This is a series of oneshots all based on literary quotes. They're sort of like song-fics. This particular one kept bothering me, so I had to write it, but I only have ideas for a few more. I would love to get some requests, so send me any passages of poetry or prose you'd like to see a Merlin fic about. Also, I know this is probably the most over-done monologue of all time, but bear with me, okay? It's still good stuff.

Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin, I'm just borrowing him. I don't own any of Shakespeare's characters either. *Sigh*

Hamlet: Act III, Scene 1

To be, or not to be—that is the question:

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune

Or to take arms against a sea of troubles

And by opposing end them.

He would do it tonight. This time, he would really do it. He would go to Arthur and tell him about his magic. He would tell him that Agravaine was the traitor. He would tell him where Morgana was hiding. No more waiting and watching. No more working in the shadows to defend his home. No, this time he would act.

And damn the consequences.

To die, to sleep—

No more—

No more secrets, no more lies and pain. No more hiding who he was and fearing the future. He could finally rest.

And by a sleep to say we end

The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks

That flesh is heir to. 'Tis a consummation

Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep—

To finally be free of the weight of his destiny, the guilt of his past…

To sleep—perchance to dream.

But would he be free?

Ay, there's the rub,

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come

When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,

Must give us pause.

He had been close to death many times, but still he knew little of what waited there, what lay beyond the veil. And what would become of those he left behind?

There's the respect

That makes calamity of so long life.

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,

The serket's sting, the bandit's cruel blade,

Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,

Uther's hatred, Arthur's ignorance,

The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,

The pain of losing friends and family,

The insolence of office, and the spurns

That patient merit of th' unworthy takes,

And plots and schemes that never let him rest,

When he himself might his quietus make

With a bare bodkin?

With one choice, he could end it all.

Who would fardels bear,

To grunt and sweat under a weary life,

But that the dread of something after death,

Terrors he might cause by acting at the wrong time,

The undiscovered country, from whose bourn

No traveller returns, puzzles the will,

And makes us rather bear those ills we have

Than fly to others that we know not of?

If Arthur rejected magic yet again and killed Merlin for good measure, what then?

Would the knights follow a leader that put a faithful comrade to death?

Could Gwen forgive Arthur for killing her best friend?

Would Gaius serve a king that executed his ward?

Would the people of Camelot trust their ruler if he murdered his most loyal servant?

Could Arthur's own soul stand the betrayal?

And who would protect Arthur? Who would keep the monsters and villains at bay?

Merlin's life wasn't the only thing at stake. The future of Camelot, of Albion could crumble if he acted now. He could destroy everything with one wrong choice.

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,

And thus the native hue of resolution

Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,

And enterprise of great pitch and moment

With this regard their currents turn awry,

A little longer. He would have to wait just a little longer.

And lose the name of action.