A minute puff of air and Merlin is falling.
It feels like it always does. There's no ground beneath him and his ears hear the whistling wind and his stomach drops high into his chest. He doesn't scream, though his arms flail. Like, he's trying to fly.
There's a crack when he hits the ground. He can't tell what it is, because it seems to come and disappear from every part of his body at once. One unanimous, unfeeling snap. It must have hurt, because he can hear someone screaming, and it sounds like himself. But, also his mother. He fell from a tree when he was nine. And his lungs had lost their air then, too.
He didn't want to breathe, but his body took charge. It tried to gasp, but his throat was stoppered by a rising well of blood and he heaved putrescent red all over his chin.
Was he dying? Yes, he thought, I think I am.
Damn.
The sky isn't blue. No, it's golden. Golden like…
Oh, hello, Arthur.
"Oh, dear God."
Merlin almost smiles. Arthur calls him names when he's worried.
He's in pain, but doesn't feel afraid.
"You selfish, selfish bastard, you…No, no, no, you stay with me!"
Merlin wants to laugh. Arthur's such a dumbass. But he's strong, too. Merlin can feel his head being lifted into Arthur's lap like it weighs nothing. And, his spine feels strange. Like, its wobbling. His lungs creak like a rusty hinge and Merlin realizes it's because they need air like oil. Fluids fuel the world in ripples. Everything changes.
Panting. Panting and crying, that's what Arthur's doing. It makes Merlin question whether he jumped or slipped.
Either way, the enemy was coming, and it was either him or everyone else.
Merlin believes in the good of the many.
His legs are doing something strange, shaking maybe, and Merlin tries to will them to stop.
Arthur doesn't need to see that.
"Gaius," Arthur whispers, then screams, "God damn it, I need the physician, now! Merlin. Don't close your eyes, Merlin. I swear to God, if you close your eyes-"
Merlin hadn't realized they were about to. Arthur's voice fades and Merlin's lungs hitch for air.
He dies.
...
Merlin bolts upright in bed with a shriek of terror, clawing at his chest. Panting uncontrollably, silence reins him in like an unruly hound.
He feels the cool night air around him, the touch of breath in his lungs, the stillness of his bones.
He stares wide-eyed into the moonlit darkness of his room, mouth agape in horror.
Slowly, a shudder rocks his frame, and Merlin bends over his knee, a sob ripping through his chest.
His mind recalls the terror of his dream. That horrid, sickly peace as his split bones and bleeding teeth brought no fear for him.
He hadn't been angry, or scared, or even caring. Trapped in his own apathy, he'd just…let himself drift away.
The ultimate sacrifice, for his destiny.
Merlin hugs himself, shaking in his bed, trying not to scream.
...
Arthur wakes to the sound of his door slowly creaking open.
He reaches instinctively for the knife beneath his pillow, and eyes the crack of dim light warily,
"Who's there?"
There is no response. Arthur sits up carefully, nerves pinched with caution.
Then, he sees the shadow's figure. A mop of dark hair. A face shrouded in darkness. Arthur squints his eyes, and leans back a fraction,
"Merlin?"
For the first time, Arthur's ears pick up the sound of Merlin's breathing. Rapid, thin.
"I quit."
The words are only a whisper, but they seem impossibly loud in the silence.
Arthur doesn't say anything. He doesn't know what to say. He just stares, wondering for a moment if his manservant is walking asleep.
The door is shut the next time he blinks.