Hi guys.
So as you know if you've read any of my fics, I'm a very mean person who likes to hurt or make Merlin depressed. Sorry Merlin! But this is inspired by some thoughts I had the other night, and I needed to get them out, and I can't tell my family because they wouldn't understand what I can't even understand. So yeah, writing is a good vent for emotion. WARNING-There are possible triggers with suicidal thoughts included. I'll be updating in the next few weeks. Please point out any grammar mistakes you see; I'll fix them!
oooooOooooo
Merlin sat in his chambers, struggling to catch a breath through the harsh sobbing. He felt confined, claustrophobic, as if the walls were closing in on him, forcing him into a cage.
Camelot was in the midst of one of the coldest winters remembered; temperatures were dangerously low, and snow had somehow found its way into every nook and cranny of the kingdom. Currently, each home was stocked with a surplus of firewood, and blankets had been handed out to those in greatest need of warmth.
Merlin welcomed the cold; the drastic difference of the outdoor temperature to that of his own body made him feel more alive. Though, that was the problem.
He didn't know what was wrong. The young warlock had had his days where no soul could in any way improve his mood, but this day was different. Usually when he was is such a depressed mood, he could escape to the forest and clear his head by taking a long walk.
Today, that seemed a bad idea. With the raging winter weather, Merlin would likely get frostbite, or worse if he stayed out walking for a prolonged time, but he needed to get away. If he kept inside any longer, he feared he'd go mad.
Brushing the tears off of his cheeks, Merlin rose out of bed, donning his boots and his jacket. They were little protection against the cold, but he didn't care. After sneaking past a snoring Gaius and exiting the castle, Merlin stomped through the snow that clung to the worn soles of his leather boots.
His breeches were just as thin as his tunic and jacket, and soon his slight frame was quaking from the horrendous chill. Still Merlin lingered on through Camelot's deserted and white-blanketed streets. He then took a turn on a path leading to the woods, and upon arrival to the forest he pondered his choices of where to go from there. After a moment of contemplating, Merlin decided to walk a few minutes in, stopping at the stream that was now frozen-over.
Arriving at the wooded area, Merlin leaned against a tree facing the icy brooke and slid down, coming to a rest on the cool ground. Around him, the wind blew endlessly, sending flakes in every direction. The trees were empty and coated white, except for the evergreens that stood tall and proud in the midst of the snow storm. The wood was dark, seeing as how it was early nighttime.
Merlin's ebony locks were dusted from the flurries and there was a thin layer of it also on any exposed clothing. Merlin's hands were red; his cheeks and nose rosy as the neckerchief he wore.
Any wildlife was surely hiding away in their burrows, sheltered from the weather, keeping warm. Unlike Merlin. Some would say he was mad, but he needed to run, to hide from the burden that was forcefully thrown on his shoulders. It had been a tough day with Arthur; words were said, mistakes made, and now both of the men were put in a sour mood.
But Merlin's sorrow had escalated, and he found himself desperate for air. Remembering the earlier events, Merlin's face cringed, and tears flooded forth. He curled in upon himself, head buried in arms tight around his skinny legs, which warmed him up a little.
Merlin didn't want to feel warm though. He longed to be as cold as he felt on the inside, as broken as shattered ice. That was it. He was just a delicate ice sculpture, ready to break at any hardship that knocked him over. It was so incredulous to Merlin that he was regarded as the most powerful warlock to set foot on earth when he felt so small and fragile.
Destiny was thrusted upon him, and though he would gladly die for Arthur, he wished he could just speed up the time it would take to set the future king on his course. An idea sparked in his head; what if Merlin really could? Speed up the process, that is.
His quivering limbs untangled themselves from the fetal position he had been in, and he set his icy hot hands on the snow covered earth. What if Merlin just died, right now, in the middle of the frozen forest? No longer would he have to live in such a dreary existence.
Wait, he thought, he couldn't leave Arthur like that. The prat needed him. But, did Arthur really? As of late conversation, the prince made it pretty clear that Merlin wasn't wanted.
Tears shone in the warlock's eyes, icy water like that of the stream before him. Merlin's mind felt fuzzy. Why was he thinking so suicidally? Could it be the witch Morgana had discovered his secret, and was attempting to turn his own mind against him? Merlin didn't know.
All he knew was that he wanted to rest. He wanted to let the darkness of the forest consume his thoughts. He wished for the cold to trespass into his clothing, and seep into his skin, numbing his organs and veins, destroying his pain.
Slowly, the man removed his jacket. Merlin began shivering wildly, but soon it passed and became as slight as it was before. Then, he untied his faded crimson neckerchief, laying it on the ground beside him along with his jacket. The wind was beginning to bite at him, chilling him to the bone.
"Good," he murmured to himself. How long would it be before he gained any frostbite, before his body was plagued with pneumonia? Possibly his body would stop functioning before that time. Who knows. Though the winter was dreadful and he was freezing, Merlin didn't feel it was good enough.
Questioning his crazy actions but nevertheless continuing them, the warlock brought his numbed legs to his chest and as well as he could with his uncooperative fingers, he got his boots off of his feet.
Now seriously cold, and a bit afraid of himself, Merlin laid his head back on the tree trunk, staring up at the inky sky which seemed to be losing bits of itself as the snowflakes fell. One landed on Merlin's nose, and he studied it, as others began to collect on his face as well as the rest of his freezing body.
After a few minutes, Merlin realized that he was no longer shaking, or if he was, he couldn't feel it. Merlin closed his eyes. Pushing aside thoughts of regret and guilt at abandoning his friends and mentor, he focused on the freedom he was so close to.
He knew that if he fell asleep, he would most likely never wake again. Not in this weather without any form of protection. He considered these thoughts with a form of curiosity, as if it wasn't really happening to him, but rather being demonstrated.
Merlin wasn't sure if he truly wanted to die; he just wanted to go to sleep. Now. With the possibility of eternal rest. In extreme effort, Merlin opened his eyes again. The world before him was fuzzy in the darkness of the twilight. Now he couldn't recall if he had been cold, the numbness was so strong.
His eyes drooped closed once more, and he felt himself slipping away; Merlin's heartbeat became soft in his chest. His heart forgot to pump as hard.
Limbs became unmoving. Skin turned to a pale porcelain. Lips gained a blue tint. Merlin was fading, freezing. Frozen.