Notes: Written for the reel_merlin challenge on Livejournal for the movie prompt Amelie. Modern-day AU/future-fic. Mild slash. Contains spoilers for season one of Merlin. Some lines and the title are borrowed or adapted from both Amelie and Merlin. Thank you to sophinisba and thedoingofit for betaing and to o_deanna for Britpicking.

Looking For Things No One Else Catches

It was a familiar dream, though Merlin never caught more than a few glimpses of it. A white tower gleaming in the sunlight, the sharp glint of a sword slicing through the air, a cheering crowd. The earth crunching beneath his feet as he crept through a forest, a horse and a rider in the distance, a tunnel that trailed off into the darkness. And always a voice calling out to him, whispering, "Merlin. Merlin."

Merlin woke with a start and looked at the clock with bleary eyes. It was just after midnight on a Sunday in June. With a yawn he rolled over and burrowed deeper in the blankets, the memory of the dream already fading from his mind as he drifted between wakefulness and sleep. By morning he would hardly remember it at all.

It was just after midnight on a Sunday in June. Merlin's life was about to change forever, but he didn't know it yet.

Merlin woke up late and in a panic before he realised that it was a Sunday and he didn't have to work that day. But he was supposed to have been at his mother's house fifteen minutes ago and so he scrambled to get dressed, pausing for just a moment to grimace at his pale and tired reflection in the mirror before he hurried out of the door.

He ran down the stairs, his feet skidding as he rounded the landing, and was about to race down the next flight when a door on the second floor opened with a loud creak. A raspy voice called out from the darkness. "Ah, Merlin. Come in."

Merlin paused, one foot already poised to take the next step. On any other day he wouldn't have minded stopping, but his mother was expecting him and if he delayed any longer he would miss his bus. "Actually, I'm sort of in a hurry-"

"You young people always are," the voice replied, sounding amused. "Come in."

Merlin hesitated for another moment before he nodded and stepped through the door, wondering what was so urgent. The Dragon, whose gravelly voice and penchant for smoking had earned him his nickname, was the oldest resident of the neighbourhood. He had no family and no visitors other than a handful of well-meaning people like Merlin who could stand his cryptic comments. Despite the fact that he seemed to know an inordinate amount of information about the personal lives of everyone in the neighbourhood, the Dragon himself was something of a mystery. No one seemed to know what his real name was, and rumour had it that he had not left his flat in twenty years, though Merlin couldn't understand why. The Dragon wasn't ill or infirm, despite his age (which Merlin suspected was ancient; he seemed even older than his mother's neighbour Gaius, and that was saying something).

Unlike Merlin's cramped and cluttered flat, the Dragon's was dark and sparsely furnished, giving it an oddly cavernous look. Today Merlin found him ensconced in his favourite chair, perfectly situated to give him an excellent view of the window so that he could keep an eye on all the goings-on in the street below.

"Did you need something?" Merlin asked helpfully. "Do you want milk, or a newspaper?"

"No, not today," said the Dragon. He tilted his head and studied Merlin for a moment. "How young you seem for such a great destiny," he murmured, half to himself.

"What?" Merlin said, giving him a puzzled look.

"A coin has two sides," he said in a louder voice.

"…Okay," Merlin replied.

"You, Merlin, are but one side of that coin," concluded the Dragon. "There is another."

"I'm not sure I understand," he said. The Dragon was being especially cryptic today and Merlin wondered idly if this was his attempt at giving dating advice, before firmly pushing that thought far from his mind.

The Dragon smiled mysteriously. "You will understand when you are ready."

"Right," Merlin said, slowly backing away towards the door. "Are you sure I can't get you anything?"

Hunith was already working in the garden when Merlin arrived. She smiled up at him from beneath a wide-brimmed hat, but her expression quickly turned to one of concern and she stood to study his face more closely.

"You look tired, my boy," she said, frowning at the dark circles under Merlin's eyes and removing her gardening gloves to fuss with his hair. "Are you feeling well? Is something troubling you?"

"No," Merlin replied. "Everything's fine." At Hunith's sceptical look, he shrugged and smiled at her reassuringly. "I just didn't sleep well last night." He'd been awakened by the same dream twice more, though now he could only remember a few vague glimpses of it.

His mother still looked troubled. "I worry about you living in that flat all on your own. You know you're always welcome here, Merlin. You can come and stay for the summer. There's plenty of room for you."

"I know," he replied, smiling again. "Thank you. But I'm fine, really. Don't worry about me. I like staying in the flat, and it's closer to work. Now," he said, looking around the garden, "where should I begin?"

Hunith had moved into the house just two years ago, when Merlin started university. She'd been looking for something smaller, since their former home had felt a little too big and empty without Merlin there, but she had instantly fallen in love with the old, charming house with the huge garden. It was a little larger than what she'd wanted, and it had fallen into disrepair over the years, but Hunith liked the challenge of fixing it up and Merlin helped her whenever he could during the school holidays.

Now that the house itself was looking better, Hunith had turned her attention to the garden. Merlin spent the afternoon digging up a row of dilapidated hedges and had nearly finished when his spade hit something with an unexpected thud. Frowning, he peered at the ground, tapping his spade around in the earth to hear the low, metallic sound once more.

Digging more carefully now, Merlin tried to free the object from the ground without damaging it. At last he saw something take shape, a small, grey metal box with a rusted lock that he brought over to show his mother. Together they broke the lock and opened the box, eager to see what was inside.

In the box there were a number of photographs, some in colour, some in black-and-white, and nearly all of them featured a young woman with light hair and large blue eyes and a bright smile. "Do you know her?" he asked. She seemed familiar somehow, as if he'd seen her long ago, perhaps when he was a child, but Hunith shook her head.

"I've never seen her before," she replied, checking the back of the photo. It was undated. Merlin shrugged and went back to exploring the contents of the box.

"I wonder who it belonged to," he said. There was no name on the box or on any of the photos. He wondered if somewhere there was a woman, about his own mother's age now, missing these pictures and wondering where she'd left them.

"Gaius might recognise her," Hunith said. "He's lived on this street for over forty years. If anyone would know who these photos belonged to, he would."

Merlin nodded and set the box aside, giving it one last curious glance before he went back to digging.

"Igraine Dubois," Gaius said immediately, his voice revealing his surprise as he reached for one of the photos to study it more closely. "I'm certain of it."

"Where is she now?" Merlin asked eagerly. "She'd probably like to have her pictures back."

A look of sadness crossed Gaius' face. "Igraine died more than twenty years ago," he said, handing the photo back to Merlin.

"I'm sorry," Merlin said. "What happened?"

"She died giving birth to her son, Arthur. But I hadn't seen her for several years before that; Igraine left the neighbourhood after she married."

"What happened to her son?" Merlin asked. "Do you know where he is now?"

"Well, his father raised him of course," Gaius replied. "I think they're still living in the city. But I lost contact with Igraine's family years ago, when her parents died and her brother sold the house. He seemed to disappear after that; no one has heard from him since. Two other families lived in the house before your mother bought it. But only you were able to find this treasure," he added, gesturing to the box with a nostalgic smile. "I'm sure Arthur would appreciate seeing these photos, if you can find him. The poor boy never knew his mother, after all."

Merlin thought about how he had never known his father, how he didn't even have a picture of him, and felt an instant connection with Arthur and a strong desire to see the photos returned to him. "I'll look for him," he promised Gaius. "I'll make sure he gets his mother's box back."

Finding Arthur was going to be more difficult than Merlin had expected.

As soon as he returned home that evening, Merlin turned on his ancient computer and checked the online phone book. He found three people named A Dubois living in the city, but when he rang them he discovered that two were women and that the other wasn't called Arthur at all.

Gaius hadn't known what had become of Arthur after his mother's death. He could be living anywhere now, Merlin supposed. He widened his search, checking for an A Dubois in several of the neighbouring towns, but there was no one listed with that name. It seemed that Arthur Dubois simply didn't exist.

Merlin rubbed at his eyes, feeling tired and a little frustrated. It was getting late and he decided to put aside the search for now in favour of making Igraine's box look more presentable. He emptied it and carefully scrubbed the box clean. Then, in the light of his lamp, he spread out the photos on his bed, looking at each one more closely than he had before, wondering what Igraine Dubois had been like and imagining how her son would react to seeing these photos. Would he be happy, or would he be sad? Would he care at all? Merlin was certain that he would, and he made a promise to himself to continue the search tomorrow, however tedious it may be. He would find Arthur, no matter how long it took.

There was water everywhere in Merlin's dream. He was splashing in it but someone else was drowning in it, and he splashed around some more, dunking his head under the water, desperately looking, searching, finding. Then there was a heavy weight in his arms, and he was pulling, tugging it along until he reached the surface, blinking his eyes in the sunlight as he gasped for breath.

Merlin woke, startled and disoriented. He sat up and stretched his arms, which felt odd and almost sore as if he'd lifted something heavy, and shivered. This dream wasn't fading as quickly as the others had, and he felt unsettled by the memory of it. But he was more disturbed by the sudden, strange feeling of loss, of having something within his grasp for a brief, sweet moment before it disappeared. Merlin felt a pang of loneliness for something he couldn't quite identify, which only made him feel confused and desperately alone.

It took a long time for him to fall asleep again.

The next day, the door to the Dragon's flat opened as Merlin passed by on his way to work at the coffee shop just down the road.

"You want Pendragon," he said, puffing away on one of his ever-present cigars. "Arthur Pendragon. Not Dubois."

"Pendragon? Really?" Merlin grinned, his mood instantly lifting from the unusual melancholy he'd felt since his confusing dream the night before. He was too excited at the prospect of finding Arthur to try and figure out how the Dragon had discovered his search. After all, everyone knew that the Dragon knew everything. "Do you know anything else? Do you know where I can find him?"

An odd look crossed the Dragon's face, but it was gone almost as soon as Merlin noticed, replaced by a benevolent smile. "Trust the elements that are at your command," was all that he said before he wandered back into his flat and closed the door.

Merlin was restless and distracted for the rest of the day. He was a disaster at work, misplacing the customers' orders, forgetting to bring them their coffee and tea, and spilling or dropping nearly everything he touched. Poor Gwen had to step in more than once to appease an impatient customer and their manager, who kept eyeing Merlin with obvious disapproval.

"What's wrong with you today?" she hissed at one point, cornering him behind the counter as he swept up his latest mess of spilled coffee grinds. "Well. Not wrong. I didn't mean that there's anything wrong with you. I just meant that you seem more distracted than usual. Not that you're always distracted. It's just, well." Gwen toyed with the hem of her bright red apron and gave a helpless shrug. "You usually are."

"I'm just having one of those days, I suppose," Merlin said. He caught a glimpse of Gwen's concerned expression and tried to reassure her. "I'm okay, really. I just have a lot on my mind."

"Mmm," she said, looking unconvinced. "Listen, if you ever need anything, you'll let me know, right?"

Merlin smiled gratefully. "Thanks, Gwen."

The rest of his shift went by slowly and without any more crises (and without the manager sacking him, Merlin thought in relief). When he finally returned home he eagerly checked the phone book for Arthur Pendragon, but once again there was nobody in the city or in any of the surrounding towns listed with that name.

Trust Arthur to have an ex-directory number, Merlin thought in annoyance. He frowned to himself at the strange feeling of familiarity that he suddenly felt for Arthur but he had no chance to consider it further before the Dragon's words abruptly came to mind.

Trust the elements that are at your command, he'd said, and Merlin shook his head at his own impatience and his apparent inability to do proper research before he Googled Arthur Pendragon.

Halfway down the first page of search results, he found him. At least, he thought he did. Merlin couldn't quite imagine how someone who was probably only a few years older than he was had managed to become vice president of a place called Avalon Associates.

But there he was, Arthur Pendragon, with his office phone number and email address listed amongst the other employees'. Merlin quickly typed out an email, explaining that he'd found something that he believed belonged to Arthur's late mother. At the last moment, he decided to include his mobile number, reasoning that he might try and contact him whilst he was at work – if he contacted him at all. Merlin figured that anyone who was a vice president probably had a secretary to answer his emails.

So it came as a surprise when, a short time later as Merlin was poking around in his kitchen and trying to find something for dinner, his mobile rang, its display lighting up with an unfamiliar number. "Hello?"

"Hello, is this Merlin?"

The voice at the other end of the line sounded reserved, curious, and hopeful all at once and Merlin's heart skipped a beat. It was Arthur, it had to be, he just knew it. "Yes, it is," he said, unable to keep from grinning.

"This is Arthur Pendragon. You-"

"Right, yeah," Merlin said, interrupting in his excitement. "I've been looking for you! I was working in my mum's garden yesterday and found this box filled with photos and one of the neighbours said they were of your mum, and-" He stopped suddenly, aware that the line had gone very quiet. "Arthur? Are you still there?"

Arthur cleared his throat before answering. "Yes," he said. "I'm still here." After a short pause he added, "Do you – would you mind if I had a look at these photos?"

"Yeah, of course," Merlin said. "That's why I've been trying to track you down. I was beginning to think I'd never find you. Did you know that your phone number is ex-directory?"

"Yes, Merlin," he said dryly, though Merlin could hear the amusement in his voice. "I was actually aware of that."

"Oh, right," Merlin said, grinning too.

"Do I know you?" Arthur asked suddenly.

"No," Merlin said. "At least, I don't think we've ever met. Why?"

"I don't know," he replied. He seemed rather mystified. "Your voice sounds familiar somehow. Are you sure you weren't one of my clients?"

"I don't even know what you do at Avalon Associates."

"Mostly stocks and shares."

"Definitely not, then," Merlin said with a laugh. "Look, I'm free tomorrow afternoon. I could bring the box to you, if you'd like. Or should I just put it in the post?"

"No," Arthur said. "I'd like to thank you in person."

"You can just buy me a drink and we'll call it even," he said with a grin.

There was a brief, surprised pause before Arthur replied. "Consider it done," he said, and Merlin could tell that he was smiling as well.

The conversation ended soon after that, once he promised to bring the box to the Avalon headquarters the next day after work, and the smile remained on Merlin's face for a long time after he turned off his mobile and went back to thinking about dinner.

That night Merlin dreamed of bright banners flying high above a castle's walls, of lakes and caves and bustling marketplaces, and of the hazy outline of a person coming towards him through the mist, his face frustratingly indistinct.

There was a strange, nagging feeling that he'd seen it all before, a very long time ago, but before he could remember the scene swiftly changed into one of complete darkness and a voice, deep and raspy and reminding Merlin of the Dragon, spoke to him.

"You're in love," the voice said, and somehow, in the way that dreamers always know, Merlin understood that he was talking about the man he'd seen earlier, the one whose face was hidden in the fog.

"But I don't even know him," Merlin protested.

"You do."

"Since when?"

"Since always."

Merlin was waiting outside of the tall building that housed Avalon Associates the following afternoon, Igraine's box in a carrier bag on the bench beside him. Arthur would be along at any moment and to pass the time he watched the people leaving the building, a steady stream of men and women pushing their way through the heavy glass doors, some looking tired, some looking cheerful, all of them looking eager to be going home.

At last a young man not much older than Merlin emerged from the building. He was tall and blond and looked very much like Igraine did in her photos, and Merlin had only a brief moment to recognise him as Arthur before his mind was abruptly flooded with memories.

It was all true, everything he'd dreamed about for so many years – the castle and the forest and the swords, everything¬ – it was not only true, it was his past, his and Arthur's, and Merlin suddenly remembered it all. The memories swept by in a blur, all of the people they'd known, the lives they'd lived, the years of happiness in Camelot followed by the unbearable grief of Camlann. It was all real and he remembered everything in an instant as all of the old, familiar feelings of friendship and love broke over him like a wave.

And in one heartbreaking moment, Merlin knew that Arthur didn't remember it at all.

Arthur was waiting by the doors where they'd arranged to meet, standing with his arms folded as he looked up and down the street. He briefly glanced in Merlin's direction, but his eyes slid right over him without recognition, and when he turned away to look down the street again Merlin couldn't think of anything but running, running as far away from Arthur and his memories and the past as possible.

Merlin wasn't sure where he was when he finally stopped running and collapsed onto the steps of a building, breathing hard. Somehow he still had Igraine's box with him, and he held it tight against his chest, needing something to anchor him to what was here and now as his mind kept racing back towards the past.

Every moment seemed to bring back another memory with startling clarity. Merlin wondered how he could have ever forgotten it all, and suddenly he remembered kneeling on a windswept battlefield with Arthur's lifeless body in his arms and making a promise, saying he'd do anything – healing at whatever price¬.

The old magic had always demanded a price, and the price for Arthur's healing was a lifetime of forgetting for the both of them. With a sudden pang Merlin thought of Gwen and Gaius and his mother, and wondered if Morgana and Lancelot and all the rest were out there as well, going about their lives in ignorance, without remembering anything at all. Why was he the only one that remembered? Never before had Merlin felt more confused or more overwhelmed, or more completely alone.

Eventually Merlin tore himself away from his thoughts and memories and dug around in his pockets for his mobile. He couldn't quite face talking to Arthur just yet, but he did feel guilty for not meeting him as promised.

Sorry, something came up, he texted him. Will email tomorrow. M.

With a frown, Merlin turned off the phone and tucked it away in his pocket, and then went home.

He had planned on going straight to bed as soon as he returned but the sight of the Dragon's door as he passed by it filled him with an unexpected burst of anger, and he pounded on the door with his fist until it finally opened.

"You lied to me," he said, his voice sounding hard and brittle and furious to his own ears, though the Dragon didn't even flinch. "I thought you were my friend but you've been letting me live a lie all this time."

"You were not yet ready to remember," the Dragon replied. "I did try to prepare you, in my own way, but there was nothing I could have said or done to return your memories to you. You needed to remember on your own, with the help of the young Pendragon. Your paths lie together. They always have." He gave him a sharp look. "You know this. You've always known this."

Merlin shook his head. "You're wrong. Arthur didn't recognise me. He doesn't remember anything. What's the use of having all these memories if I have no one to share them with?"

"Have you spoken with him?" the Dragon asked.

"No," Merlin said firmly, "and I'm not going to. I can't talk to him about any of this. He'll think I'm completely mad." He shook his head again, resolutely. "I'm just going to give him his mother's box tomorrow and then – that's it. I won't see Arthur again."

An amused smile spread across the Dragon's wrinkled face. "If only it were so easy to escape one's destiny," he said as he slipped back into his flat and closed the door.

That night Merlin lay awake for some time, thinking. Now that his memories had returned he wondered what he should say to his mother and Gwen when he saw them next, and Arthur. He couldn't imagine telling them. The Dragon had said that he hadn't been ready until now to remember. Perhaps the others would never be ready. If they managed to remember someday on their own Merlin would be overjoyed, but he didn't want to be the one to burden them with the past by forcing them to remember. He didn't wish the confusion he now felt on anyone, especially not his mother and his best friend – and Arthur. Not even the prospect of sharing his memories with someone else was enough to tempt him. He would never tell them.

Maybe it's my destiny to be the only one to remember, Merlin thought, and when he finally fell asleep he dreamed of nothing at all.

Merlin woke the next morning determined to deliver the box to Arthur as quickly and as painlessly as possible. He managed to email him before he left for work, apologising again and asking to meet by the fountain in a park near Avalon Associates that evening after Merlin finished his shift. He didn't think he could stand hearing Arthur's voice over the phone again, and he couldn't imagine meeting him in person now that his memories had returned. But Merlin knew how much it would mean to Arthur to have something of his mother's and he wouldn't deprive him of that, no matter how much it would hurt just to see him again.

When Arthur arrived at the park – driving a very shiny, very red, and very expensive car that didn't surprise Merlin at all – he was waiting across the street, obscured by a large tree. He couldn't keep from smiling fondly at the sight, and he allowed himself a moment to watch as Arthur walked into the park with his familiar, purposeful stride. He loved Arthur, he always had and he knew without a doubt that he always would, and Merlin knew that walking away from him now would be the most difficult thing he had ever done. But it was something he had to do.

Without delaying another moment he sprang into action and hurried over to the car. He hadn't actually worked out this part in advance – he hadn't known if Arthur would be driving – but his instincts seemed to take over. Before he even knew what he was doing, he said a string of words that sounded both foreign and familiar and unlocked the door.

Apparently, his magic had returned with his memories.

Quickly, Merlin dropped Igraine's box onto the seat and closed the door, locking it once more. He looked up; he could still see Arthur as he walked further into the park, following the path that led to the fountain. Before he lost his nerve, Merlin fumbled for his mobile and dialled Arthur's number with shaky fingers.

Arthur answered almost immediately. "Merlin? Where are you?" he demanded.

"I'm standing by your car," he replied, watching as Arthur stopped walking and whirled around, the look of confusion on his face evident even from a distance. Merlin waved and felt his heart do a little leap when Arthur finally caught sight of him and began walking back.

"What? Merlin-"

"Look, I'm really sorry but something came up," he said, forcing himself to turn away and start walking down the street in the opposite direction. "I left the box in your car-"

"No, wait-"

"I can't stay," Merlin said, walking faster now. "I'm sorry. Maybe – maybe I'll see you around sometime, okay?"

"Merlin, where are you – don't run away!"

"Bye, Arthur," Merlin said, and switched off his mobile as he broke into a run. He turned down random streets, ensuring that Arthur wouldn't be able to follow, and when he thought it was safe he slowed down to a walk, catching his breath.

It was over now. Arthur would have his photos of his mother and would go on living a happy, normal life, the kind he hadn't been able to live the first time around, when Merlin had watched him grow too old too fast under the weight of his crown, burdened by too many responsibilities to enjoy his youth.

Merlin wouldn't allow that to happen again. It had always been his destiny to look after Arthur, to protect him, and he would do it again now. He would tuck away those memories somewhere deep inside himself and carry the burden for both of them. And Arthur would go on living, free from the past. Without Merlin.

He knew he had done what was best for Arthur. Feeling calm for the first time since his memories had returned, Merlin took a deep breath and turned towards home.

If Merlin was quieter and more thoughtful during the next few days, no one complained. Gwen looked at him oddly, and more than once she asked if he was okay, but Merlin was more attentive in his duties at work than ever before. The tea and coffee were always hot, and he didn't spill anything or forget a single order, much to the manager's delight. It was amazing, he thought ruefully, how a little magic suddenly made him so much more competent at his work.

At home Merlin avoided the Dragon, who seemed content enough to leave him alone after all of his meddling. He also turned off his mobile and didn't check his email. He couldn't bear the thought of facing Arthur just yet.

On Sunday Merlin returned to his mother's to help with the gardening. Hunith had never been one to scold him but she did now, reminding him how much mothers worried when they couldn't get in touch with their sons for the better part of a week, asking Merlin several times if he knew how many messages she'd left for him, and making thinly veiled threats to contact the police and report him missing if he ever did it again.

Once he had apologised sufficiently, and his mother was suitably calmed by his promises never to make her worry like that again, he began weeding the flowerbeds. He hadn't been working long when a shadow fell over him, and Merlin glanced up to find Arthur standing there with his arms folded and watching him with an expression that could only be described as one of bemused exasperation.

"Arthur!" Merlin exclaimed, feeling his eyes go almost comically wide. He glanced around but Hunith was working at the far end of the garden and had not yet noticed Arthur's arrival. "What are you doing here?"

"I did say that I wanted to thank you in person," Arthur said. "Why did you run away? And how did you break into my car?"

"I didn't," he quickly replied. "The door was unlocked."

Arthur shot him a sceptical look. "I always lock the doors."

"You must have forgotten," Merlin said with a shrug and an innocent smile.

Arthur still looked doubtful. "Well, I suppose you wouldn't make much of a thief after all. A real thief wouldn't go to the trouble of breaking into someone's car only to leave him a box of photos."

"Did you like them?"

Arthur's expression softened. "Yes. They were – I didn't have many pictures of my mother," he said quietly. He looked away, seeming embarrassed at the emotion evident in his voice. "Thank you, Merlin."

Merlin smiled again, this time much more genuinely. For the first time since his memories had returned he thought that maybe he could do this, maybe he could actually have a normal conversation with Arthur – with this version of Arthur, not the one that he remembered. "So, um. How did you find me?"

"You told me that your mother lived where my mother grew up," Arthur said, sounding amused. "It didn't take too long for me to figure it out."

"Oh," Merlin said. "Have you ever been here before?"

"Once, years ago," he said, looking around at the house and the garden with an approving eye. "It's looking much better now; this place was a shambles the last time I saw it. And stop trying to distract me. It won't work."

"What?"

"You never answered my other question," he said. When Merlin didn't respond right away Arthur prodded him in the leg with his foot. "Stop being so mysterious. Why did you run away? I promised to buy you a drink, remember?"

"Oh," Merlin said again, shrugging awkwardly. "Something came up."

"That seems to be a regular occurrence with you," Arthur said with a frown. "There's something strange about you, Merlin."

"What do you mean?" he asked warily.

"I can't quite put my finger on it," Arthur replied, looking thoughtful. He tilted his head and studied Merlin for a moment before rolling his eyes, looking impatient. "And what are you still doing down there? Stand up so we can talk to one another properly." He reached out and offered him a hand up, and the gesture was so familiar that Merlin unthinkingly took his hand and let Arthur pull him up to stand beside him.

An unexpected crackle of energy flowed from Merlin's hand to Arthur's, accompanying a sudden jolt of memory that left them both reeling. Merlin could see the exact moment that Arthur remembered, the look of astonishment and abrupt recognition that crossed his face as all the memories of their shared past came back in an instant.

"Merlin?" he said, wide-eyed and still clinging to his hand. "Did you-?"

Merlin nodded. "I remembered just a few days ago."

"Is that why you left?" Arthur asked, looking at him with an expression of wonder and confusion and hurt. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"I didn't know if you were ready to remember," Merlin admitted. "I didn't even know if you would remember at all. And I didn't want to burden you with – well, with all of this. With me."

"It's unbelievable," Arthur said, glaring at him, "that you can still be such an idiot after all this time."

Arthur sounded exasperated – he sounded, Merlin realised with burst of joy, like himself – but there was no time for him to respond before he felt the soft press of Arthur's lips against his own. It felt warm and sweet and new and familiar all at once and Merlin smiled into the kiss because, more than anything, it felt like forever.

It was just after three o'clock on a Sunday afternoon in June. Merlin's life had changed in an instant, and now he could see everything stretching out before him – the past, the present, and the future, and all of them with Arthur at his side – and he decided that having a destiny wasn't such a bad thing after all.