From the Other Side

In Between.

*WARNING: there is a bit of adult content. Read at your own risk, kay?*

Chapter Nine ~

      Merlin hadn't meant for Arthur to find out the truth so soon. 

      When he had seen the king, leaning against the side of a building and dry-heaving in panic, he had initially planned to take him back home as fast as possible. It was clear that it was all too much too fast, and that Arthur needed more time before he could face the world around him. There were too many challenges ahead, too many questions, and Merlin needed them both to be well rested and ready for them. 

     But then Arthur was throwing up, keeling over underneath Merlin's caring hands, and the warlock hadn't known what to do. There was no way that Arthur would be able to walk the two blocks back to Merlin's house, not in the state that he was in. So Merlin had looked around for a place to let him rest, and as soon as his eyes fell on the glowing green sign that hung above his favorite pub, he made a split second decision and hauled Arthur inside. 

      He hadn't thought about what would happen if his friend were to see the pub owner, and he hadn't thought about what position it would put him in afterward. But the damage was done, and now Arthur knew the price of his destiny. 

      Once they returned home (Greg had given Merlin a pepto bismol for Arthur, so that he could handle the walk back), the two men found themselves in the living room, sitting amongst the blankets that they had slept in the night before. A companionable silence fell between them, and Merlin allowed his thoughts to drift as he picked at the rug with his fingers. 

      He remembered the first time that one of their friends had been reincarnated, or at least the first time that he had witnessed it. 

      After the death of Sir Leon, Merlin had fallen into a long depression, withdrawing into himself and neglecting his duties at court. Everyone he had loved and grown up with were gone, and there was nothing left for him besides the long years ahead. The grief he had felt was too overwhelming, so eventually he made the decision to run off, leaving his place as court sorcerer and putting his only home behind him. 

      He spent the next year or two wandering through the woods, following the paths of the druid caravans and living off the land. He had no true destination, and was too heartbroken to care. There wasn't anything left for him in the world, besides waiting for a prophecy that he wasn't even sure would come true. 

      But then he found it – or rather stumbled across it on accident. The old cottage was still standing, just as rugged and dirty as he remembered it. He had taken Arthur there many years before, when Uther was on his deathbed and Dragoon's true identity was still unknown.

      The pot Arthur had broken was still inside on the floor, untouched and in the same number of pieces as it had been when they left. Merlin remembered kneeling down next to it, tears filling his eyes as he resisted the urge to pick up the shards and cradle them. It was the only proof that he had, besides his own memories, that Arthur had truly existed. He couldn't bring himself to disturb it. Not then, and not after he moved in. 

      A year into his life of solitude, tucked away from the course of time inside Dragoon's tiny hut, Merlin heard a knock at the door. It was a strange sound, for he was not used to company, nor did he have anyone to provide it. He stood from his place beside the fire, brushing himself down, then cautiously made his way across the room. 

      "Please let me in!" a female voice begged, pounding on the door again. "They're after me!"

      Merlin's guard went up for a brief moment, until he remembered that he had nothing and no one to live for. It wasn't as if he could die, anyway. So sighing gruffly, he reached out a hand and opened the door, expecting a group of bandits to come rushing in on him.