Emrys
Seven months earlier…
Emrys had done it. Camelot no longer knew Merlin. And that meant Merlin Hunithson was never to resurface.
It felt like hiding a piece of himself. But Emrys was okay with that. He’d done it for nearly three decades. And it was for the greater good.
It took two months to convince all the druid tribes to work together. Apparently druidic politics were a lot more intricate than Emrys had come to understand in his short time spent with them, and he felt guilty about it. These were his people, his family, and he had no clue how their society worked.
But none of them dared disobey Emrys, king of the druids, god of magic and blah blah blah, bridge to something, and whatever else the fuck the Tuatha De Danaan had told him.
No. Be respectful. Emrys reminded himself, but gods, it was a struggle. He knew they were out of touch. He would be too if he had been driven underground however long ago with little connection to the mortal world. Seeing as their first bridge had died, which had then led to most followers they had being weakened, and eventually killed. Maybe Emrys was a bit too harsh on them. The gods seemed to truly care for their people. Uther’s Purge must’ve hurt them too.
Nope they could burn, Emrys thought as he barged into the small home he had made for himself while the druids made all of their treaties and laws. Did Aengus really have to show up and bother him today? They were almost done with the final drafting of the druid kingdom’s constitution, and now the Old Gods choose to make an appearance on Earth. At least wait for the castle to actually be built!
“Hello, little Emrys.” Aengus said happily. Emrys grumbled at him.
“I’m taller than you.” He mumbled, and of course, because these were the gods after all, Aengus grew three inches. Emrys threw his hands up in exasperation, before using magic to get a bit taller himself. In response to this. Aengus grew another three fucking inches. “I’m not doing this today. No ‘who’s taller’ competitions with me. Go bother Taliesin or something. What’s Lugh doing?”
Aengus of course, did none of that. Instead, he flirted with the entire druid population, tried to flirt with Emrys, and knocked down a rock tower one of the older druids had been making.
Emrys’ veins were going to pop if the gods kept dropping in like this. Aengus was the third god to visit this month!
“Lance! Lancelot, where are you?” Emrys called out, after Aengus had finally disappeared. Emrys looked through the entire kingdom(which, in all honesty, was small). Finally Emrys returned to his home, and decided to prepare for dinner. Where were people when you needed them? Emrys needed to discuss outreach plans to other kingdoms, and as much as the Emrys cared for the druids, they did not know how the mortal kingdoms operated. They did not feel the same greed and selfishness, in a way. The druids, of course, were human. But they were not a part of humanity. They still felt greed and selfishness, but did not let it overtake them in the same was humanity did.
Emrys used magic to open his dresser while he prepared dinner. These stiff robes were not comfortable to be wearing while walking around all day. They were made for someone who did not take an active part in their kingdom.
Like Uther.
The thought made Emrys chuckle for a second. He almost went down the rabbit hole that was memories of Camelot, before he heard a shriek.
“Ack!” Emrys yelped, turning around to find Lancelot in his home. Lance was on the floor, like he had just rolled out of Emrys’ closet. He glanced up to the open closet.
Lancelot had just rolled out of it.
“Is Aengus gone?” Lance panted, scrambling to his feet. “I’ve been hiding for like two hours in there. There’s actually a small bird in your closet.”
“Yes, yes. I know of the bird. It has decided it lives there and I can’t get rid of it. Every day I find some new creature in my home. But why are you in my house?” Emrys asked, helping Lancelot find a seat in the crowded house.
“I’m hiding.” Lancelot repeated.
“But why here?” Emrys asked, exasperated.
“Because it was the only place Aengus couldn’t find me. He’s been following me around like a puppy, he says I ‘smell of young love and a broken heart.’” Lancelot said, causing Emrys to wince internally. Ah yes. Guinevere. Gods, why was everything going back to Camelot today?
“Well Aengus has been gone about an hour. I wish to speak to you about reaching out for trade. It will only take a little longer to get the castle set up, and it’s not like we’ll have issues with the crops or livestock. But what kingdom would be willing to trade with us?”
Emrys and Lancelot discussed over dinner, before eventually bidding each other good night. One tiny issue with that, gods don’t sleep. Or don’t need it. Emrys didn’t feel like trying. The one time he had, he had woken up with five cats curled up in his bed, birds all over his room, and a bear sitting in the kitchen.
Emrys loved animals, but there was a limit. That limit was them invading his home in his sleep. He needed to cast more protection spells.
After a week more of arguing with peaceful, but incredibly stubborn, druids, the castle was finally ready to be built. Had this not been done by magical people and a god, it would’ve been a large concern. However, there Emrys was, shaping and resizing rocks to create castles and homes for his people. The castle was teeming with wildlife, and seemed almost…living. Emrys didn’t really care. He was just happy that his plan was finally in the executing stage, and no longer in the “why the hell are these people arguing with me? Am I not literally the god they worship?” phase.
The castle was comparatively small to Camelot’s, but Emrys was fine with that. It needed little more than room for his council, dining, a small diplomatic room, and his room. The larger focus was the village surrounding.
If Emrys couldn’t get living conditions sorted out soon, how was he ever supposed to rule this place? Gods, had he made a giant mistake doing this? Every day he felt like people were getting more antsy, and it was for no. Fucking. Reason. Literally everyone here but Lancelot possessed some form of magic(if you count Lance being a ghost as not being magic), they could do this themselves. But no! Property lines this! I don’t like my neighbors that! Did they understand he didn’t care? Did they understand no one cared?
No, of course not! Because after lifetimes of living as nomadic tribes that had few possessions and were constantly on the move, of course that translated to being the most stubborn idiots to walk the land. All the houses were literally going to be grown from the ground! They knew that! They could do that themselves! But no! It was too tiring for them! They wanted their home to be blessed by the great Emrys himself! Some dumb shit and, and, and, and— Emrys was gonna fucking pop a vein!
How the hell did Arthur do this? At least Arthur had gotten respect(for the most part). The druids did not seem to register he was a god. Just like Camelot hadn’t.
Nope. Nope. No more thinking about Camelot. That leads to stressful spirals and nightmares, and Emrys could not handle that right now. Like he might explode. Was that a possibility? Could Emrys explode from stress? How the fuck would he explain that to people?
No, no! I’m perfectly fine! My brains just exploded all over the walls of my brand new castle! No need to worry. See I’m back now, because I can’t die! Because I’m a motherfucking god! Yay.
Emrys thought he had left this behind. He had locked all of this dumb shit away. But no. The mania was back, just as good as ever. Yippee-kai-fucking yay!
He was fine. He’d be fine. He just needed a bit of time to adjust.
Apparently six months was not enough time. Emrys still struggled to remember he was a king. That he was supposed to demand respect the moment he walked in a room. But it seemed wrong. Why did he deserve it? What had he done?
Reaching out to other kingdoms had been a pain in his ass. So many questions! Where did you go from? Who are you? Why are druids finally coming together? What goods do you even have to trade?(Which Emrys knew were all technically reasonable questions, as he ranted to Lancelot. But still. This was exhausting)
And then the letter came. Emrys could practically feel the annoyance and pain radiating through the paper. This had come late, much later than it was proper to invite a kingdom to a banquet. Arthur should’ve had it prepared months in advance. The letters should’ve gone out about two weeks ago. This was last minute. But Emrys also knew Arthur’s hand would cramp forever after sending out the letters. Not only to the kingdoms, to his people as well. He had to write all sorts of different notices for it. Typically Emrys would have done half, and then helped Arthur get some salve from Gaius to relax the muscles(magic. It was magic. The “salve.” Magic). Seeing Arthur’s handwriting was almost a pleasant feeling, before Emrys remembered what had happened to Camelot the last time he had been there.
Emrys still didn’t think Lancelot had recovered from the dirty looks Arthur would shoot him. Definitely was still missing Guinevere. Emrys hadn’t even told Lance about Arthur’s…accusations. He thought Lancelot might break down in tears if he found out that’s what his old friend and role model thought of him. Emrys didn’t want to deal with that. Emrys didn’t want to think of how Arthur had changed. He didn’t want to think about how Arthur might have changed after forgetting Emrys. He didn’t really want to thing about Arthur in general, but that wasn’t really a choice now, was it?
Emrys considered rejecting the invite. He’d be justified. A last minute invite from a kingdom that had mercilessly killed his people? Emrys doubted any of the kingdoms would judge him. He could give himself more time to make connections, and then meet Arthur as a powerful kingdom and ally.
But…
It was Arthur. Without Merlin, Arthur could’ve gone back to being a pompous brat. Shouldn’t Emrys try to fix that as soon as possible?
That’s how Emrys’ mismatched council embarked on a week long trip to Camelot with quite literally less than an hour’s notice. It was Iseldir, Mordred, Lancelot, and two middle aged druids named Daifne and Elaine. It was a long, boring trip. There was little to see, and they did not have the time to take detours. Iseldir insisted that Emrys ride in the carriage they had taken, as did Daifne and Elaine. Mordred and Lance simply rolled their eyes at the druids, knowing Emrys would rather die than let himself be pampered in comfort while his friends were sore and in pain.
Old habits die hard. There was still the underlying dread of the stocks and burning at the stake, ever present in Emrys’ mind. He knew both of those things were not possible now. Emrys was a king, no one dared mention discipline near him, lest he grab tomatoes with the rest of the town. And he was in a congregation of magical people. They wouldn’t burn him. Could he even burn? Still, the fear had been engrained into him for so long, he doubted it would ever leave. At least not in all of these people’s lifetimes.
Mordred constantly whined, as teenage boys did. But Gods below, he was nowhere near as bad as Iseldir. Iseldir had been a chieftain druid! Could he not cast a simple cushioning spell?
That had been part of the reason Emrys had taken to riding the horses. They had been spelled to know the route, but it was the only way to avoid the incessant cries of his council. He should’ve just taken Kilgarrah. Gah.
Emrys had gotten use to long horse rides, and horses in general. Whether it be as a small town farm boy, or being sent away to the stables whenever he angered someone(that was not nearly as bad as punishment should have been for all Emrys had done in Camelot, but Arthur had always thought his friend incapable of doing anything beyond picking up a stick. He got a pass. A lot), horses had always been Emrys’ favorite animal. After cats. Cats held a special place in his heart.
He’d had his first cat at five, and he wasn’t supposed to have it. It was just to catch rats. But Emrys had named the black cat Kieran and fed it until it had died. He remembered fondly talking to Guinevere one evening when Morgana and Arthur were off at dinner with Uther and they had been dismissed. Gwen had been shocked to learn Emrys was a “cat person,” whatever that meant. She said she had assumed him to prefer dogs, seeing as… and then had trailed off with a blush and pardoned herself.
Emrys had been too confused to know what she had meant then, but now he was smart enough to realize that Gwen had meant to say “well you follow Arthur around like a fucking puppy so…”
But no. He enjoyed cats. Dogs as well, but cats seemed to be everything he wished he was. For one, they were capable of setting boundaries. That made Emrys chuckle. He wondered how many problems would’ve been solved if he just said no, and told people to shut up. Probably a lot.
Arthur was just as Emrys remembered. Well, not the most recent memories. The ones he’d had when he was finally getting to know Arthur. The real Arthur. He looked kind. At ease. There was some shock on his face, but that was expected. And…
Well, Arthur looked every part a king. It made Emrys feel slightly self conscious at his fairly plain robes, and his simple golden circlet.
Arthur greeted him the same way he did all royalty and nobility. Emrys’ heart ached. He used to be there, at Arthur’s side. He would make an improper comment, and Arthur would threaten him with a night in the dungeons. But then, when they got back to his rooms, they would spend all night laughing and mocking the nobles.
But Arthur didn’t know Emrys. Arthur had no clue about their past. And it was to stay that way. No matter what.
Emrys shouldn’t have done it. He knew it. But something about the way the light shined on Arthur’s face, the warmth of the other king’s smile, it brought back the feelings Emrys had tried so hard to bury. Surely it couldn’t hurt? Just one kiss. History would never know. Emrys could back to his job, bringing magic back to Albion or whatever.
But kissing Arthur was everything Emrys had ever imagined. He wished he had done it when Arthur knew him as a friend, not just someone who was willing.
Emrys quickly scrubbed that thought from his mind. Getting too attached to Arthur was the whole reason he had to go through all of this.
Emrys followed Arthur through the castle in a daze, unable to focus. Kissing Arthur had been so perfect. And it was real! There was no spell! They were equals now. This was something that was actually…plausible. Sure, Camelot still had old fashioned laws about same sex marriage, but now it was two kings. Not a king and a peasant.
But then Arthur’s demeanor changed. He became defensive. Closed off. His shoulders tensed in the way that almost made long-forgotten muscle memory kick in from when Emrys would give Arthur massages after long days.
Oh.
Oh. That’s what this was. Emrys knew this reaction. It was about magic. This was always how Arthur got when he thought about magic too hard. Before Emrys could register, Arthur was tearing down the halls.
Gods, Emrys had ruined everything.
Again.