The first-time Merlin woke up, it was to darkness. A heavy weight was pressing down on his chest that was sticky and limp to the touch. Hurriedly, he rolled it the side before sitting up. Once he had conjured a light, he saw blood. Blood was everywhere, on his hands and in his lap, on the body that had been on him… A rush of memories came in full force.
The man was a spy whose target was King Uther. He had been in the Lower Town earlier that month, an obviously new face, but an unobtrusive one. Or so Merlin had thought. Periodically, Merlin saw the man (who identified as Scott Hart, a rambling traveler) around the market, listening to common gossip and charming the ladies. While that, in and of itself, was nothing overly suspicious, Merlin had learned that charming strangers, especially ones interested in news of the King and his son, were to be watched on all accounts. His watchful eye had not been unwarranted, as it turned out, Scott didn't stay in the Lower town at night, but rather could be seen leaving each day just past dusk for an unknown destination.
Just a few nights ago, Merlin decided to follow Scott. This proved to be a wise decision, as he found the man's place of encampment, as well as his source of messaging: crows, of course. On his return to Camelot, Merlin made sure to mark the trail he had taken for future use. It had not been the time for a fight, he was weary from the long day of work at Arthur's side and he didn't have the time to be rid of the spy and get home before dawn if something went wrong.
Which it appeared had happened that night. Covered in blood as he was, Merlin could guess what happened; and yet, what he remembered didn't add up to where he was now.
Merlin hadn't planned that night to have the confrontation, except Arthur had given him the time off and since that happened so rarely anymore, Merlin took advantage of it. Following the path he made for himself, was easy, made even more so by the fact that he knew the spy wasn't meant to leave Camelot for another hour or two, giving Merlin plenty of time to set himself up (and maybe take a quick peek around the camp, too).
Everything had gone per plan, even the time for peeking was passed and gone when Scott returned to his cave. A quick refill of his canteen and the man had gone inside to write his letter to his employer. Merlin crept closer, seeing the silhouette of his target, hunched against a wall; and then he had tripped – tripped! Merlin tripped into the cave and fell flat on his face.
They stared at one another for a few seconds in surprise – or embarrassment in Merlin's case – before leaping into action. Scott reached for something in his belt, but Merlin gave him no chance, flinging the man against the stone wall he was resting against moments before. With a solid clack, his body hit the ground in a slump; and this – this – was where Merlin made his mistake. He sighed in relief and crept closer to the man, reaching past the prone form, he went to grab the parchment.
But the man wasn't unconscious as Merlin suspected, and he used the element of surprise to his advantage. With a clear swipe, the man grabbed Merlin's shoulder with one hand, pulling him down and used the force to propel himself upward and on top of the downed warlock. He then used his other hand, the one that had been reaching to his belt just moments ago, to retrieve a dagger – the one, Merlin noted dazedly, that was currently on the ground beside the limp mass that formerly was "Scott Hart."
Here, Merlin placed a palm against his throat, covered in blood, but without any sign of penetration. His eyes widening, Merlin remembered that moment of terror when a burning pain had split open his neck. He gagged as the feeling of choking – choking on metallic warmth and thrashing, hands reaching and grabbing and thrashing and trying to scream but the sound of gurgling and metal, metal, metal– the taste of metal… Gagging, Merlin tried to claw the taste from his mouth. But his hands, also covered in blood, did nothing but spread it around.
There had been a warmth, different than the wet trickling down around his neck. Even as he convulsed in agony; a fuzzy, welcome embrace tugged at the edges of his mind, begging him to sleep. He slept.
But then he had woken up.
Merlin crawled from the cave, seeking the stream to wash away the stench of death.
He did not go to sleep that night.
The second-time Merlin woke, it was to a deep rumbling sigh that rose and fell; the sound of many voices filled his ears. Brief snatches of conversation, that held no meaning came and went. Until everything came into focus.
"-no idea."
"It's still a good idea, in my opinion, to relocate, lest he does have friends."
"Agreed. But first, the body must be disposed. Rafael?"
"Aye, ah'll just grab Farrel and be on my way then- oi, Farrel!" A hand wrapped its fingers around Merlin's ankle and began to drag him along the ground. "We'll have tah sink the lad in the lake, grab a yard or so of rope, would ya?"
"It's a shame," the man who must have been Farrel piped up. "The lad can't have been more than eighteen summers; the skinny, little thing."
"Eh well, ah don't suppose his mother ever taught him not ta go wandering off alone!" The two men laughed together when the first – Rafael, his mind supplied helpfully – gave his leg another shake.
Well, that was enough of that, Merlin decided. He could let them drag him around and laugh at his expense, but when they decided to imply his mother wasn't a good one, well that was too far. "Excuse me!" He piped up, opening his eyes and crossing his arms across his chest. "I'd prefer if you left my mother out of this discussion, thank you very much!"
Rafael dropped his leg with a yelp and he and Farrel stared at him with wide eyes and mouths.
"What?" Merlin sat up, rubbing his shoulders – being dragged wasn't the most pleasant way of moving! "Oh come on- is there something on my face?"
"You- but, but how?" At this point, Merlin didn't care so much which one was talking, his head was really feeling rather good – which was kind of alarming, given the situation and all. "You were dead! David checked you over himself! No pulse, he said, this one's as good as dead, he said. How are you… not?"
"Er… surprise?" Merlin waved one hand awkwardly to the side, still sitting on the ground. "If you don't mind me asking, uh, how did I die?"
"Thwack to the head, slingshot by me!" Farrel piped up, always wanting to boast of his accomplishments. Although, this wasn't much of one, seeing as his kill seemed to be rather good at being alive. "Well. Uh, I may have to try again though, seeing as I didn't succeed."
"Uh. No, thank you." Merlin replied quickly. "I think once may have been enough."
Awkwardly all three of them looked around, avoiding each other's gazes as the situation fully settled.
"Actually, I think we can't let you go." Farrel replied finally, if a bit sadly. "You see, you managed to stumble into our camp and we already killed you, see? So, we can't let you run around, blabbing our whereabouts to everyone, letting them know we're not very good at the killing part of pillaging and murdering wayfarers."
Merlin stood up.
"And, of course, coming back with the same piece of rope we took with us to drown your – ah, dead – body would look a mite suspicious too."
Merlin looked at them with his head cocked to the side. "You know," he began, thoughtfully. "Usually, I'm not a huge fan of bandits, going around, stealing money and lives… But I suppose you two, at least, could do something good with your lives. Have you ever considered comedy?"
"Eh, what?" Rafael asked, joining the conversation once more.
"Comedy. You know, jokes and funny stories and other things that make people laugh. I think you'd be a great duo." Merlin glanced around, as if checking that no one was about. He continued, voice a tad lower than before. "Look, if you promise not to tell, I could land you somewhere far away from here, where you could wipe your slate clean. No more pillaging, raping or murdering, just some good, old-fashioned humor."
"Oh!" Said Farrel, "I have a story-joke, will you listen?"
"Er, yes, I suppose." Merlin nodded in affirmation – at this point he knew there was no way he'd be able to go about killing either of the bandits-possibly-turned-comedians.
"The Abbot of Septimo, a very fat and corpulent man, on his way to Nemeth one evening, enquired of a peasant he met, 'Do you think I shall be able to enter the gate?' Of course, he meant to ask whether he was likely to reach the city before the closing of the gates. But the country-man, rallying his stoutness, replied, 'To be sure, you will; a cartload of hay gets through, why should not you?'"
Merlin grinned widely, he liked the man's humor. But, uh, he did have to get rid of the other bandits, which meant he needed to send Rafael and Farrel on their way. "Brilliant! Honestly, it's fantastic. Would you like to start over new? I have just the place for you… if you would just help me up- ah thank you." Rubbing his hands together, Merlin began to chant aloud. "Síþas dæl æt laigan ond spéd!" A wind wrapped around the two ex-bandits, obscuring them from view.
Merlin whispered a soft farewell, before setting out to see about those other bandits that may or may not be planning on pillaging Camelotian lands.
The seventh time it happened, Merlin decided there was no way around it. Perhaps being unable to die wasn't such a bad thing after all, he mused to himself when he woke up with damp hair and a rope still tied around one of his feet. Unfortunately, this inability to be affected by life-threatening situations didn't seem to include his clothing. Which was why it took him another two hours to fetch his boot that was sitting on the bottom of the lake.
While Merlin had managed to fight off most of the monsters, brigands, assassins and sorcerers that plagued his life daily, there was always the careless action, tripping on thin air and sheer tiredness that had him falling prey to death's clutches every now and then. And since it was only the seventh time he had died, Merlin thought he was doing pretty well. I mean, he thought to himself, pouring water out of his now-retrieved boot, it has got to be a ninety-percent success rate, excluding the dying part, so far. The revival thing has got to be the Old Religion's way of keeping the Once and Future prophecy intact.
Yes. This is what he had decided. Although, why the Old Religion couldn't have just saddled Arthur with the whole invincibility thing and let Merlin live his own life was still a question that he had decided to ignore for now – it wasn't like the Old Religion would ever answer him anyway.
The serket poison burned his veins and had him screaming until his voice was hoarse. Dying and waking to die again was torture – worse than Morgause had even imagined.
He screamed for Kilgarrah to end the cycle, crying in relief when he was carried away to a dreamless, living sleep.
He wasn't counting anymore.
As is the case with most things, carelessness leads to discovery. In Merlin's case, it was less carelessness and more of the aforementioned exhaustion; but in the end, it's all the same.
It had been a trying couple of weeks, raid after raid after raid was sent out to weaken Camelot's outposts by brigands hired by Morgana. (Once again, Merlin was gladdened by his ability to rescue Farrel and Rafael from that life.) Arthur had been in council meetings for hours each day, often having a slew of knights leaving with new orders while others returned with news from the posts under attack. Merlin had been sent all over the castle with various messages for all sorts of people. He hadn't complained because he knew the usual message boys were working twice as hard.
"Merlin!" Arthur shouted out, holding up another scroll he had just finished sealing. "Merlin take this message down to the courtyard, give it to one of the knights heading to the east. I believe Sir Gerard will be leaving shortly, make sure your quick with it! Oh, and Merlin, will you bring back my lunch for me? I think I shall take my meal in my rooms today."
"Of course, Arthur." Merlin grabbed the scroll with one hand while he balanced Arthur's laundry in his other arm. "Oh," he turned around at the door. "Sir Wallace asked me to tell you that he and Sir Daniel were going to cover Sir Gerard's usual patrol route while Sir Gerard took the third contingent out to Lord Farway's manor."
"Oh, good, brilliant. That saves me a headache. Send him my thanks." Arthur turned back to his desk, the next task already being mulled over.
Stumbling down the staircase, Merlin smiled to himself. Arthur was excelling in spite of the chaos. He tripped. Oops. Merlin, however, apparently wasn't.
He stowed the pile of laundry at a side entrance before dashing to the courtyard; he could see Sir Gerard already mounted up on his favorite bay, watching the guards mount up and settle in for the long ride. "Sir Gerard, a word?" Merlin called out, feet thudding against the cobblestone road.
"Ah, Merlin." The knight acknowledged him.
"Arthur has a scroll addressed to Lord Farway – he asks that you attach it to your person and hand it over to the Lord as soon as possible."
"Thank you. As the King commands, so shall it be done."
Merlin tipped his hand in a small wave of farewell before turning back to the small door he ran out, to the laundry it was. When he passed the corridor that would take him down to the Armory, Merlin veered off to see if he could find either Sirs Wallace or Daniel. He hadn't seen either while he was in the courtyard.
"Merlin, my friend, take a load off and join me for a bit!" A familiar voice called out once he entered the Armory.
"Sorry, Gwaine." Merlin grinned widely at the man. "I wish I could, but I'm actually looking for Wallace and Daniel – have you seen them?"
"Ah, Daniel was just in the West Corridor, by the Princess' rooms. Haven't seen Wallace around at all." Gwaine looked at the load in Merlin's grasp, "Oh but what has the Princess got you doing now – his laundry? Merlin, mate, you are much too good for him. I say you quit and start your own laundering business!"
Merlin scoffed. "As if! That sounds like a terrible plan, Gwaine. What are you doing in here, anyway?"
"Afraid I'm slacking off?" He asked, causing Merlin to laugh. "I will have you know that I was actually collecting my gear, Sir Leon has requested I go with him to investigate some nuisance somewhere – I'll be cursed if I know what!"
"Ha! You have fun with that. Thanks for the tips, but I have got to run!" And indeed he did, nearly tripping into one of the younger laundresses. "Mary! Would you do me a favor and take this load for me? I'd do it myself, but I've got to-!"
"Ay Merlin. But only for you, sweetheart." Mary gave him a peck on the cheek. "I know you're good for it, love." She winked and grabbed the load. "Now run along, go get what you've got to get done for His Majesty."
Merlin waved after her, "Thank you so much! I'll pay you back later!" He turned and tripped again, off to grab Arthur's meal.
"Arthur." Merlin called out softly, entering the door with tray in hand. He put it down and headed to the King's desk where Arthur had fallen asleep. "Sire, wake up." With no response, Merlin sighed and grabbed a fork and Arthur's goblet, clashing the two together. "Arthur you prat, get up and eat your food!"
"Wha-? Merlin." Arthur startled, then glared at the man in question. "What are you doing?"
"It's time for lunch!" With a wide smile, Merlin grabbed Arthur's arms and hauled him out of his desk chair. "Come, eat up Sire. Your food is getting cold!" Arthur began to dig in, holding his goblet up for wine. "I spoke with Sir Gerard and he confirmed your orders. Wallace and Daniel are setting out after their mealtime. Gwaine said that he and Leon were going to check something out, somewhere. Er, he didn't exactly go into details and I didn't have the chance to see Sir Leon. Oh and Fredrick – you know from the stables – said your horse has developed a limp and he's trying to figure out what the problem is. But if you ask me, I think it's just because the poor thing has to carry you-." Merlin ducked, laughing out loud. "He has to carry you around everywhere. And what with the newest hole in your bel- ouch!"
"Serves you right." Arthur glared, annoyed that he no longer had his fork.
Merlin rubbed his side where the fork had poked him. "You're a prat."
"And you're a dollophead."
"Hey! That's my word!" Merlin protested, tossing Arthur's fork back to him.
"Which is precisely why it describes you so well." Arthur continued, as if he'd never been interrupted. Then his mind went back to business, and the day went on.
Until it stopped; suddenly, everything stopped.
He'd been tripping all day, at every turn he made and every staircase he ascended. His mind was buzzing and his head was aching – lack of sleep will do that to you – when out of the blue, everything went haywire.
A tumble and a fall was all it took – the brief flash of pain as his back hit the last step with a solid crack and he lost all ability to move. That familiar black crept into his vision, tugging at his consciousness, begging him to come and join it; but something kept smacking at his face, a voice calling him back. Panic. Why were they panicking? Merlin wanted to wake up, to calm them down so he could go to sleep in peace.
He wanted to raise his hand and grab whoever was above him, but he couldn't – it was like he never had a hand, just the idea of one.
Darkness.
"-n't see."
"-must be told."
"He doesn't already know?"
"Ah, n—thought it would be better— told him."
Darkness.
A crash as a door slammed against a wall.
"Merlin!"
"Sire. Sire, Arthur…" Incoherent mumbling.
"-can I do?" Arthur. "What can possibly fix this?"
"…nothing."
"There must be something! You said it yourself—He, he is dying. Gaius, you're the best we have-!"
"It's not enough." Merlin's ears could barely pick up the old man's words, straining to hear the verdict. "Sire, Merlin's back broke when he slipped down the stairs. Even if I were able to wake him from this slumber he lies in now… his life would be nothing. He'd be entirely dependent on everyone around him."
Ah. So, that was what happened. Merlin was paralyzed. But given the choice between life with no movement or death… he figured death would probably be better, since he'd just wake up anyway. Still, Arthur was distressed and needed to understand.
"Ahh…" His lips moved, as he breathed out a sigh. "Ahhht."
"Merlin?"
"Lemm...sssss…" Hm, that hadn't come out the way he wanted it to.
"He's trying to say something, Gaius! What is it? What is it, Merlin?"
"Ssssssp. Nna sssssp. Neeeee ssssp taaaa feeee."
"Certain letters will be hard for him to say, sire. I think it may be safe to assume the hissing is his way of saying 'sleep.' Is that correct, Merlin?"
"Mhm. Sssp. Ssssp mms iff." Oh that didn't sound right at all. "Sssp mms goo. Ssssp sss…"
"Oh." Gaius replied, voice suddenly hoarse.
"What? What is he saying?"
"He's saying that he needs to sleep."
"Mhm! Ssssssp goo. Nah nah mooov."
"Sleep is good, not the inability to move. Merlin, do you mean to say you'd rather die?"
"Mhm." Dying would make it easier for everyone.
"Oh." Arthur murmured in shock.
Darkness.
The next time Merlin woke up it was to darkness. A heavy weight pressed down on every part of him. He was trapped and wrapped up in some sort of material. He couldn't see, he couldn't move and he was choking. There was no air – he was suffocating, he couldn't breathe.
Darkness.
Suffocation.
Darkness.
Weakening struggles and that pressing weight… suffocation.
Darkness and… dirt? Dirt cascading down into the hole he'd torn in the wrapping with his teeth. Suffocation.
Buried. He was buried alive. Dirt and suffocation. He needed out.
Repeat.
It was hard to focus on his magic when he kept dying. The hole he had been carving away at was taking too long! Oh… there's the darkness.
He kicked and his foot got stuck. His toes came back without his boot. Ugh.
Wait. Where was his boot? He had kicked upwards… darkness lapped at his vision and yet there was a sweet taste of fresh air. Air!
Merlin dug upwards. His boot fell back into the hole. There was a sky, albeit a dark one! Merlin coughed triumphantly.
"Ha!" He continued coughing. Damn, there was a lot of dirt… ugh.
It was time to go home.
It was nearing dawn and he had just cleaned his ears out and was beginning to work on his left eyeball when he heard the sound of hoofbeats. Out of the woods came the solemn band of several Camelotian knights, with their king in the lead. They halted and their stances tightened when they saw the empty grave of their friend and a figure who looked like he had been digging.
"Ho! What is the means of this? Gravedigging is a crime punishable by death!" It was Sir Leon, who first spurred his horse forward, his hand on the hilt of his sword.
"I've had rather enough of that for the time being." Merlin grumbled back.
"Speak up!" Gwaine started forward, anger evident on his features.
"I said, 'I've had enough of death for the time being!'"
"M-Merlin?" Arthur leapt from his horse and ran forward. "You were dead!"
"Unfortunately, numerous times." Merlin groaned, nodding his head. "No thanks to you lot, burying me and all. Do you know how long it took me to- well actually, how long was it? Because I honestly have no idea."
"It's been a week." Arthur replied, circling his former-manservant with obvious hesitation. "You should be stinking up the ground."
"Oh." Merlin understood the situation, but couldn't help continuing. "Shall I just crawl back into my hole then? I could continue the cycle of suffocation and-." And he got smacked. "Ow!"
"You're real." Arthur muttered, still giving the dirty form a critical eye as he wiped his hand on his tunic. "You-you're real! Merlin!"
After much storytelling and a nice long dunk in the creek on the way back to Camelot, Melrin sheepishly admitted that he'd gotten rather used to dying and hadn't really considered how it might affect others.
Except, he had in the beginning. After that first time, he had decided not to tell Gaius because he knew what Gaius would say. He knew the fear that would reflect in the old man's eyes. And he had wanted to protect his mentor and keep him safe from that horror that would grow as the true depth of his immortality was realized.
Merlin, despite his countless deaths, could not die. Merlin would never be able to go to Avalon. For the safety measure that the Old Religion had set in place, so that Arthur might rule successfully, had been given to Merlin so that he might watch and wait and be a servant forever.
Arthur could only be king once. All ages must come to pass. A king may be hated and live a short life, or loved and live a long one, but in the end he must die, otherwise his kingdom cannot move on. Merlin was destined to be Arthur's forever, his constant guide and companion, his bodyguard. For this reason, he could not die.
Arthur's first time, was Merlin's last. He refused to wake up, so he slept by the Lake of Avalon, dreaming of what once was and what could have been. He'd wait for his King, and on the side he'd tend his Kingdom. At least for a little while.
The first time Merlin woke up, he cried.
The second time Merlin woke up, he tried to ignore it.
The seventh time Merlin woke up, he understood.
Then he stopped counting, and Merlin pretended it was okay.
Then Arthur died, and nothing was okay.
Darkness... Merlin woke up.
I am cross-posting fanfics from my AO3 (also Kangarooney) since I have been neglecting this account recently.
I do not own Merlin (BBC) nor am I attempting to make profit off this story.