Hello. I would introduce myself, but everyone knows who I am. Or they will soon enough. It's only a matter of time. In the end, I come for everyone. But sometimes there are a handful of you that manage to elude me for a time. Whether you are just lucky, stubborn, or the Boss is pulling strings, I'll never know. But I catch up to you eventually.

***A Statement of Fact***

My job is not an easy one, which is to be expected. In order to cope with the dim grayness of my reality, I take time to notice the colors. They are everywhere. Every life is full of them. Any and every color you can think of. I see them over and over and over. You humans are kaleidoscopic.

But once upon a time there was one of you who refused to come with me. In all the stories I have collected (and I have collected many, many stories) his is the most unique. Never before him and never after him had I been so acquainted with one of you. Never before had someone been so blessed (or cursed, take your pick) to never take that final journey with me. His name has survived the grinding millstone of time. He is almost as famous as me. Almost.

Allow me now to tell you the story of this legendary man. The story of Merlin. I will always remember the colors of his life: red, blue, shining gold, and many, many more.

***A Common Misconception***

Camelot was a fictional kingdom. I assure you that this is not the case. I was there, as I have been everywhere.

I had been extremely busy in Camelot for twenty years before Merlin entered the picture. I try not to interfere with magic. Not my division, as they say. But I do know that out of all those souls I carried those twenty years of the Great Purge of sorcerers (from the pyres, the chopping blocks, the dungeons, etc.) there was much magical power lost. And as we all know, power can neither be created nor destroyed, only transmitted. It just so happens that all that power decided to transmit into one young boy: Merlin. He was born the most powerful warlock to ever walk the earth.

The day he entered Camelot, the colors were already there. On a swatch of blue sky a golden sun shined warm and bright, causing our young warlock to squint against the brightness. As he crested the hill, he laid eyes on the gleaming white citadel. He did not know that he would soon be meeting another golden son, the man who would change Merlin's life forever.

More colors: a red neckerchief on a blue tunic, the chosen apparel of our lanky hero. I never understood why that boy insisted on wearing the same outfit for ten years. But who am I to talk? I haven't changed one bit in all of human history. The rest of the colors followed soon after he entered the city itself. He saw a golden dragon on a crimson banner, the crest of the Pendragons. He cringed at the red blood stained on a glinting axe blade after the execution of a sorcerer. Later, he watched a shining silver dagger intended for the prince imbed itself in a dark oak chair as he pulled the prince to safety. After that first day in Camelot, the day he saved the prince's life, Merlin's destiny was braided tightly with three things: magic, Arthur Pendragon, and me.

On the day of our first meeting, Merlin had done something incredibly brave (or foolish, depending on your perspective) to save the "prat" of a prince. His word, not mine. Merlin had fallen for the pretty face of the sorceress Nimueh. With her wily feminine charm she tricked Merlin into believing her lies that King Bayard had poisoned the Prince's goblet in order to kill him and start a war between Bayard's kingdom and Camelot. She was right about the poison (for it was she herself who had laced the cup) but poor Bayard had nothing to do with it. He was simply at the wrong place at the wrong time. The poison was intended for Merlin. I know these things because I am able to be in a great number of places at once. Don't ask me how, because I don't know myself. But it does help get the job done, and allows me to gather such interesting tidbits of information.

Anyway, Merlin was convinced that the Prince was in mortal danger, and he would do anything to save him. The looks on the courts' faces when the gangly manservant burst into the dining room were priceless. I wish you could've seen them. I watched from the back of the room as the boy grabbed the goblet away from Arthur, and after a bit of squabbling between the manservant, prince, and king, raised it to his lips. The whole room watched with bated breath as he downed the poisoned wine. Except me, of course, as I do not have breath to bate, but I do love to use your human expressions.

After a tense moment, Merlin grabbed his throat, choking, and fell to the floor. I prepared myself to take his soul, but found that he was not yet ready. I could wait. To amuse myself, I began to take note of the colors again. First there was the piercing blue gaze and smiling red lips of Nimueh, satisfied with her revenge. Next was the golden chalice, rolling about on the gray stone floor, the crimson dregs of the wine spilled like blood.

Guinevere, Gaius, and Arthur, carrying an unconscious Merlin, brushed past me on their way out of the room, dashing towards the physician's chambers as fast as they could.

***A Note on Gaius***

Gaius had seen me come for others many, many times in his long career as Court Physician. He had watched me as I scooped up souls in my long arms and carried them away. He had seen men fall to me in battle, from disease, starvation, any number of ways. I am sure he sensed me in that moment as his shoulder touched mine; he knew what my presence felt like. He also knew that I would come for him in time, as I come for all men. He only hoped that this time I would not take his beloved ward, Merlin.

I fully expected to carry off Merlin's soul that night. The poison used was a potent one, and strengthened with magic at that. I could feel him slowly weakening as I made my way to Gaius's chambers at my own leisurely pace. Merlin had some time left, but not much. I entered the room silently, as I tend to do. No one noticed, as Gaius was busy explaining Merlin's condition to Arthur and Guinevere while they tended to Merlin.

I walked over to the bed where the unnaturally pale boy lay gasping for air. Merlin's soul clung to his body with an iron grip. Some of you are like that. You hold on to your tether to life like hands scrabbling on a cliff edge. I have to pry off each finger one by one. As I stood close to him, I sensed that Merlin was not ready to accompany me that night. He was a stubborn one. But I took my leave, knowing that I would return soon enough.

For the next few days I meandered about Albion performing my duties as always. I never get a break. Busy, busy, busy. A plague here, a famine there. A war in a neighboring kingdom kept my attention for a time. But just I had predicted, three days after the poison-drinking incident, I felt Merlin's soul call out to me. He was ready. I made my way back to those dark physician's chambers.

***Another Fact About Me***

I have impeccable timing. Whether or not you think so is an entirely different matter.

When I entered Gaius's chambers for the second time since this whole rigmarole began, Guinevere had just left. She stepped on my toes as she ran out. I do not think she noticed me in her panicked state; she was so desperate to fulfill Gaius's orders to draw more water. Perhaps she thought her efforts could waylay me. She was mistaken.

Meanwhile, Gaius was attempting to heat an acid-green potion with a flash of golden eyes. I was surprised he had resorted to magic in his attempt to save Merlin, for he had not used it for twenty years. But people will do anything to avoid me. Sometimes it saddens me to watch you humans try to prevent me from doing my job. You will never succeed. But, oh, do you try. Guinevere returned with a vial of water, which Gaius mixed with his potion. I knew their antidote would be of no use, but I let them go ahead anyway. Perhaps it would make them feel better.

By this point, Merlin's soul had only a tenuous hold left on his body. They fed the poor boy the potion and sat back. They waited in tense silence, their eyes fixed on Merlin. I felt his heartbeat falter and stop. As his thin chest stilled, I walked over and picked up his soul in my arms. Immediately I knew something was wrong. Merlin's soul weighed me down like an anvil.

*** A Note About Souls***

They are light, like feathers. I can carry hundreds, if not thousands at a time.

Guinevere began to question Gaius frantically, for she had finally noticed my presence and Merlin's lack of movement. The old man placed his head on Merlin's chest, over his heart, but was greeted with silence. He had been too late to stop me. As the two of them embraced and began to weep, I attempted to struggle towards the door, Merlin's soul draped over my shoulders like a cloak. I found I could not move. This was new. Occasionally I run into a soul that resists me, but never before had a soul managed to stop me in my tracks.

I looked back at Merlin's soul. It was glowing gold, white, and electric blue, and was growing heavier still. It felt as if a magnetic force was pulling me back towards the thin, pale body of the warlock. The weight had grown so great I could hardly stand, so I had no choice but to carefully lower Merlin's soul back into his body.

It took hold immediately, its relief palpable, as if it had just taken a great gulp of air after being underwater. Merlin's heart began to beat again, and his eyes snapped open. He sat up and admonished the two weeping figures with a witty quip. Something along the lines of Gaius being old enough to be Guinevere's grandfather. I couldn't help but chuckle. That's another thing I love about you humans. You have a sense of humor, even when face to face with me.

That was the first time I met Merlin, but it certainly would not be the last. Being the secret magical protector of the most powerful (and therefore most targeted) man in Albion did not come without its dangers. I would visit Merlin many more times, but would never be able to take his soul with me. The same strange weight would come over me, and I would be forced to leave him once more. It was not until later that I realized why. His magic would not let me take him. Why? Because Merlin is known by another name among the Druid people. That name is Emrys. And Emrys means immortal.

As the years passed, I began to take the souls of those beloved by Merlin. His best friend, Will. His first and only love, Freya. His own father, Balinor. But the hardest one for me to take was that of King Arthur Pendragon, the man for which Merlin had sacrificed everything. Arthur had been destined to die at the hands of his trusted knight Mordred, who also fell to me not long after he took the King's life. Merlin was forced to say goodbye to Arthur, thinking that he himself must stay behind in this world alone, forever.

But I know something that Merlin does not know. I know many things that are unknown to others. I know that Arthur is the Once and Future King, and he will rise again. (Now I have a bone to pick about that one, for no one makes the journey with me twice. But who am I to argue with the Boss?) But I will watch over Merlin throughout the ages, for while everyone around him must go with me at one time or another, he alone must live on. We are the only two constants in a world of ever changing souls.

Merlin will wait for his King. He will wait for the Golden Age of Albion. He will wait for the return of his friends and family. He will wait for magic to be free. He will wait. And I will be his constant companion.