A/N: I do apologize, guys. But, nothing excuses bad writing! And, all of the Shalott chapters are so long. Also, there is a good point I was making in quickening the pace of all of this – for the conclusion is best. For a time break (because they don't like more than one space T. T) I'm aligning them center. Just the ones belonging in the past or are not clearly defined.
Hope you enjoy the new chapters.
Rage shook Merlin to the core as Arthur closed his eyes for the last time. He had failed. The prophecy he had so long tried to curb had taken over. And Merlin had failed.
The body Merlin dragged around now was not his Arthur. No, Arthur wouldn't have been so accepting of his friend's magic. Arthur hated magic, blamed it for everything. Merlin almost smiled at the memories. Hadn't magic been proven to continuously kick Arthur in the butt, knocking him unconscious, trying to kill him for over eight years?
Eight years, Merlin thought sadly as he saddled Arthur back to the horse, curious of his pale demeanor. Had it truly been eight years of Arthur's reign? Eight years and Arthur hadn't matured… much.
Arthur would have wanted to die on the battlefield. It was Merlin's determination to defy the prophecy that had let him die in his arms. Merlin felt the tears sliding down his face, his head buried in his hair. He had forgotten Morgana's body close to her half brothers. He had forgotten everything.
Trying once more to defy this prophecy, the tears replaced with anger, he called for Kilgarrah in the language of old, holding Arthur to him. He pleaded with the Great Dragon, wishing he could have died himself. At the time, it was selfish. After all, Arthur would have felt the same way throughout his life.
The day he returned to Camelot was the day Merlin became a ghost. He felt eyes of worry on him, eyes that blamed him. Time moved slowly and yet, quickly. Gwen had remarried – too soon. What was too soon, Merlin? It had only been two or three months. No, Merlin, six years. No, it can't be! He argued fervently. Arthur was only here yesterday! Don't you remember his brood, his royal pratness sitting in that very desk?
He turned to prove his point, discovering the desk no longer there. Strange, he thought to himself, that Arthur should move the desk. No, he reminded himself bitterly. Arthur was no longer there. Gwen had placed a hand on Merlin's shoulder and nodded, gripping it tightly. She, too, slipped away from his mind.
What the good is being magic, Merlin thought as he poured over the books in the libraries, if I can't use it when I need to? To him, days and days passed. Gaius passed. Aithusa came and went. Merlin barely noticed.
Within his books, sources of his friend's mysteries and pasts came through. Like the Griffin that had come, and Gwaine's friends that had come to join them. Still, not a word about how to resurrect the true Arthur, not the Shade Arthur.
It was twenty years before Merlin finally stepped away. Gwen and her new husband had aged. He watched as she loved again, the smile big on her face. This enraged him. He wrote how she had never loved Arthur. That he, Merlin, had been the only one. That he was the only one paying for his destiny. That he was, in essence, living for Arthur to return – for, he is the magic and only magic will allow Arthur to return to the land of the living.
With an eternal potion, Merlin vowed to watch the resurrection of Arthur, to be the guiding hand that helps Arthur acclimatize to this ever-changing world. No one had ever thought to look for him in the ruins of the castle. He, himself, hadn't realized that it so changed.
Hoping to ask a favour of Kilgarrah, he spoke in the tongue of the Dragon Lords. To his surprise, Aithusa answered. It was not the same Aithusa that he recalled – her wing had been fixed since the last time he saw her. She was bigger with spears in her scales, panicked by what Merlin had wanted.
He asked her where Kilgarrah was. She spoke well enough to answer. Kilgarrah had taught her to talk but, he was no longer in this world. He had passed into the Great Cave. Merlin sat next to her, speechless. How much time has passed, he asked. Time, she answered, enough that people would hunt the last of her kind and sell the scales. Where magic is not celebrated and wielders will burn them. Merlin covered his face, unable to cry his frustration. She nudged his shoulder.
Do not cry, Merlin. There are some that know the story of the great Warlock and his loyalty to the Once and Future King. Perhaps they'll answer the questions he has. She had become wise, Merlin thought as he smiled with a brief glimmer of hope. But where to go? Anywhere, Aithusa answered, flying off to hide.
He traveled over Albion first then, on to Ireland. He had aged, his hunched figure shaking as he traveled towards inner Europe and Asia, reaching no wanted logic. Every time he used magic, he felt Arthur everywhere: beside him, around him. He heard his voice, saw his eyes. Time had not changed the young man he knew. At first, Merlin wept, saying he shouldn't have died. After a while, he ignored the figure and its antics, focusing on his spell work.
It wasn't until the twelfth century that Merlin first experienced the return. He had been sleeping on a cot, gasping for breath as his back cracked into a different position. His hair fell out in clumps, producing fresh black hair, matted at the back. His cataracts had fallen away, replaced with bright blue eyes. The rough skin smoothed over, like a cloth. The wrinkles fell away.
Panicked, Merlin looked for a connection, for someone to tell him what had happened. No one knew who he was as he questioned his teachers. Upon his insistence that he was Merlin, they stopped and stared. Some thought he was crazy. Only one thought differently.
He sat next to this boy, both praying to the underworld. The medium stood up, possessed by something. He could only answer with one repeated phrase: Arthur Pendragon, Once and Future King, is alive!
The medium never recovered. Merlin felt nothing except the excitement of seeing Arthur again. But, where was he?
Merlin searched everywhere with the sight to find him. But, his Arthur, his King, was no where around. Merlin aged once again, feeling panicked. He had failed his King again. Even his magic hadn't helped.
The twentieth century had vast achievements no one could have predicted. Merlin had been young during the first and second World Wars yet, he couldn't find Arthur. Or, he muttered bitterly to himself while nurses and doctors swiveled around him, he was being patriotic towards Germany. For a brief flash, he saw Arthur next to Uther. Hitler and Uther… Those two would have made fine friends.
He was unaware of the gazes or the rumors about him. He was only aware that, by the end of the first year, he resided in the hospital care. He aged, as always and found the IV dripping into his arm after a stroke. In his opinion, the nurses and doctors had forced the stroke with their poison. He laughed at their attempts. As if he hadn't tried it before when hope was lost. He couldn't die. But, that didn't mean he couldn't feel the agony as his overly old heart had slowed it's beating.
During his recovery, a nurse that reminded him of Gwen checked on him constantly, a pleasant smile on her face. "And how are you today, Merlin?"
Even the way she spoke his name reminded him of her. He tried to sit up, smiling weakly. "Much better."
He paused. Was that really his voice? That croaking sound? For a thousand-year-old Warlock, it should sound more majestic, more commanding than that. He shrugged to himself. "How are you today, Gwen?"
The nurse rolled her eyes at him as she fluffed his pillows. By now, even if her name tag said Jennifer, she and the other staff never tried to correct him. No, Merlin thought to himself, she knows her name is Gwen. It's always been her name. "I'm alright. Thank you."
Another nurse, the one he called Morgana, rolled in his roommate. Gaius. Except, this wasn't the kind of man he knew in Camelot but a bitter, old, angry man who yelled at the girl for everything until she was in tears. Gwen smiled sadly at Morgana. Gaius turned towards Merlin.
"Goddamn kidney stones are hard to pass!" Gaius' look alike shouted, his eyes narrowing in Morgana's direction. "The women may be easy on the eyes but, they are some of the dumbest people in the world."
Morgana's copy cat shook her head as she bit her lip. "Malcolm, take your medicine."
"Why can't I have Jennifer do it?" Gaius shouted, throwing a fit. "She's not a dolled up, stupid…"
Merlin covered his ears, his heart going out to Morgana. Even in this life, she had someone constantly demeaning her for her abilities. She and Gwen were his favorite nurses and, despite his reputation, Uther (Doctor Bates) was his least favorite physician. Still, Gwen switched places with Morgana. As Angelica (again, a name that Merlin refused to acknowledge) slid out the bedpan, he took her arm and gestured her closer. She leaned in, her ear close to his lips.
"Don't listen to Gaius. You're amazing, and you'll do wonderful things." Morgana smiled at him as he sighed. Talking was difficult for him, now. He smiled to himself as he thought of the times it had gotten him out of trouble. Or rather, into trouble as he took the fall for Arthur's antics. Or their first meeting. He made himself sad thinking about it.
"Thank you, Merlin." Morgana whispered back as she took his hand and sat next to him, dragging him out of his thoughts.
"How's… Leon?" Merlin rasped, trying to remember the name of Morgana's fiancé. He knew that wasn't Angelica's fiancé's name but, he couldn't be bothered. Angelica shook her head.
"Leon's fine. He's still working but, I'm pregnant." On and on, she prattled. Merlin briefly wondered if Morgana had done so in the years' he had known her. Of course, he had never spent much time with her seeing as Arthur took up his time.
He must have dozed off because Morgana and Jennifer had gone. Gaius was snoring as Merlin lifted himself, ignoring the shaking in his arms. Uther stood over him, reading his chart. He gave him a snide smile that sent shivers up Merlin's spine. Still the scariest man I've ever met, he concluded, gulping.
"Well, Mr. Merlin, you're doing fine. But, a man of your age must dial down these… excitations." Uther set the clipboard down and gingerly took Merlin's wrist. Merlin stared at him, distrusting. "Your pulse is weak. I suggest you stay here for another few days."
Merlin watched Uther closely, his eyes narrowed. Had he not known the mans habits in past lives, he would have been more attentive to him. But, he did know and, he also knew that Uther could mess up his life. So, he tuned him out.
"And, furthermore-," Uther whispered to Jennifer.
"Dad." A new voice whined loudly. Merlin furrowed his eyebrows and paused on the blonde-haired boy, no older than seventeen. He opened and closed his mouth. If that boy is Arthur, he'll understand. Instead, the boy's attention was focused on his father. Merlin's heart dropped slightly, freezing the man as he momentarily flatlined. Jennifer was by his side as Uther glared at the new comer.
"Henry, how many times must I remind you not to disturb me when I am working?" Uther scolded. The boy scoffed, defiant.
"Can I go yet? You said I only had to be here for a few hours." He was pouting. Merlin shook his head. No, that wasn't Arthur.
"This will look great on your job applications and your transcripts, Henry. You want to be a politician, don't you?" Uther encouraged in his monotone way. Merlin gritted his teeth, glaring at Uther's reflection in the glass. Henry paused momentarily.
"But, I've been here for five hours and-,"
"And we'll go when I'm done. OK?" Uther cut his son off quickly, checking his watch and exiting the room at a quick pace. Henry let out a dejected sigh and sat next to Gaius who, appeared to be sleeping. Henry pressed his lips against the man's forehead. Gaius' eyes flung open, startled. They settled on Henry and a smile overtook his shock. Henry returned the easy smile.
"Has Richard been here?" Gaius asked, stretching a little. "I hate hospitals."
"He says you have another week, Grandad." Henry answered, spitting out his reply. "I'd rather you home than him."
Merlin listened to their conversation, growing bored. Though Henry looked like Arthur, he would never live to his standard. His attention returned to the duo.
"… And that old crone is Merlin." Gaius stated, gesturing dismissively towards him. Henry smiled and waved toward the warlock. "Anyway, happy sixteenth birthday, Once and Future King."
Merlin's eyes bulged out of his head. Henry only laughed and shook his head. "Shouldn't I get a new title?"
"No new titles. It's the Grandad's rule." Gaius insisted grumpily, dismissing the younger and returning to his sleep.
Henry stood by Merlin's bed, checking his watch. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Merlin."
With that, he ran off. Merlin laughed to himself. That little wretch is the Once and Future King? I'll eat my hat.
Merlin felt the familiar agony as he clutched to the bed sheets, sweat pouring down his face. If this was death, it had failed. But, if it was not death, if this was him returning to a younger age, where the hell was he supposed to look for Arthur? How long had it been, anyway? Over fifty years ago, at least. Was it this painful?
His body convulsed in the darkness as the tingling sensation ran through his arthritic fingers and up his spine to his neck. The hunchback posture straightened with a familiar crack. He bit his lip as the machine he was hooked up to beeped rapidly to his strained heart. His aching bones stopped aching as clumps of white hair fell to the floor. The missing teeth and gaps painfully returned to their former positions. At long last, he slumped into the bed, panting. He glanced at the machine and shuddered, ripping the needles and tape out. Yes, his hands were smooth again. He had no problems breathing. Now, where was Arthur?
Standing, he stretched towards his toes. This time had been more painful, he recalled. He set his temper on determination as he wandered the halls. He would not fail. Not this time. "And, what are you doing out of bed?"
Merlin glanced at the nurse. Thankfully, it hadn't been 'Jennifer' or 'Angelica'. No, this one was Elena, if he remembered correctly. Yes, that blonde hair and clumsy demeanor. Merlin felt a twinge of guilt as he held onto her shoulders. A century of developing his powers and he was using them against his friends. "You will find me a change of clothes. The elder gentleman, Merlin, has passed away and his body resides with the coroner. All paper work and the body was destroyed. Set the fire."
Elena furrowed her eyebrows as Merlin set the instructions. He watched as the dazed look took over, his slow incantation bringing meaning to every word. With a nod, she set off on her tasks. At least half an hour passed before Merlin tried to come up with a story. He hadn't seen so many people that reminded him of the past than here. Maybe Henry could be Arthur. How could he intervene in their lives? He couldn't say he was Merlin. No, that'd get him locked up. He could say that Merlin was his grandfather. But, why didn't he visit? Because… Hunith needed him.
Hunith… Merlin felt another course of guilt. He hadn't attended her funeral. Shaking it off, he opened the door with his magic and sat in a car, turning it on. It was more magic than he had used in three years. He thought about his story some more. Instead, his mind turned toward Hunith herself. Was she disappointed in her son? Or, did she understand?
Focus, Merlin scolded himself. Hunith. Now, sons took the name of their fathers. He wasn't completely lying if he were to say he were Taliesin Emrys Balinor. Again, Merlin snapped himself out of his thoughts. Yes, my name is Taliesin. He looked himself in the rear-view mirror, the ancient eyes under the long eyelashes. You are sixteen years old. You are Taliesin Emrys.
He sighed as he brushed away the thoughts of Balinor and Hunith again. He focused in the mirror. Taliesin Emrys Balinor, son of Dragonus Balinor and Hunith Merlin.
Bullshit, thought Merlin. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Your mother needs your help. Your father has passed away. You are sixteen.
He could have laughed and told himself off. But, the last time he held conversations with himself, they locked him up in the nut house. This time will be different, he concluded as he pulled on his seat belt. So long as he could help Arthur with whatever he needed, it will be different.
He found himself swimming towards the surface. The barge he had been placed on had decayed and he had fallen off. Water, water everywhere. Something was holding him back.
He looked for his companion, standing on the shore. Evidence of tears on his face, he wore a mask of numbness. Idiot, help me! He thought to his companion.
He inhaled by accident. Water in his lungs. His eyes blurred. The figure left. And he was drowning.
He sat up in bed as he coughed up water, enough to create a lake in his bedroom. The lake, he reminded himself as he slipped into the bathroom, clearing his lungs of the substance. He looked himself in the mirror, flushed. Raising an eyebrow, he examined himself closely. It was as if he had never left.
But, he knew who he was and who he was not and he was not himself. So, who was he? Clear your mind, he ordered himself. Images flashed through, castles, orders. Vows. Wars. But, who was he now?
Politics. Yes, he had been involved in politics. The boy shook his head, his clear blue eyes peering from behind his blonde mess of hair. Yes, and he was interested in politics. That was it. That was the game his doctor father wanted him to play. A position of power. All his lives had been similar. But, who was he? His name was Henry. Is Henry, he scolded himself as he caught his breath.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Richard. Richard leaned against the doorframe, rubbing his tired eyes. "What are you doing up, Henry?"
"Bad dream." He grumbled. My name is Henry Bates. I am sixteen years old. I live with… Richard Bates. My grandad is… Malcolm. I love my father and would die for him.
Richard patted his son on the shoulder. "Get some rest, Henry. Don't forget you have an eight-hour shift at the hospital."
Oh joy, he thought to himself as he nodded absentmindedly. Richard returned to bed as he sank to the ground, covering his face. Was he on his own this time? He shook his head staring at his hands. Regardless of Merlin's promise, he had never returned to him. Did he die?
Again, Arthur shook his head. No, Merlin didn't die. He'd known if he had, right? No, thought Arthur firmly as he slipped into the covers, Merlin's not dead. He just doesn't care. He vowed to protect me with his life and, like the coward he is, he won't come to me.
Arthur fluffed the pillow with a look of amazement. Why was this bed so comfortable? He remembered his head in Merlin's lap on his dying day. How comfortable had that been. But, Uther was right. Warlocks aren't to be trusted so, he should never trust a warlock.
With that, he fell asleep.
A/N: Not much changed – just the writing! I feel better about it now! :D Sorry if that was horrible.