Disclaimer: I do not own BBC'S Merlin or its characters. I simply enjoy writing shenanigans about their characters.
Note: this chapter is based on a Tumblr Post Idea. Also I write these at 3AM so excuse the typos.
Please, enjoy.
WARNING: Angst/Suicidal thoughts/attempt
When Albion's Need is Greatest
'When Albion's need is greatest, Arthur will rise again.' That was what Kilgharrah had told him. He had given him hope that Arthur would return on day. To Albion. To him. He had given him hope that when disaster struck, Arthur would rise form that lake, large as bloody life, and save them all.
It never happened.
Merlin could only conclude that the great dragon had lied. Or was wrong. He didn't care. All he knew was that Arthur wasn't coming back. Ever.
He had waited centuries by that lake. Centuries. Long after Gwen's rein had ended, he had gained a reputation as 'the hermit', the 'boy that never aged' and 'the warlock'. Among other things. Nobody really knew he was, but after a while, people began to notice that 'the boy that never aged' was by the lake, still a young man, even though their grandparents had spoken of him.
He had been hunted once, called a demon and a monster. It had nothing to do with his magic, just the fact that he had eternal youth. It was unnatural. From then on, he had learnt to leave every forty years or so and travel somewhere far away. He had been to so many places, and seen so many things. He always ended up back at the lake. Waiting.
As the centuries went on, more and more of magic disappeared. The dragons went first, not long after Arthur had. Then came the creatures; unicorns, trolls and fairies. All gone. Dead. Passed into legend and myth, as he had. Then went Albion and its kingdoms, including Camelot. Destroyed, renamed or claimed by other lands. He had thought Arthur would return for that, as Albion had been on the brink of destruction.
He never came.
Soon, he was all that was left of magic. No more warlocks or witches, druids or dragons. Just him. He wasn't even sure if Avalon was still there. If it wasn't, neither was Arthur.
Every time a major world even happened, he wondered. Was this the time? Would he return? Would he see him again? The answer was always no. So passed the French Revolution, civil wars, the fall of empires, wars and disputes. When the first world war had occurred, he had wondered if that would be what brought him back, to end the violence. He thought the same for the second. The violence always went on.
That was probably what made him believe that Arthur wasn't coming back, planting the seed of doubt.
Yet, he still waited. Maybe for Arthur, maybe for death. He wasn't sure.
He had made a few friends, along the way, but he never let himself get to close once he realised he didn't age. He couldn't handle any more hurt.
Yet, now and then he let himself get attached to someone, and he wondered if that hole in his soul would be filled. It never was, they always passed on, leaving him to his lonely lake.
The only thing that would help was Arthur, and that was never going to happen.
Yet, he waited. Maybe out of boredom, maybe out of nostalgia for a time long passed. Certainly not for Arthur. Not anymore.
He wasn't sure how much more of this he could take. How much more loneliness he could endure. He knew the waiting wouldn't end, as was his curse. At first, he had thought his immorality was due to having to wait the long way around to reunite with Arthur. Now, he thought it due to failing his destiny. With no Arthur to unite Albion, and no Albion to be united, he was left out of time, like a ghost with unfinished business.
Was that what he was? A ghost? Doomed to an eternity of mulling over his own failures; never able to rest. He supposed so.
Unless of course, he did end it. End himself.
The idea had crept into his mind a few centuries back. Back when he still had some hope for Arthur's return. He had always pushed it aside, telling himself that he just needed to hold on a little longer. A thousand years longer.
It wasn't as if he wished to die. He just wanted the waiting to end. It wasn't just Arthur's absence. It was the lack of purpose, of drive. There was no escape from it. He had tried finding a new purpose, becoming engaged in world events and development. Helping where he could. It never really felt like it amounted to anything anymore. More death and violence always came, sometimes because of him. He was trapped waiting for a destiny that he could never fulfil, a friend he would never see again.
In the end, it got the better of him. He had had enough. He wanted it to end. No more death, no more disappointment; no more waiting.
And so, Merlin, the last remaining piece of Albion, found himself at the edge of the lake. Up to his knees in the water. It was late in the afternoon, when the sun was disappearing and the wind moved the Lake ever so slightly.
He didn't mind dying. He had lived so long already. Too long.
He made his way deeper into the lake, eyes fixed forward, water ever rising higher and higher. Eventually, he could no longer touch the bottom of the Lake, and he was treading water, making his way further out of the lake. He didn't really feel anything emotional. Just the cold bite of the water as he let himself begin to sink.
Water enveloped him as he sank, greeting him into eternity. After a moment, he found his lungs burning inside him, fighting to take air in. Eventually, he couldn't hold out any longer, and he gasped, lungs desperate for air. Instead, he got a chest full of cold, murky water.
He wondered if he would see Freya, or the sword. Maybe even Arthur. He knew he didn't have much longer, his chest convulsing as he suffocated. His head was throbbing, and he felt himself weakening. He prepared himself to let go, to finally be at peace. It wouldn't be much longer.
As he was begging to slip into unconsciousness, he felt something odd. A pulling sensation. Something was pulling him. No downward, like he might expect. But upwards. Something, or more likely someone, was pulling him upwards towards the surface. He was vaguely aware of a pressure on his chest, which he assumed was an arm. He wanted to fight, to pull away from whoever had decided to intervene. He didn't want to be saved. But he didn't have the strength to fight. He barely had the strength to stay conscious.
Yet, he found himself breaching the surface of the water, flush against someone's chest so he faced the sky as they pulled him back to shore. His body was trying to expel the water from his lungs, now able to take in air. He felt himself falling into unconsciousness, but somehow, he didn't. Maybe his body wasn't ready to give up, even if he was.
After a few more moments, he was dragged up the grassy shore and pushed onto his side. His body forced him to cough and splutter, expelling whatever water was still inside him, making room for air as whoever his rescuer was kept a firm hand on his back.
When he was done, he felt an overwhelming surge of anger. Rage, more accurately. He didn't want this; he didn't want to be saved. Furious, he forced himself to his feet, turning to face whoever his rescuer was to give them a piece of his mind.
He saw blonde, wet hair. Blue, frightened and concerned eyes. Drenched armour. Arthur.
It was Arthur.
He felt his knees weaken, shocked and confused. Arthur guided him to the ground, hands on his shoulders.
"Merlin, what the hell were you doing?"
Merlin. Arthur said his name. Arthur was speaking. He hadn't heard his voice for so long, but it was so familiar it was hard to believe he had forgotten. It was all too much. He didn't even think about the question he was asked. All he could do stare.
Arthur, eyes still wide, gripped his shoulders tighter, almost nervously, "Merlin, are you alright?"
He shook his head, lump in his throat and his eyes sore. "You're back," he managed to say, voice breaking.
Arthur nodded, still not letting go, "I'm back."
He felt a sudden spark of anger igniting inside him, "Why now? Why bloody now, Arthur?"he shouted, tears finally falling. He drew a shaky breath, "I waited so long, Arthur. So long."
Arthur swallowed, eyes red, "I know. I know, and I'm so sorry. I've watched every moment."
He whole body was shaking from shock, "I don't understand how you're back?"
Arthur shook his head, "I don't either. But I'm here." He pressed his forehead against his, far more gently then Merlin would have thought possible. "But you almost weren't."
Merlin said nothing.
"You tried to drown, Merlin."
He pulled away, looking Arthur in the eye. "There was nothing left for me, Arthur. No magic, no you, no Albion."
Arthur pulled him back, this time into an embrace. They were both shaking. Maybe from the cold, maybe from emotion. "There was still Albion," Arthur said quietly. Unusually quietly.
"You are a part of Albion. I think that's why I've been sent back."
He shook his head, "I don't understand, what are you saying?"
Arthur pulled back a little so they could see each other's faces, "you said you had given up. You had given up. You tried …you tried to die Merlin."
He looked down at the ground, hurting, "I know."
"Merlin, when did the great dragon say I would return?"
He stared, unsure where this was going. "When Albion's need is greatest –but Arthur, so much has happened. So much evil, but you didn't come."
"None of that was Albion. You are all that's left of Albion, of magic. You have been holding on for so long, Merlin." Arthur drew a deep breath, cupping his cheek for a fraction of a second, "until you couldn't hold on anymore. You are all that's left of Albion, Merlin, and I think now is when your need is greatest."
Not able to do anything else, Merlin began to sob.
He cried so much. More than he had since the day Arthur had left; It was only fitting that the time he cried even more was the time that Arthur returned. At some point, he had ended up slumped against Arthur, tears falling freely. He wasn't sure what he was feeling. It felt like relief, anger, joy, happiness and grief all at once. All the tears and emotion he had been building up over the centuries had finally made their escape, bringing with it a tidal wave of tears.
He knew Arthur was crying too. He could feel his tears against his skin, the lake water long since dried. It was all so much to take in. Yet, he found he wasn't worried about anything else. Not about what this meant for Albion, or his destiny, or his past. Arthur was back, and that was all that he cared to think about for the moment.
And for the first time in a very long time, he felt everything was going to be alright.