Technically there's a fight before this story but I couldn't be bothered to write it because I'm terrible at writing bad person motives. So quick breakdown: Merlin and Arthur are in the woods. They run into a sorcerer who is mad about something. Sorcerer attacks them. Merlin throws himself in the way, takes a couple of bad whammies. Gets some poison, gets some curse. Is now dying.
The point of this story is finding out what would happen if Merlin actually dies because he's supposed to live a long time and stuff. And I wanted to write an agonizing death scene and a heartfelt magic reveal soooo...
Don't own Merlin. Enjoy.
"When we get back, I'm giving you the day off, even though I know you won't take it. You never take it."
"Because w-without me you wouldn't... la-last a day." I stuttered.
"I would. I'll make you take the day off. I'd lock you in the dungeon if I didn't know Gaius would have my head for it, so I'll just chain you to your bed and Gaius will make sure you stay there. You can't possibly disobey both of us combined." Arthur said in exasperation.
I chuckled at the image, knowing he was probably right. Unbidden, the chuckle turned into a full laugh. I was unable to pull myself together as the laughter built, bubbling over and jarring my aching body. I could hear myself, high and half mad as I plunged toward hysteria. I tried to stop but my body was beyond my control, frantically pulling in air and forcing it back out. I was shaking uncontrollably as waves of pain coursed through my body.
"Merlin? What's wrong? You're scaring me."
I didn't realize I wasn't laughing anymore until Arthur's voice broke through the haze of pain. I was sobbing now, crying and falling apart. The black ooze clawing up my throat was dripping down my chin as I hissed through my teeth. My jaw clenched so hard I was sure my teeth were about to crack.
A rough hand brushed hot tears from my face; trying to calm me as I fought to regain control of myself. My chest felt like it was collapsing, every breath shooting cold fire up my throat.
"Hurts." I choked out, "I can't stop. Make it stop."
I felt myself being moved until I was cradled in Arthur's lap, his arm bracing me so that I was partially upright. The hand on my cheek guided my face until I was looking up at him. The furrow of his brow made him look older, but the terrified, lost look in his eyes was that of a boy.
"I'm sorry. I can't, I'm sorry."
The fit finally ended and I could breathe again, my body sagging against Arthur. My breath crackled, there was liquid in my throat. I coughed wetly, tasting acrid poison and blood. It trailed down my chin, down my neck, a cold finger tracing my pulse. It sent chills and gooseflesh teeming over my skin and I shuddered.
Arthur pulled me closer; he was warm and I burrowed against his chest in a desperate attempt to regain the heat that slowly leeched from my body.
I couldn't feel my legs anymore, the sorcerer's first spell had hit my lower back and I had felt my legs going numb almost instantly. Now I could feel it ravaging my spine, tearing me up from the inside. I knew what would happen when it didn't have anything left to devour.
"I'm s-sorry. Don't want to go."
Arthur shushed me gently, "No, don't say that. No one's going anywhere. You'll be alright. It'll be alright."
I nodded, but the pain was in my shoulders now and I knew I wasn't going to make it home. I swallowed thickly, my vision was blurring and it wasn't just from my tears.
Something landed on my forehead and I blinked away the haze to look up at Arthur. The prince was brushing tears from his eyes, turning his face away to keep me from seeing. I raised a hand and gently tapped my knuckles against Arthur's arm. He met my eyes and I could see the sorrow the other man was desperately trying to hide. I tried to smile, hoping it didn't look like a grimace.
"It's okay."
Arthur shook his head, biting his lip as fresh tears fell.
"It's my fault, I'm sorry."
"No." I scowled and gripped Arthur's shirt because that was the stupidest thing I'd ever heard. I tried to give the idiot a shake for his idiocy, but my shoulders were locking up, and wouldn't respond. My body only convulsed slightly, pain and cold racing through me. It was getting harder to breathe and my heart was slowing as the curse and the poison continued their rampage.
Arthur steadied me, bowing to press his forehead against mine.
"You shouldn't have taken those blows for me." He whispered.
His tears fell freely, landing on my face and mingling with my own. I didn't want to go, more than anything I didn't want to go. And yet...
'I would do it again in a heartbeat. It's my honor, my friend.'
I tried to say it, to assure him there was no need for guilt. But the pain and the poison were working carnage in my chest and my voice was reduced to a keening whine.
I was gagging, choking on poison and blood as it filled my lungs and throat, too weak to cough it out. I sucked in oxygen desperately but couldn't get enough. The ache was pressing in on my head and my vision had gone grey; I couldn't see Arthur anymore.
My eyes slid closed as my breath gurgled in my throat; I didn't know if I was drowning or simply fading away.
I could feel Arthur's hand on my face. His voice sounded far away and underwater. I tried to respond, but nothing came out except a wheeze that took air from my lungs that I couldn't replace.
'I'm sorry.'
Arthur's hand grabbed mine, holding tight, the last tether I had. I wanted to open my eyes, I wanted to stay, to grip his hand in return. But I could only give my friend's hand a tiny squeeze.
My hands went numb and my anchor was gone, leaving me drifting in darkness, pain, and cold. Then even those faded away, and though it was a relief, I did not welcome it.
The blackness swallowed me.
I thought it was over but the pain was back. A hand was wrapped around my heart, squeezing so tightly I thought it would explode. There was a fire coursing through my veins that seemed to come from my very center. Not my heart; somewhere deeper, that burning core that I felt when I used magic. That's what it was, the fire; it was my magic.
I recognized it, knowing its deep hum in my bones as well as my own voice, but I was not in control of it. It was working on its own, worming through me, wild and burning, squirming over every inch of my body and lighting me with fire and melting me down. It ate away at the sorcerer's magic like maggots eat rotting flesh. It hurt more than anything I'd ever felt before and while I didn't feel air in my lungs, or hear my voice, I screamed in agony, joining with the roar of my magic as it shredded the curse and poison from my body.
My magic wove itself along my spine like a hot wire, knitting me back together and bringing sensation crashing in. I could taste blood and bitter poison, and feel the cave floor under my fingertips. My eyes opened and all I saw was blinding, golden light.
I felt my heart beat.
I woke up vomiting.
That was the only thing that I could figure out. My mind felt like a tangled mess of thread and it was like trying to drag myself through mud just to remember my name.
Arthur, sorcerer, fighting, pain, darkness—death. Fire. Memory slowly came back, slamming around in my skull. It piled on top of the agony in my body and I was sure I was dying all over again.
I lay on my side, every muscle tense as my body forced the black sludge out of me. I couldn't breathe through the amount of liquid and my vision started tunneling. Someone shifted me and a hand slammed into my back, forcing more out and I finally had a second to inhale before the process started over again.
The hand brushed over my face and I realized Arthur was holding me, keeping my head up and out of the vile mess I was expelling.
I was retching and sobbing, pain overwhelming me as my body jerked and shuddered, violently trying to flush out poison and take in air at the same time.
"You're alright. Easy, Merlin. Just wait it out, you'll be alright, I've got you." Arthur's voice finally penetrated the fog in my brain; he was rambling, trying to calm me despite the hint of hysteria I heard in his own voice. He continued to murmur assurances as time dragged on, giving me something to concentrate on besides my distress.
It felt we were there for an eternity, my hip on the cold ground went numb and Arthur had to shift us again, to keep us both out of the mess. But finally, the vomiting stopped. I groaned as the last of the poison dribbled from my lips, sucking in real lungfuls of air for the first time in too long.
I was still shaking uncontrollably and I whimpered when a violent spasm took hold and I almost cracked my head on the stone. A hand caught my head, softening the blow.
"'rth'r?" My brain was foggy and my tongue wouldn't work; I was shaking so hard I almost bit it.
"Shh, you're alright."
Arthur's fingers combed through my hair, brushing sweat-soaked bangs off my face and skimming down the back of my neck. I poured all my focus, bad as it was, on the weight of his hand, trying to center myself as my mind put itself back together.
It took a long time before the tremors stopped. I finally went slack, shudders occasionally running through me, wheezing from the ordeal. My throat burned and there was a sour, metallic taste in my mouth. I coughed and licked dry lips. My tongue felt fuzzy and I couldn't produce enough saliva to relieve the parched feeling in my mouth.
"Here."
A waterskin appeared and I took a tiny sip, the water a blessed sensation in my sandpaper mouth. I didn't swallow, afraid I wouldn't keep it down, but used it to wash away the acrid taste then spit it out.
Arthur lifted me and moved us both away; sitting against the cave wall and guiding me onto my back, my head resting on his thigh.
I sluggishly opened my eyes to look at him but he didn't meet my gaze, focused on removing his cloak and pulling it over me. He took a knife and cut off a piece of his tunic then poured water over the rag. Arthur gently cleaned the sweat from my face and the poison from my chin. He moved on to my neck, pausing with his fingers over my pulse. He let out a shaky sigh and finally met my eyes.
"You were dead."
I coughed weakly, "Yeah." My voice was hoarse.
"And then..." His eyes went distant, renewed fear appearing. "You were screaming, and convulsing, but your heart still wasn't beating." He lifted my hand and his thumb traced over my veins.
"Your eyes, your veins. Your whole body was glowing."
He stared at me, so intently I felt he could see right through me.
"What happened?"
I was too tired to think of a lie. And maybe after all of that, he deserved to know the truth "Magic."
"The sorcerer?"
"No," I swallowed thickly, "It was me."
"You..." He stared at me, disbelieving. "You have..."
"Yeah." I whispered, looking away, "I'm sorry."
"But you were dead. How...?"
"I don't know. I didn't use it, it worked on its own. It saved me."
Arthur sat back, dropping his head against the cave wall and staring at the ceiling. I watched him for a minute, until my exhaustion made me close my eyes with a sigh.
I felt fingers in my hair again, carding through and gently tugging on my curls. I opened one eye; Arthur was frowning at the wall, deep in thought, seemingly unaware of his nervous fidgeting.
Maybe it was a good sign; that he hadn't pushed me away. Maybe if he was still willing to touch me, even subconsciously, then he wasn't disgusted with me. Maybe he wouldn't hate me.
Maybe.
I closed my eye again as the cave started to spin, hoping a moment's rest would settle my pounding head. The dizziness faded but I couldn't look at Arthur again, afraid of what he would decide when he was done thinking.
"All this time."
His voice roused me from the brink of sleep, and I looked at him. He was grimacing, pinching the bridge of his nose as though to stave off a headache.
"I'm such an idiot." He breathed.
"I've always said so," I murmured.
His mouth twitched for a moment, feeding a seed of hope in my chest, but when he looked at me, his eyes were sad, betrayed.
"You also lied."
"You know what would have happened if I hadn't." I coughed, groaning as my chest protested the movement. Arthur propped my head up and pressed the waterskin to my lips. I drank a little, gritting my teeth as my stomach churned, but I kept the water down.
"I know." He sounded defeated.
Silence fell again. I started shivering and pulled the cloak closer. I was still wheezing a little, my lungs worn out. The cold stone and the fatigue in my muscles were making me stiff and sore.
"Did you know your magic would save you?"
"No." I'd had no idea. I'd never even heard of that happening.
"But you still put yourself in harm's way, knowing he intended to kill me." Arthur looked down at me with an accusing frown, "Why?"
"You're the prince, it's my duty."
His glare fiercened, "Don't give me that." He snapped, "Don't start with the bootlicking now. And besides, you're not a knight; there's no reason for you to throw yourself in front of certain death. Your duty is to answer to my beck and call, and do whatever meaningless chore I dredge up for you. You shouldn't be putting yourself in danger. We both know you were already in danger serving me. It would have been easier for you if I'd died. You would have been free."
"You're wrong." My eyes burned with unshed tears. Did he really think that I didn't - shouldn't care? "I wouldn't have been free." A tear slid down my cheek, "And a friend's death is not easy."
His head snapped back as if I'd punched him. He screwed his eyes shut and turned away, taking a shaking breath.
"You say that like you hadn't just died in my arms."
It was my turn to look away, "I was happy to. I'd do it again."
"But why!?" He was frustrated now.
"Because you're my friend, maybe like a brother, despite rank. And I would sacrifice myself a hundred times to see the king you will become."
He was crying again, pressing the heel of his hand into his eye and gritting his teeth. A choked laugh escaped him.
"You know that doesn't make sense, right?"
"Doesn't change the fact that it's true."
I started coughing— hard— curling in on myself and hoping I didn't vomit the water I just drank. Arthur helped me sit up, resting a hand on my back. I came close to gagging for a moment, but then my stomach settled and I wrenched in a breath. I slumped back down, shaking and sweating.
Arthur rested a hand on my forehead, then my cheek, frowning.
"You're burning up."
"I imagine dying and then burning yourself back to life would do that." I rasped.
Arthur grabbed the scrap of cloth again and wiped my face. He fell silent as he worked and I could sense him closing off and pulling away. He readjusted with the cloak where it had fallen off my shoulders. Then he sat deep in thought, twisting the rag in his hands to the point of almost tearing it; manifesting his anxiety and whirring mind through his hands.
I could see the gears turning in his head, a thousand thoughts whizzing around. I watched as he started throwing up walls the longer he sat with whatever was troubling him. I knew it was bad when he discarded the cloth and started tearing at the skin around his nails; an old habit that only came out at the worst times. I reached out from under the cloak and gently grabbed his hand to still his fidgeting.
"Stop it." I chided quietly.
He tensed and looked at me like he had the first time I'd done that. Although instead of offense and anger at my audacity, he was staring at me like he thought I had another motive behind the familiar action. I held his gaze, willing him to understand that nothing had changed between us; that I wasn't different.
"What are you fighting?" I asked, my throat burning with the effort.
It was a question I had perfected over the years. I'd quickly learned that any hint of emotional vulnerability made Arthur shut down and create distance. He'd never been allowed to express emotions that showed "weakness" so often times he didn't know how. Sometimes he didn't even know what he was feeling, which was even worse.
To combat this issue, I'd altered the idea of dealing with his emotions into a picture he understood; strategy. It became tactics and problem-solving.
The system meant that he wasn't admitting emotion in weakness, he was just brainstorming out loud; working through a problem, fighting an inner foe. Arthur could work with fighting and had thrived under this idea, finally able to talk through his thoughts freely.
The familiar phrase banished his suspicion and when he relaxed, I barely smothered a sigh of relief. He ran his free hand over his face and through his hair, pausing a long moment before letting out his breath in a gust.
"I'm confused, Merlin. Or lost, I don't know. Everything feels upside down."
I stayed quiet, not just because it felt like my throat would turn inside out if I spoke; Arthur had to speak his mind in his own time. Pushing would make him clam up and it was imperative that didn't happen now. Not when he was finally letting cracks show, not now while we were just people stuck in a cave and there was no pressure of his status, while it was safe for him to be human.
I found it ironic that he was safer being vulnerable here, in a cave with the corpse of a sorcerer who had tried to kill him just twenty feet away, then in his own home, with his own father.
"I'm sorry." He whispered, breaking my train of thought.
"For what?"
"That you couldn't trust me. And that before today I don't know that you should have."
I squeezed his hand, "I don't blame you for that."
His face grew sad, "Isn't that part of the problem though? My whole life I've known magic to be evil and to corrupt those who use it. That is what my father taught me, that is what he built Camelot upon. I've never had the desire, or the need to believe any differently.
"It was all pounded into my head as law and I followed my father's word in blind faith. I've never had the choice to decide that there might be something more to it, that maybe magic is more than just a wicked, dangerous thing that has to be destroyed."
His voice grew hushed and his shoulders bowed as if he was afraid of even entertaining the thought. As if Uther would hear and emerge from the shadows to punish him for speaking such blasphemous words. It spoke to how deep the claws of Uther's distorted views had dug, that his son was afraid of choosing his own mind.
"Everything I know about you, what you did just now, says that there is more. You've had all these opportunities to harm me, or my father, and have never done anything. You've put up with me even though you could kill me in a heartbeat. You've been stuck with me even through some of the worst situations. You willingly poisoned yourself when we barely knew each other and I was at my worst toward you.
"I can't accept that you would ever be a threat to me or Camelot. Not when you literally just died to save my life. If magic is only evil, why would you do that?"
He started fiddling with my hand and I let him, knowing he needed the outlet but not willing to let him start tearing at his own skin again. He scraped his thumb over my palm, trying to remove the black gunk that had dried there, then started tapping his fingers against mine in a senseless rhythm.
"It's like two sides of my life are at war and tearing me apart. Either lie to my father and knowingly break the law he built his legacy on, or obey him and lose the one person I've ever thought of as a friend. Who'd been lying to me this whole time."
It hurt to breathe as I listened, emotion constricting my chest. I couldn't look at him, instead turning all my focus on his hand, letting the erratic tapping soothe me. My voice was choked as I forced words past the lump in my throat.
"I didn't want to lie to you. More than anything, I wanted to tell you." I looked up at him, silently begging him to understand.
"I need you to know how sorry I am, and that no matter what you decide, whatever you choose to do with me, I only used it for you." Every word was agony in my raw throat, but I kept going.
"I will always regard you as a friend and I'll always choose to protect you, no matter how angry you are with me."
His hand closed over mine and he met my eyes; at that moment there was a hesitance and an openness I rarely saw in him.
"Any anger I feel toward you pales in comparison to how much I would hate myself if I turned you in." He squeezed my hand tightly, "You're my best friend, Merlin. The closest thing I've had to a brother, and I can't bear the thought of betraying everything you've done for me. You lied to keep yourself safe, I understand that. I forgive you."
My breath caught and I had to struggle to keep from completely losing my frayed composure. My body felt like it had been ripped apart and sewn haphazardly together again, and I was weaker than a newborn, but I was happier than I'd ever felt in my life. The weight of carrying my secret all these years slipped from my shoulders at Arthur's words, and in a strange way, I felt whole.
I was grinning like an idiot even as tears blurred my vision. A sense of euphoric freedom washed over me leaving me lightheaded and I had no idea if I was going to laugh or cry. I think I did both; covering my eyes as my mess of emotions tumbled out of me.
"Easy." Arthur's voice sounded concerned. His hand rested on my chest and I was grateful for its grounding presence as I started coughing again. I turned away to bury my face in the cloak; using it to both muffle my coughs and also hide so I could wipe my eyes and regain my composure.
"I'm sorry." I croaked once I had calmed down and revealed my face, though I couldn't manage to open my eyes; I was too tired.
"The point of forgiveness is that you don't have to apologize anymore, you idiot."
I could almost hear him rolling his eyes.
"I know, but I'll probably be doing for a while still." My voice was sandpaper and the last few words faded in a dry, grating whisper. My limbs felt like lead and I squirmed, trying to get comfortable on the stone.
Arthur shifted, sinking back against the wall and settling my head more comfortably on his thigh. His hand rested on my forehead, monitoring my fever. "Go to sleep, you need it."
"S'that an order?"
"Yes. You just died and you look terrible."
"Yessire." I slurred. I turned on my side and tugged the cloak up to my chin, giving in to my exhaustion.
"A search party's probably been sent out by now. They'll find us eventually." He squeezed my shoulder. "You can sleep until then."
It felt like I was falling as I slipped further toward unconsciousness. Fear shot through me at the sensation, so similar to just a little while ago; when I'd died. I jerked involuntarily at the memory, waking myself back up. I darted an arm out from under the cloak and grabbed Arthur's hand again, panting as my adrenaline spiked.
Arthur's fingers reflexively curled around mine and he tensed, instantly on guard. "What's wrong?"
"It's too close to..." I couldn't do it; I was too scared to say it.
"Too close to what?" He questioned softly.
"...Dying." I breathed, shuddering.
Arthur relaxed again and squeezed my hand, "You're not. I promise you're not."
"How do you know?"
He shifted our joined hands until mine was pressed against my chest, right over my heart. I could feel it; beating a touch too fast because of my fear, but all I cared about was that it was beating, that it felt strong.
"Because I feel that." He said confidently.
I took a deep breath, focusing on my heartbeat and the warmth of Arthur's hand. My pulse slowed and I relaxed, though I didn't let go of my friend.
Arthur began carding his other hand through my hair, easing me back to sleep. I sighed as his hand stilled on my neck, thumb gently pressing into the base of my skull.
"You're alright. I'm right here."
I teetered on the edge of sleep, fighting it just a moment longer, but not because I was afraid.
"Thank you, Arthur."
"Don't worry, I won't let anything happen to you."
His words went far beyond the walls of this cave, or the darkness of sleep. They spoke of when we would return home, where my very presence was a threat to my life. Where he would be putting himself in horrible danger by lying to his own father. For me.
"I know."
Maybe a tad OOC but I enjoyed writing it so who cares?
Sorry if you dislike the lack of context but if I force myself to try and write all that exposition then I will hate everything and this would never get published. I've decided that I'm not serious enough about this to try and make an entire story out of scenes I come up with. If I can write a scene with enough context and plot to be its own thing then I'll finish that and call it good. So look forward to more in the future where I give myself no boundaries of the full story and publish half-finished works that I'm proud of to my heart's content.