Hello! Long time, I know. I've been going through a bit of a rough transition in my personal life and have been struggling to get the time in to write. But I'd like to reiterate that no matter how long I disappear for, I have promised to NEVER abandon this story. There's too much of it in my head XD Anyway, this chapter is a bit more... trippy? conceptual? dream-like? than the rest. If you like that, then great! If you don't, the story will be more down-to-earth in coming chapters.
As always, feedback (warm and cold), predictions, interests, hopes... All are welcome.
Enjoy!
~Ra1n
Previously...
"Ar...gur…" Came a wet gurgling somewhere deep in Merlin's throat. His chest didn't move. His jaw didn't shift. His eyes didn't blink.
"...Merlin?" Arthur squeaked.
The gurgling stopped. Merlin's face remained suspended. Silence fell in the room.
And then there was screaming.
Arthur was distantly aware that the voice-the screams-were coming from his own throat, but he couldn't focus his attention on the noise as waves of ungodly pain washed over his body. He was rooted to the spot, one hand still loosely wrapped around the chain on Merlin's chest. Around him, the chains had begun to glow an unearthly shade of blue, sparking and sizzling in the dungeon air. Merlin's body was awash with it, as was Arthur's-though Merlin had no reaction. Arthur, on the other hand, couldn't bring his fingers to release themselves from the metal, even as the waves of blue-light-pain radiated up his arm and through his chest. God, it felt like someone had taken a hot poker to his skin and his bones.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Arthur tried to will his fingers to move.
They refused.
Arthur growled. He'd faced dragons. He'd ruled a kingdom. He'd lead his knights into battle. He had dueled his enemies and won. He was not about to be bested by a chain and some lights. Not now. Not when Merlin had just died before his eyes and spoken from the dead. If there was a destiny- and he was sure there was- then he refused to believe that it was to be trapped in this cell, stuck to this chain. He opened his eyes and looked at his hand again. This was his hand and his mind, and he needed them both. Now.
Making full eye contact with his own fingers, he gave another mighty pull.
There was a flash of light behind his eyes, in his skull, and his chest seized as another wave of pain caused the muscles around his ribcage to spasm. He groaned through his locked jaw.
C'mon, he screamed inside of his head, move. His ringing ears, or maybe the high rattle of the chains, grew louder, as if trying to drown out his own voice. And there was something else. Beneath the noise there was a low hum that grew louder with every second. Separate from himself and the chains, Arthur clung to it like a lifeline.
The hum turned to a roar. Arthur's eyes opened as the rumble filled his head and his body, heavy and soft. The pain was stinging something far from him now, his mind enveloped in this newfound weight. Looking at his hand, it no longer felt like his. The fingers were dead and far away, the trembling somewhere else entirely. Arthur took a deep breath, his lungs no longer in the barrier of his ribs, his mind no longer in his skull. He could see himself below, frozen to the spot. The chains moved without sound. Arthur moved his focus lazily up his arm, up his fingers, up Merlin's still chest, to Merlin's face-
The body of the king collapsed.
Arthur's head hit the ground.
He felt it.
Grunting, he stared at the damp stone ceiling, his body buzzing and shaking once again. The chains' rattle was sharp. His breathing was stuttered. The roar no longer filled him.
The pain was gone.
He sat up quickly, savoring his freedom from the chains for only a moment before whipping his head over to look at Merlin.
He knew what he'd seen.
Merlin had been the one roaring.
The warlock was still slumped low in his bonds, but he was no longer unearthly still. Instead, his glassy eyes were once again fixed on Arthur, his mouth hanging open as he took in tiny puffs of air.
"It gets worse," he mumbled. His voice was more air than sound. "It can always get worse."
Arthur's eyes widened. "But you were dead!"
"No." He didn't include an explanation. "Just worse." His eyes grew serious. "I'm afraid, Arthur."
"Then let me help you," Arthur said, standing up.
"That's the problem," Merlin shivered and flexed the fingers of his left hand. Tiny blue sparks of residual lightning jumped between them. "I'm afraid of you."
Arthur rocked back on his heels, unable to find a response. Merlin eyed one of the chains pointedly.
"And so is the magic. I can't control this, Arthur. You come close and I react. That's all there is. That's all I am."
Arthur took a tiny step forward. "What do you mean?"
Merlin squeezed his eyes shut as another chain snaked out from the wall and tangled with the mass already wrapped around his wrist. The cuff glowed faintly blue. It was a tiny chain, barely as thick as Arthur's little finger.
A tiny chain for a tiny step. Arthur suddenly understood the rattling and flinching that had lead up to the pain; it was a reaction, but not of Merlin's own accord. Arthur was scaring him and the prison was reacting accordingly.
"Please, just leave."
"Merlin-"
"I know you want to rescue Merlin, but he isn't all here." He made a weak gesture with his fingers, as if to point at himself.
"What are you going on about? You're right in front of me."
Merlin shook his head again, slowly. "No, I'm not. There's more."
"More of what?" Arthur could feel a headache knitting between his eyebrows, and he didn't want to be listening to riddles.
"More of him." He rose his eyebrows as if he expected Arthur to understand. He didn't. Merlin continued with urgency. "Just-listen to me. I want you to know that I'm not strong. Not the strongest, at least. There're more. More, and they aren't like me, won't hold back. You need to find him, Arthur. I don't know how much more he can take. He's tired. We've been here too long." Merlin's eyes were wet, but his voice stayed the same murmur.
"Who is 'we?'" Arthur cried, "Who has been here too long? Who won't hold back?"
"Merlin."
"What about him?! What question were you answering?"
"All of them.."
"I don't-"
Arthur heard the door behind him swing open.
"Go now. There's nothing to do for me. Not yet."
Arthur studied the warlock, trying to make sense of what he'd just been told. There were too many pieces missing. Not enough information. If this wasn't Merlin, then who was it? What was it? He looked at the boy in front of him.
"Please-" Arthur took a quick step towards Merlin, instinct telling him to just grab him by the shoulders and shake the sense out of him, but found himself once again staring at the ceiling, his back aching and his head spinning.
He stood, panting, in the middle of the room, and looked at Merlin.
Merlin, who was once again engulfed in blue light and rattling metal. His face was expressionless, his eyes closed. Arthur felt something twist in his gut.
Had he dreamt the conversation?
No, he couldn't have. His confusion was real. Merlin, apparently, wasn't entirely Merlin. There were more...somehow.
He looked at the man again, bound, and was struck with the realization that only a month ago he would have been pleased with the sight before him. He shook it away. He needed to focus on now.
A key, a sword, a loose rock- Arthur looked frantically around the room, searching for something, anything that would help him free Merlin, but found the room was completely free of debris.
He whirled to look at the door he'd come through. It had swung shut at some point in the chaos, but he was all too familiar with the endless darkness that lay behind it. He shuddered. At least there was light within this tiny room. He didn't want to think about venturing back out there, but he knew that he was going to have to if he wanted to have any hope of finding something to break the chains with.
"I'm sorry, Merlin," he said, "But I will be back," he paused at the use of those words, then continued, "I won't leave you here. I promise."
The warlock had no reaction. It took all of Arthur's willpower to turn his back on him, open the door, and walk through it.
As it shut behind him, Arthur's mouth dropped open.
Black tile floor. Smooth grey walls. Another room.
Arthur whipped around to open the door he had come through. Merlin was still there, too-lifeless and bound.
...and Merlin was here, standing at the very back of the new grey room.
The Merlin standing across from Arthur wasn't chained down. He wasn't being held back by anything, actually. Arthur shut the door and faced this new Merlin, panting at the sudden wave of oppressive heat that hit him in his face and drove up through the soles of his shoes.
He really wasn't sure why he was surprised by the change in scenery or the Merlin double-this entire world had been inconsistent. Still, the shifting settings were making him dizzy, and he wondered if there was a way out of them, or if he was destined to be trapped in this labyrinthian scape forever.
Was this what Merlin had meant when he'd spoken? Was this also Merlin? Or some kind of trick?
"Who are you?" he asked, at the same time that this new Merlin demanded, "What are you doing here?"
Neither of them answered the other's question.
Merlin surveyed Arthur through dark, bloodshot eyes. Arthur did the same, trying to find anything that would give away if this was the real Merlin, if the man chained behind him was, or if they both were something else entirely. This Merlin's brow was furrowed, with hair sticking up in all directions. He was breathing deep, heavy breaths as if he was trying to calm himself down, and the tendons stood out from his bare neck. He had on the usual red tunic and black trousers, but they had faded to brown and grey. There were holes peppering his shirt, rimmed with black as if they'd been singed through. The bottom few inches of his pants had been burned away as well, revealing bare, blistered feet. In short, it looked quite a bit like this Merlin had taken a trip to Hell and back.
"I asked you a question, king," he spat, taking a few strides towards Arthur, his fists clenching. Arthur ignored him.
With only a few feet between them, Arthur could see that his knuckles were bruised as if he'd spent hours punching the walls. A thin line of blood had dried under his nose. Sweat beaded along his hairline. Rather than making him look weak, however, it made him look dangerous. Unhinged. This Merlin was strong and powerful. Capable. Somehow his willowy frame appeared to be made of pure muscle and sinew, heat coming off of him in waves. His very being seemed to tremble like a bowstring pulled taught.
Merlin smirked. "Nothing to say? Typical. Not much going on between your ears, sire."
Arthur found his voice. "I asked you a question as well."
"You don't get to ask me questions." His voice was so low Arthur had a hard time hearing it, even with Merlin's face so close to his own. He resisted the urge to back up. Merlin leaned forward until their foreheads were nearly touching, his hot breath on Arthur's cheeks. "Get out," the sorcerer hissed.
Arthur looked straight into his eyes. He often forgot how tall Merlin was, forgot that he was a man just as Arthur was. Not now, though. Now Arthur could feel the seriousness of his presence. This wasn't the goofy boy that made jokes and polished boots. This was the man who followed Arthur into battle, who had seen more than any servant had ever been trained to see.
And now this man was seething in front of Arthur's nose.
"I said get out!" Merlin yelled, spittle flying from his mouth and onto Arthur's face. Arthur took a furtive glance over Merlin's shoulder, trying to see the contents of the room. It was empty save for another door on the opposite side, just as ornate as the one he had come through.
A jolt to his stomach sent Arthur falling backwards into the door he'd come through, rattling its hinges. Arthur gasped, more in shock than in pain, and stood to face Merlin, whose fist was still raised after pulling back from the punch. What-?
"Did you just..?"
This time, the hit was aimed at his face. Arthur saw it coming and dodged, the blow only glancing off of his cheekbone rather than his nose or mouth. Arthur went into warrior mode. He didn't have time to think as Merlin wound up for another attack. One thing was clear in Arthur's mind: he needed to get to the door across the room.
Another fist, and Arthur caught it, twisting it behind Merlin's back, incapacitating him until an elbow dug into his ribs, forcing him to release. The sorcerer whirled to face Arthur once again, distancing himself in order to speak.
"How does it feel to be defending yourself from a servant?" He asked, still breathing heavily.
Arthur glared at him. "I don't want to fight you."
"Of course not. It must be oh-so-demeaning. Like being-collared-and-chained-in-a-dungeon demeaning. My sympathies, truly."
Merlin suddenly whirled in a kick, but Arthur jumped back, barely able to regain his balance before a jab to his solar plexus caught him off guard. He choked and knelt.
Since when was Merlin so strong? When had he become so capable in a fight?
Arthur recovered his breath just in time to look up and catch Merlin's arm as it came down towards his neck. The warlock snarled and tried to jerk away, but Arthur kept his grip. With as much power as he could muster, Arthur caught his other arm and pinned them together, wrist to wrist between his palms. In this position, Merlin's face was only inches from Arthur's, their hands the only thing between them.
"Listen to me," Arthur ground out. Merlin continued to struggle, seemingly oblivious to Arthur. "Merlin."
The warlock froze, his eyes going wide.
"I'm not," he said quietly, as if startled by the use of his name. He looked very small for a moment, like a child with his wrists pinned, and then the mask was back. His brow dipped low and he grimaced.
"Don't call me that!" He ripped his hands free of Arthur's grasp, and they both stumbled backwards. Arthur stared at his own hands in shock as Merlin got his footing again, growling like a wild animal.
"You did this," he hissed. His nose had started bleeding again. He used the back of his sleeve to wipe it away, smearing some across his cheek. "This...is your fault," he motioned to the walls of the room with his bloodied sleeve. "All of this."
Arthur looked at the grey walls. Merlin's feet were bleeding like his nose, tracking footprints across the shiny black tile. As he watched, they seemed to brown and sizzle, as if landing on hot embers.
"Why can't you leave us alone?" Merlin moaned, his hand dropping to his side. He chuckled then, shaking his head. "No, no. I can still do this. I can still… I never fought back, you know?" His hands went up to touch his collar-less throat. He shrugged. "Couldn't. But you're here now." He grinned, showing too many of his teeth. "You know, the idiot next door kept saying to wait." He jerked his head in the direction of the door Arthur was trying to reach. "But I knew...I knew he was wrong. And look at us now!" he took a stumbling step forward, still grinning, motioning towards the room Arthur had come from. "What'd the wimp tell you? Huh? How's he doing in there?" He screamed the last part, as if he were speaking to the Merlin in the other room rather than Arthur. He shook his head, more laughter bubbling up from his chest. "No, he doesn't answer anymore. None of them do. Not for awhile. These goddamn walls..."
Arthur had taken a few steps back in horror. Was there another Merlin behind the next door? And what about beyond that? How many Merlins were there? How was he supposed to save the real one if there were so many of them, all speaking gibberish and stumbling around in their own rooms? Was this what the first Merlin had meant when he said he wasn't the strongest? And if so, how strong were the others?
"You look confused," Angry-Merlin was saying, squinting at Arthur's face. "Good. I was confused, too, when I woke up with that collar. When you locked that door." He wound up and punched a wall, spattering flecks of rusty red that hit the grey and turned an ashy black. "When the guards came in with the chains. With the ropes- that chair. 'I'll come back?' Bastard. You enjoyed it."
Arthur shook his head. "Merlin, I'm sorry. I should have-"
"Shut up. Why don't you take that load of shit to him?" He jerked his thumb towards the door across the room. "If he's still alive, that is." He paused. "No, on second thought, I don't want you anywhere near him." He moved to stand in front of the door. "I can handle you myself."
Arthur looked from Merlin, to the door, and back again. "I'm not here to hurt anybody." He put his palms up. "I'm trying to help you."
Merlin barked out a laugh. "Right, sire. I am sure. What will it be this time? Shall we build a pyre? Oh, wait-" He spat onto the ground, where it made contact, steamed, and evaporated. "We already have, haven't we?"
Arthur took a step forward. "Then come with me."
"I'd rather burn."
Another step. "I'm not going to let you burn."
Whatever the hell that means. Arthur's grasp on the situation was weak at best, but guilt still gnawed at his stomach as he listened to this Merlin's version of events. They sounded real, and whether they were or not was beside the point- he'd seen the confusion in Merlin's eyes when he'd abandoned him in the dungeons, and he could only guess that what he was seeing now was a side of Merlin that had previously been kept hidden. All Arthur could think to do was attempt to atone for the wrongs he'd already committed, to pacify the angry presence of this man for long enough that he'd be able to get to that goddamn door.
After that, he had no plan.
"I'm already burning, sire, thanks to you and your collar. But I'm sure the sentiment is genuine. You think I have information, don't you? Of course you won't kill me."
Arthur saw an in. "No, I don't think you have information. Not anymore."
The warlock rolled his eyes.
"I'm telling the truth. You are innocent. I know you are. I was wrong about you. About your magic."
Something in Arthur's words must have struck a chord, because a strange look came over Merlin's face. He narrowed his eyes.
"You speak your own treason."
"I speak the truth."
Merlin squatted down, his eyes weary. "Prove it," he said, jutting his chin out in front of him. Arthur looked lost.
"How?"
"What you speak is treason," he repeated slowly, reaching up to wipe the blood from his nose again. "And treason is punishable by fire." He stared at the glistening red on his fingers, then slowly tilted his hand, watching it run down his palm and hit the tile below, where it hissed and smoked. Merlin looked Arthur straight in the eye as he finished his sentence. "So you must burn."
Arthur's eyes widened. "What?"
This wasn't Merlin. Merlin wasn't vengeful. Merlin didn't encourage the pain of others. Merlin wasn't-
Merlin wasn't able to see the sun for five weeks. Merlin was tortured in a dungeon. Merlin was dying.
Maybe this was the monster Arthur had created. He looked at the man, still squatting on the floor, with blistered feet and a bleeding nose.
Merlin looked back. "You heard me, sire. Prove your allegiance. Purge your wrongs with fire."
The king could feel the heat of the tiles through the soles of his shoes. He could take Merlin on in hand-to-hand combat. He knew he was the stronger, more skilled fighter. He didn't need to do this. And yet, and yet- every time he closed his eyes, he saw broken fingers and sunken cheekbones and bruises. He didn't want to cause any more harm to the man in front of him.
And aside from that...he really did deserve this, didn't he? He'd done far worse to Merlin, and here Merlin was giving him a choice. He'd never given Merlin a choice. He'd never let Merlin prove his innocence. In this twisted new Merlin's mind, perhaps this was mercy.
Arthur took a deep breath and squatted until he was eye-level with Merlin. Sweat rolled between his shoulderblades, and he wondered how Merlin was able to stand barefoot so nonchalantly. Maybe they'd been blistered beyond feeling- it sure looked like it.
"Okay," he said, and Merlin cocked his head to the side.
"You're going to do it?"
Arthur nodded.
"Your hands, then," Merlin said, holding his own up.
Arthur sighed and lowered his hand until it was just above the tiled surface, then stopped.
The warlock rocked back onto his heels. "Well? Go on. Unless you were lying."
Arthur closed his fist, his fingers trembling. Once more, he moved to press his hand against the searing heat of the floor, then hesitated.
Instead, he reached for his boot.
"What are you doing?" Wariness played across Merlin's face as he watched Arthur's fingers go towards his laces. "You were lying, weren't you? You're just the same as before."
He ignored him in favor of fiddling with his laces. Merlin stood up, already preparing for a fight.
There was a tense moment of silence.
Then, a hiss of pain, and a single dark boot was flung across the floor in Merlin's direction.
"Take it," Arthur grunted, gritting his teeth. Red-hot pain was shooting from the sole of his now-bare foot to his ankle. He began to loosen his other boot, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek. His vision blurred as he put his weight on his right foot in order to maneuver his left boot off before it, too, was flung across the room to join the other.
Merlin's eyes were wide. "What?"
"I said take them." Arthur squeezed his eyes shut as he forced himself to stand. The pain was horrible, the tiles blistering against his soles. How was Merlin still able to walk?
The man in question was staring at the shoes with an unreadable expression on his face.
"You're… Giving me your shoes?"
Arthur winced. "Yes."
Another moment of silence, then Merlin stooped to pick them up. He inspected them for a moment, his eyes flitting between the shoes and their owner, before placing them carefully next to each other and sliding each of his feet in. He pressed a hand over his mouth as he surveyed Arthur once again.
"Y-You," Merlin stammered, more surprised than relieved. Arthur hadn't been sure how much good the boots were going to do for such burnt feet, but hopefully it was more than he expected.
Arthur also distantly noted that he and Merlin wore the same size shoe, and decided if Merlin survived this ordeal, Arthur was going to gift him more hand-me-down shoes than he knew what to do with.
Merlin squatted down, running his hands over his face and through his hair.
"Maybe," the warlock muttered, more to himself than Arthur, his eyes darting to the door he'd previously been guarding, "maybe the idiot next door was right."
Arthur's heart lifted in his chest, but he schooled his expression into one of neutrality. Merlin looked at him as if trying to read his mind, before straightening and walking to the door. He stopped and drummed his fingers on the knob.
"I don't trust you," he said, his voice uncertain. Then he knocked on the door and pressed his ear against it, listening. After a moment, he pulled himself away from the door. "But I don't think you can do any more harm to him than you have already."
He twisted the knob, and the door creaked open. Arthur peered inside the dark room before shuffling on stinging feet towards the entrance.
Sniffling. Ragged breathing. The air in this room felt cool and clammy in comparison to the room he'd just left. He took a deep breath of moist air.
The dust on the ground had turned into a brackish sludge that stuck to the wounds on Arthur's feet and stung.
At least it wasn't hot anymore.
From behind him, angry-Merlin let out a breath.
"He's worse."
Arthur squinted in the dim light to see what was worse. A few feet in front of him, lying against the wall in the muck and covered in filth, was another clone, and another door.
"What happened to him?" Arthur asked, surveying the sickly-looking man lying before him. He was thinner than any man Arthur had ever seen, dressed in only a pair of moldering brown trousers. He hadn't so much as flinched when the door opened, and if it weren't for his labored breaths, Arthur would have thought him dead, curled on his side and facing the far wall.
"Hope."
Arthur looked at Merlin. "Hope?"
"Wasn't this your plan, sire?" Angry-Merlin asked.
Arthur looked at the prone form on the ground. What had his plan been, all of those weeks ago? When he'd first gone down to that dungeon? What had he been thinking...
A groan came through the bars, and with a start Arthur realized he didn't have a plan, didn't know how to begin an interrogation on a person whom he had trusted so thoroughly. What was he supposed to say?
That's right. He'd been nervous.
Perhaps he could use this... anxiety to his advantage. Even if Merlin was an evil sorcerer, he could surely experience some kind of fear, especially in the face of such a situation, bound as he was. If Arthur felt anxious, then it must be the same the other way around. And where there was fear, there was also hope. Arthur could utilize the trust they used to share, bend it to his advantage.
Oh. Oh no.
What was a better way to break a man than to give him hope and take it away?
He'd wanted to break Merlin's spirit by destroying his hope. But had he succeeded?
"He's still breathing," Arthur muttered under his breath.
"Sorry?" Angry-Merlin asked, "didn't catch that?"
"I didn't…" He didn't finish. Break him. He turned to the man wearing his boots. "What should I do?"
He shrugged. Arthur cursed and moved so that he was kneeling just inches behind the unconscious form's back. Minor red and purple abrasions littered the area around his spine, with a few angry sores open on his side. Arthur laid a hand on the man's hip, where the sores disappeared under his waistband, and shook gently.
"Merlin," he whispered, then louder. "Merlin."
A groan, and Merlin's eyes rolled under his eyelids. He did not wake up.
Arthur moved his grip to the man's shoulder and turned him over. Merlin's face was slack and pale where the muck didn't stick to it. It reminded Arthur too much of the Dorocha attack-death hovering around him like a grey phantom, loosening his jaw and features.
"Merlin, c'mon. You need to wake up." His right eye was crusted shut with dried filth, but the left once again rolled, his eyelid fluttering. "Please."
Another moan. Arthur looked at the Angry-Merlin, who was still standing in the doorway.
"Why don't you help?" He demanded. Merlin held up his palms.
"Not my room," he said, as if that explained everything. Arthur looked from one Merlin to another.
"What if I brought him to you?"
"I'm not sure you're allowed to do that." Angry-Merlin said, shifting uncomfortably.
"And why not?" Arthur grunted as he lifted the unconscious Merlin's body into his arms.
Angry-Merlin shrugged. "Can't leave our rooms."
Arthur rolled his eyes. "Yes, well, I can. And you seem to know what is going on here much better than I do." He shook a few strands of blond hair out of his eyes. "Move."
Angry-Merlin complied, worry lining his features. Arthur took a deep breath, braced himself for the pain and the heat, and stepped over the threshold with Merlin in his arms.
Instantly, Arthur had to readjust his hold as both Merlins gasped and contorted, one falling to his knees while the other arched his back and writhed in his arms.
The episode ended quickly enough, and Angry-Merlin stood on trembling legs, his hand clutching his head. He groaned and glared at Arthur.
"That was not a good idea, sire."
Arthur frowned and looked at the bundle in his arms.
"We need to get him warmed up."
Angry-Merlin snorted. "That should be easy enough in here!"
Choosing to ignore him for the moment, Arthur readjusted his grip.
"Can you hold him for a moment?"
Angry-Merlin nodded. "Fine."
The passing-off was awkward, and the sight of Merlin holding himself made Arthur pause. It was…odd, to say the least. He shook the thought away and made quick work of shedding his shirt, the thick fabric already sticking to him with sweat. He laid flat it on the ground and felt the surface.
Very warm, but not scalding. Arthur squatted down before it and motioned to have Merlin returned to his arms. Carefully, he situated himself so he was seated on the edge of his shirt with the unconscious Merlin, whose long limbs spilled across the fabric. With soft fingers, Arthur wiped away some of the muck on Merlin's face, watching as beads of sweat began to form on his forehead. Arthur took that as a good sign.
"C'mon, Merlin, wake up." Arthur coaxed, rocking his body a little. Merlin's forehead was resting against Arthur's clavicle, and Arthur took advantage of the position, getting close to Merlin's ear. And whispering.
"Look, Merlin. I know you have no reason to trust me. No reason to listen to me, either- If you can even hear me, that is- but I need you… no, I want you to wake up."
Not a sound. Just more fluttering eyelids. Arthur shot a helpless look at Angry-Merlin.
"Don't look at me, sire. You did this to him. I'm done with cleaning up your messes."
Arthur bowed his head again. "I know I lied to you," he murmured, making eye contact with Angry-Merlin. "Both of you."
He turned to Merlin's ear. "Merlin here says I ruined your hope. Can you believe it? As if someone could ever ruin that will of yours. Honestly, I think he's mistaken. I think it's still there in that thick skull of yours." He rubbed his hands over Merlin's arms, trying to warm them up. His voice broke. "And if it isn't…" he squeezed his arms. "No, I know it is. I'm a stupid prat, remember? Don't you want to prove it now? Look! You were right when you told this other Merlin to wait- I did come back! I'm here right now. Your hope didn't go to waste."
The fluttering eyelids stopped. Merlin let out a shuddering sigh. Arthur pulled him closer, as if he could force his own life into Merlin's body.
"That's it, Merlin. Prove us wrong. Prove to me that I'm not strong enough to break your spirit. I know you want to."
Another breath, and one of Merlin's hands curled in the warm fabric below them. Arthur held his breath. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Angry-Merlin doing the same. C'mon, he urged, as if Merlin could read his thoughts.
Another low moan, and Arthur shifted his position just in time to see Merlin's eyes open into slits and focus lazily on his face.
"Arthur?" He grit out, a sleepy smile creeping across his face.
"Yes," Arthur whispered, afraid any wrong move would send Merlin spiralling away from him again.
"You came," he murmured, his eyes falling closed. Arthur panicked as he seemed to slip into unconsciousness again. At the same time, he heard a groan come from his right, and looked to see Angry-Merlin grabbing at his head again, swaying for a few moments before tipping forward. Arthur gave a yelp as the unconscious body crashed into his shoulder, driving him into the searing heat of the floor. His vision flashed with white and black spots as he scrambled to get away from the weight of the two unconscious bodies and the pain, clawing himself free and standing just as his vision went completely white.
When it cleared away, Arthur found himself staring right into the eyes of a very exhausted, but level-headed looking Merlin.
The two unconscious figures were gone. Sporting Arthur's shoes and tunic, Merlin stood upright where they once laid, his eyes fixed on the king.
"Arthur," Merlin said, a grim smile on his lips.
"Yes?" Arthur squeaked out. "Merlin?"
The muscles in his jaw twitched. "Not Merlin yet," he murmured, looking around the room as if seeing it for the first time. His eyes landed on the darkened doorway of the room Arthur had fought so hard to get to. A scowl darkened his features, then softened. With a lurch, he took a long stride in its direction, the end of his sentence coming out as a half-whisper, "...but I will be."