The scottish air smells like home, sharp and cold in his lungs. The sad man walks toward the loch, his converse clad feet light but clumsy. He lies down on his back, the sharp blades of grass digging into his back. The sky and the loch blend in colour, shades of gray so similar yet worlds apart. Things often work that way. A light drizzle starts, soft rain kissing his cheeks and carressing his body like a long lost lover. He only smiles up at the sky in thanks and apology; it's too late now for kisses. They don't heal him as much as they used to. It's too long ago for him to remember in detail anyway. His brain and soul unable to handle all the other memories in full vivd color and details, the bad memories in shades of red and murder drown all the others. They drown the good memories- shades of gray, a lack of colour.
Merlin feels the bone deep weariness sink into his bones then, old and ancient. He's just so tired and exhausted with… everything. Merlin's sick of the skin he's in, sick of the emptiness he feels in the pit of the stomach and the hollow blanket draped over his body- his skin, missing the fingers of the one he loves. There were others, lovers in different times and places. But the hollow feeling never left; it never leaves. He sighs, his breath turning into fog in the cold air. Merlin closes his eyes, raindrops falling onto his eyelids. Merlin listens to the sound of the gentle waves, the falling rain and the breaths he takes. He can practically see the last night now. Their last night in Camelot, the rain falling then just like it was now. The air was cold but they were safe and warm under the sheets with flushed skin and heated breaths. That night with their warm kisses and tight embraces, they slept. The King and his sorcerer, together, for one last night.
The battle is terrible, but it's even worse after. There's mourning and tears, death around every corner. Merlin felt useless, hopeless and lost. So lost without his King, his lover, but most of all his friend- Arthur. He was his everything. Every part of Merlin was his. Then the waiting came. The long years folding in on itself as every second passed, higher and higher it built; longer and longer he waits. He never came. Arthur never returned like he promised. Like the dragon promised. Like everyone promised. Merlin feels a knot grow inside his throat, the pain throbbing. The sorcerer clenches his fist as he exhales and pushes his gift away. Merlin slowly pushes his magic out of him and when he opens his eyes, it's beautiful. Golden tendrils of magic floats in the air, wisps flying up in the sky while others sink deep into the ground, turning the grass an even deeper green. Merlin smiles as he pushes every last bit of magic out of him; at least he made something beautiful. The man lets out a soft laugh, a mere exhale of breath really. But with that one last laugh, with that one last act of magic, Merlin the Great's eyes glow gold once more. He doesn't turn to ashes, he doesn't age, instead Merlin just freezes like the monster he thinks he is. He is stuck in time; merely hovering, like a plane for a second after the engines die. He has this one last second. Merlin pushes himself into the Loch Ness, the cold water icy on his skin- like kisses on a snowy day. The smile grows as he watches the gold streak into the sky like blood through one's veins. He watches the sky pulse with his magic and one could swear the rain came down gold. As Merlin's eyes close he feels a head under his floating palm, it's scaly and cold, but at least he's not alone. Merlin smiles when he sees the giant bright gold eye, staring at him, unblinking in it's sympathy and sorrow. He chuckles.
Fucking dragons.
He sinks to the bottom of the Loch Ness, and the world is rid of yet another monster.
Somewhere far far away, a baby is born.
And his baby blue eyes are beautiful.