Some of the Necromancer things that are in this fic probably aren't how they usually go, but you know… This is fanfiction, so whatever!
I don't own Merlin.
Theory of a Deadman/One
Merlin's hands briefly hesitated on the ancient black tome, doubting his decision for a split second before he resolutely pulled it off of the shelf as carefully as he could and made his way to the worn table that sat in the corner of the room.
Intelligent azure eyes flicked around briefly despite the fact that next to no one save himself knew of the secret room that dwelled in the depths of the castle's library. He flicked through the book as swiftly as he dared, scanning through the listed potions and spells and mentally storing the ones which would come in handy at later times. He never completely stopped on a single page though, not until his eyes scanned over a certain page that neared the end of the book.
He shifted from foot to foot; wary, and rightly so, for Merlin was fully intending on using a dark art that was frowned upon even by those of the old religion: Necromancy.
When Merlin had first heard Gaius briefly mention the art, he had become curious, though not enough to go against his father figure's strict orders to let the matter go. All the young warlock was told was that it wasn't to be trifled with; one does not call up the spirits of the dead unless they have superior knowledge on the subject, and even then, they are advised against it. It was highly disrespectful to summon a spirit from the beyond by the use of Necromancy; for once the soul is summoned, it would be fated to follow every whim of the person who summoned it, chained in slavery until they were released back to the world from whence they came.
It had sounded absolutely horrible at the time, so Merlin hadn't the slightest desire to pursue the art… That is, until Mordred returned after nearly nine years and claimed a spot as one of Camelot's finest knights.
The young druid unsettled the warlock. It seemed that every person and creature of magic he came across cautioned him against allowing Mordred to go free from suspicion. The only problem was, whenever he'd try and broach the subject, it was easily dismissed.
Merlin bit his lip as he stared down at the page presented before him. This wasn't exactly the ideal plan, but Merlin just needed someone close—someone familiar to him to give him the advice he sought.
He could only hope that he succeeds in safely herding the soul of one Lancelot Du Lac from the beyond...
One/end.
So yeah guys… If enough people are interested in this story, I'll continue.
Don't plan on it being too long; it'll most likely be less than 10 chapters.
Thank you for reading!