been the same for a long time. Without Arthur there is no point—it’s just taken Arthur a while to catch up.
Knights are all thick about important things, though, so Merlin cannot be surprised.
“It wasn’t an ordinary day for me,” Merlin swallows roughly, wishes he had the words. So that Arthur would know. “This was a really good day, Arthur.”
“It was,” Arthur agrees, shuffling back far enough to look into Merlin’s face. His eyes are puffy and bloodshot, and his hair is pressed up on one side where it dried funny, tacky with pond water. It feels as natural as anything to be pulled down, to let himself be kissed.
It wouldn’t be so bad, Merlin thinks, to spend every day like this. Hardly a curse at all.
Arthur sighs, pressing his thumb along Merlin’s jaw in a caress that Merlin swears upon his magic he will never forget. If he lives to be a thousand that touch will still be branded onto his skin.
“I hope you remember,” Arthur says against his mouth. “There are some things I would undo, in my life, but never this. And to lose you is too harsh a lesson. I can't stand to learn it again. I can't.” He presses another kiss to the corner of Merlin’s mouth, his cheek, under his ear. “Believe me,” he pleads. “Remember me.”
Merlin couldn’t speak if his life depended on it. It feels as though this moment, these words, are written on his very soul; if his magic is good for anything he won’t forget. He won’t abandon Arthur to puzzle this out on his own. He nods tightly, and steals another kiss instead of saying it. He'll remember.
“Midnight is hours away,” Arthur says, turning away for a look at the sky. “That’s when I fall asleep, no matter what I try; and I wake in my bed, the usual time the next morning.”
“Have you ever kissed me before?” Merlin asks, a mischievousness falling over him in his desperation to know.
“No,” Arthur says, outraged, “what kind of a man do you think I am?”
“A very confident one,” Merlin says admiringly. It had felt as familiar as anything Merlin had ever known. Arthur squawks in protest, but he’s pleased, Merlin can tell.
“Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing,” Arthur says, watching the clouds drift in ribbons across the sky. Weary, but as peaceful as Merlin has seen him all day; longer, even. “As long as the both of us remember one another; just to stay, for a while.”
“For a while,” Merlin agrees, watching over Arthur as the light grows dimmer, the sun sinking away from them like sand through an hourglass.
His door slams open, Arthur standing there shirt half-done up and barefoot, one finger pointing theatrically at Merlin as he opens and closes his mouth without a single sound escaping.
Gaius gapes like a fish behind him.
Merlin touches a hand to his own mouth, dragging trembling fingers over the places Arthur kissed him yesterday. A familiar booming laugh sounds from somewhere outside, and Merlin reflects. Today—from when Arthur kissed him today. Nothing has changed—but no, no, that's not true. Merlin is here. A giddy grin spreads across his face before he can think to stop it.
Arthur hooks the door with one foot and kicks it neatly shut at the sight of it, ignoring Gaius’s shout entirely and eyeing Merlin with promise. "You're with me?" Arthur asks, even as he strides the two long steps it takes to cross Merlin's little room.
Well, Merlin supposes. It’ll be alright if they have one day to themselves; they’ve got time to figure things out now, together. "I'm with you."
Today, and all the tomorrows after, whenever they come.