Febuwhump 2019, (Also, I'm excited that I have finally written and posted a Merlin fanfic.)

Prompt Used: "Where are you?"


There had been days, years, centuries that had blended together so perfectly. As if, he was to blink a whole decade had passed him. It was sort of tragic that in the beginning Merlin had been a shell. Someone broken by death and time itself. He really hadn't been himself, he could admit that, had been forced to see his hermit days were both helpful as they were destructive. He was born to believe he was human, and in those traits, he needed companionship. A healthy dose of life and experiences.

However, he was Merlin. A man that bled from his heart, someone who had been shattered when his mother, Gaius, and everyone else died. Those that had been taken by natural causes, made sense; but it still scared him. Their numbers dwindled and so the colors he saw in the world. Without them, his life became colorless, less vibrant. It had been his soul that cried with his heart when he felt them leave their bodies.

Most of have not been born with magic, but that didn't mean he didn't see how magic still roamed and cultivated the world with fate and death. He saw the cycle. Memorized it too when all he could do was see these invisible clocks ticking and his own frozen.

As an immortal, he had watched his life become a distant myth. His own sense had become numb, especially when magic died and resized itself for each century that modernized itself. It had been a change he couldn't fully drink in. There had been moments when he did smile. When a person did challenge him. And while that had been rather nice, it still didn't stop him from losing more friends along his journey.

Having so much time Merlin couldn't stop his own thoughts. Of the lost opportunities. Mostly it had been his regrets that had shaped his own desolation.

It felt like he was being punished. For having all those prophecies, tasks and faith given to him, and then, to only be left alone. No one knew him really. And he had hurt his best friend; someone that he had loved with all his heart when he had died. There still been so much he wanted to say to Arthur, and so much he could have done if he had told the truth. But he didn't.

Now he was left to wander the world, while pleading every so often: "Where are you?" to an empty lake.

Merlin knew he must have looked like a weird bloke, a madman that didn't wholly accept everything since regret was a powerful thing that tied him. He wonders too if by the day he would come back would Merlin be able to offer Arthur anything. Or if they were both doomed, because if he had to be honest, Merlin still didn't know what they were supposed to accomplish.

And, if he was still going to be sane by then.

Time, the very essence that mocked his existence, would be the only thing left to say. He just hoped that he would. Because, really, that was all Merlin had. Prayers and empty memories.