I've seen so many beautiful rewrites of the event with the Dorocha, but I wanted to put my own spin on it. So, then this was born. Depending on the reviews, I might add another chapter that involves more elaboration if the ending is unsatisfying to everyone else-I did write a lot more to this story, but opted to not posit it all at once because I was a little unsure of it. Anyways-here we are.
Summary: Magic had always been instinctive to Merlin-as easy as breathing. The Dorocha left his magic recoiling and blocked from him by a barrier of cold iciness, but he had always been the exception to many rules. And, seeing Lancelot, resigned to a fate he had done nothing to deserve, caused his control to snap and issue his challenge to destiny and fate. He would not let Lancelot die. He would not let anyone else die for his destiny, it was irrelevant what might happen to him. He didn't expect to survive trading his life to the spirits. Series 4x02 rewrite.
"But I tell you one thing, I don't want to be immortal if it means living forever, cause then everybody else just dies and gets old in front of you while you stay the same, and that's just sad." - Rebecca Skloot
Death had been something he had contemplated off and on throughout the years as his youth bled into adolescence.
It wasn't that he had constantly wondered what it would be like to die—or ending his own life—but it was part of life. There were moments when the future seemed so bleak and the silver lining so thin that he could hardly tell if it was still there anymore. Moments when his destiny—something he had poured so much of his life into—seemed like an off-chance distant dream that he would never see come to fruition. He had endured and survived so much, that he simply thought of those thoughts as a side-effect of the job.
His youthful innocence would be just another casualty—another block to building Albion—in order to fulfil his destiny and the prophecies.
He had accepted that—begrudgingly and some nights he would lie awake and stare at the ceiling and wonder if it was all worth it. If Albion was worth being built on the bones of his hope and belief. He wondered what kind of man he would be at the end of the day—if he would be like the grandfatherly types that roamed the streets and told stories of olden days or if he would be the hollow old man who sat in a chair all the time staring at nothing and going nowhere, too lost in the past to reconcile with the present.
Most of the time when death crossed his mind, he had thought that perhaps his luck would run dry—he would be caught off guard and revealed as a sorcerer or even one of the foes he had faced would land a blow that was too severe. He had thought he would die or be revealed (and then be executed because banishment would be worse than death because it left him idle, and he never did well idle) someday down the line protecting Arthur.
Well, he knew he would die protecting Arthur.
He would willingly trade his life to save Arthur's, those words were a facet of his existence—even though it had been years since he had been a boy swearing to save his best friend to a woman with blood-colored lips. Time had not changed those words—the promise and oath that the fatal bite of the questing beast had invoked—and he doubted it ever would.
When faced with dying; a selfish part of him wanted to hesitate, screaming that he had so much he wanted to see happen and there was so much that he hadn't done yet.
But he knew that there was simply no other option.
He couldn't let Arthur die. Or Lancelot. Or Gwaine. Or Percival…
Elyan. Leon. Gaius. Gwen…
He couldn't lose any of them, not when there was something he could do to prevent it—and if that something was trading his own life for theirs, then he would do it without question. He would die without question for them. For the family he had built for himself, and maybe they would never know all of the details of what he has done, but he hoped that they would remember him.
That thought brought forth the memory of when a serving girl was being wrongfully accused of something that she had no inclination about. A serving girl who was sobbing and crying and making his heart break because there had been nothing he could do to save her. He had been completely helpless that day and she had begged him—as what she thought would be her last words—to not forget her. A part of him hoped that she would do the same for him, never forget him.
If he was going to die being selfless, then let him have the selfish request of being remembered.
And, Merlin knew, with absolute certainty, that he would not run. He would not fight.
Fighting his fate tooth and nail, outrunning destiny, was cowardly. And, while he may have hidden himself for fear of discovery his entire life, cowering, he would not try to run away from what he was meant to do. He would face his destiny—the end of his life—without flinching, with a façade of bravery that did not reveal the selfish part of his mind that clung to life like a child clinging to a favorite toy. It was a poor simile, he mused, but it captured his emotions fair enough.
Squaring his shoulders, Merlin stared down the veil, centering his thoughts.
It glowed an unearthly blue. The veil was shaped like a diamond and the center of it was purely dark. It looked wrong in the area, hovering over the stone, and centered in space. It didn't belong, like someone had cut through the air and ripped away a section of it. The energy flowing off of it terrified him as well, made his magic roil inside of him, urging him to flee. He clenched his jaw instead, but couldn't keep himself from wondering…
…He wondered if there was breathable air in that small gateway for the Dorochan spirits. He wondered if sacrificing himself would be quick and painless or if it would be like his soul was ripped apart and feasted on by those same spirits that froze others at the core before devouring what remained of their life force. He wondered if the others would wake and realize that he was gone, but not forget him…
The Cailleach stood beside the tear, garbed in a fraying cloak that looked as though it would not last against the coldness of Winter. It cast a shadow over the top of her face—her face a pale color and lined with wrinkles. The skin around her eyes was red, making the contrast of her blue eyes vibrant, and it almost looked bruised. Thin, white strands of hair knotted around her face, slipping out of the confines of the cloak. Her lips were thinned, and her aged face looked drawn and tired.
Merlin would have sympathized for her—being the caretaker of the souls of the Dorocha, those who were lost, could not be an easy burden to carry—but she hadn't showed much remorse for the state the Dorocha had left the kingdom in.
…She also hadn't showed much remorse for surprising him like that during the Samhain festivities.
"So, Emrys, you choose to challenge me after all." The Cailleach said, her voice was bored, solemn. They both approached the altar and Merlin let a tiny strand of his magic reach out—feeling the power that rolled off her in waves, though he could not guess how much due to the dampening effect the Dorocha had on him. It was like the closer he got to the gateway, the more his magic recoiled from the cold. He tried not to shiver, but there were still remnants of the cold left over from the Dorocha coursing along his bones. "Will you give yourself to the spirits to save your prince?"
He stared at the veil, choosing to see past her. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth as he tried to answer. He swallowed slightly. "It is my destiny." Merlin answered, pouring all of the confidence he didn't hold into his voice.
The Cailleach stared at him with those damnably sad blue eyes. "Perhaps." She assented. "But your time among men is not yet over, Emrys, even if you want it to be." A shape moved in the corner of his eye and he watched as Lancelot approached the torn veil, a stone dropping in his stomach.
…forget a stone, it was a freaking boulder…
Suddenly, he was reminded of when he was younger. When the other children in Ealdor would taunt him. They had thrown barbed words at him and shoved him around because they saw him as a freak. They hadn't understood him, refused to even try, and he could remember his magic lashing out when their backs would turn. He would freeze them in time or trip them up, small things that could be dismissed as something else.
Every single time dread would fill him, making his stomach bottom out, because he did not mean to use the magic. It just slipped out with his emotions.
His time in Camelot had taught him control, because magic was much more hunted and feared in the citadel than it had ever been in Ealdor. But there were moments when his magic would leap from his fingers—when his will and emotions were so strong that any of the walls he had built around himself would crumble away. There were times he would lose control over himself. Having all of the control in the world could never fully measure up to willpower and emotions.
"No." Merlin shouted and the reigns he had tied over his magic slipped and he was nearly drowning in the amount of it. The Dorocha had muffled his magic, but he cracked through their barrier with ease that he had not possessed earlier. His magic reached out from his body, unspooling light, a brilliant gold thread, and stilling time itself. The wind stalled and the screeches of the Dorocha, a distant background noise, froze with the wind. The Cailleach was the only one spared from his magic—perhaps because he wasn't strong enough yet to restrain a gatekeeper that was a creature of magic itself, but he knew that might not be the case. "You." A snarl escaped his lips before he could think to exercise restraint.
He did not understand why the Cailleach would think that he would stand to the side and watch his friend approach the veil.
He did not understand why the Cailleach would think that Merlin would let Lancelot approach the fate meant for Merlin—and approach it with open arms.
The Cailleach did not look surprised or taken off guard by his actions, merely sighing and staring at him. "Emrys, I understand your anger, but you must understand that it is not your destiny to die this day." She spoke, trying to placate but failing completely.
Merlin felt his magic roil inside of him, sparing one strand of it to keep time frozen. "No! You do not understand my anger! I do not give a damn for destinies and prophecies and whatever the hell else the gods and fate want from me! You do not get to try and trick me into letting my friend die!" He snapped, stepping closer to her. "I do not care who you are, Cailleach. But, if you try to cross me again, I will hunt you down and I will destroy you."
The woman narrowed her eyes at him, her mouth forming words although Merlin knew that his magic snuffed hers when it tried to rise. She looked astounded for a minute, eyes widening to reveal the red lines in the white around her irises. "It is not your destiny to die this day, Emrys." The Cailleach whispered, scrambling for something to say and Merlin almost pitied her once more.
She was playing her role in destiny and he was the one who was breaking from his set path—damning it all to hell. "I'm sick of letting my friends die when I can save them. Destiny…Destiny be damned." Merlin's eyes moved past her, and he walked up to where Lancelot still stood, the knight's face half-turned to the gateway that would lead to where the spirits rested.
When Lancelot had nodded to him, he wore the brave façade that Merlin recognized as one he would have worn as well, but as the noble knight was turning back to the veil resignation painted itself on his face. Merlin's heart went out for the knight and he reached a hand up to put it on his friend's shoulder, eyes glowing gold as his magic cast a safety net that would prevent Lancelot from entering. The knight stumbled backward, Merlin situating himself between the veil and Lancelot and watching the plethora of emotions that flickered across the older man's face.
Hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, Lancelot looked up at Merlin with an expression akin to horror. "I'm sorry Lance." Merlin stated, "But I will not let you die." He warned, his words a whisper and he knew that the Cailleach was glancing between them, her eyes flickering back and forth as destiny rewrote itself.
"Merlin, you have so much…" Lancelot started.
The words slipped out without much thought. "It doesn't matter if you think that there is much going for me, Lance. You have much going for you as well. You were born to be the noble knight of Camelot and I will not let you die." Merlin cut Lancelot off, pausing briefly to smile at his closest confidant—one of his brothers. "I could do nothing while Will died, Lance. But now…now there is something I can do." He tossed a glance over his shoulder to the veil, swallowing roughly with tears smarting at the corners of his eyes.
Lancelot's figure became blurred, though Merlin's magic prevented him from stepping forward. "I don't want to lose you, Merlin. You're my best friend." The words provided a sea of warmth that Merlin would carry with him into the portal, shielding it from what would be on the other side in his darkest hour.
"You're my brother, Lance." Merlin promised. He turned back to the veil in front of him, forcing the tension out of his shoulders. "Lance, can you promise me something? Please?" He turned his head slightly to meet Lancelot's soft brown eyes.
The man clenched his jaw but nodded stiffly. "Anything." He swore.
A smile twitched at the corner of Merlin's mouth, "Promise that you won't forget me." Merlin's eyes went distant and he looked to his king. Arthur looked peaceful asleep, the lines from his battles as a warrior receding and replaced with a child-like innocence. "Promise that you'll remember me, tell stories about me on patrols, not let the prat become even more of a prat, and keep the knights together." In the back of his mind, he felt guilty for asking for all of those things.
He had said something, implying only one thing, but lost himself in the requests when he saw Arthur passed out—for what had to be the twentieth time this year and Merlin almost smiled at the thought.
"Please, I don't want my name to be forgotten by history." Merlin whispered.
Lancelot let a single tear fall down his face, "I promise, Merlin." They smiled at each other one last time, both heartbroken before Merlin allowed for his magic to grant Lancelot one last mercy.
The knight's eyes rolled to the back of his head and he was slowly lowered to the ground, head lolling to one side. Merlin nodded once to himself, before he turned and entered the veil, not allowing himself a single moment to question it. His last thoughts focused on the family he had built for himself in the past few years, before his world became nothing but shrill screaming and coldness tinged with frostbite and darkness…
…everlasting darkness.
Darkness covering his vision was the first thing his mind registered. Then, he could taste something that was metallic and knew that he must have bitten his tongue—blood pooling inside his mouth. A groan slipped from his lips before he could think to stop himself or muffling the sound and he moved his face from one side to the other, feeling his eyebrows furrow and the muscles in his face tense. The scent of the outdoors—fresh grass, the salt of the ocean water, the faint scent of the wildlife—filled his nose and he felt a sliver of confusion.
He couldn't remember why he would be outside rather than ensconced in his bedchambers.
He tried to think of what had happened last night, but only had the remnants of fear and a bludgeoning migraine to console himself with. He could not reconcile his fear with a reason for it, trying to search deeper into the few pieces he had from last night.
Forcing his eyes to open, Arthur instantly closed them when blinding sunlight made splotches of color dance across the skin underneath his eyelids. Perhaps he had a hangover, he could briefly recall Gwaine's features and knew that the rebellious knight held some sort of key to what happened last night and caused his mind to turn blank.
From previous experience that he did not wish to remember, Arthur guessed that the reason he was waking up in the middle of a clearing with a migraine was because Gwaine had dragged them all to a tavern after an exhausting patrol.
"Gwaine, I'm going to strangle you." Arthur muttered, swallowing thickly.
There was a huff accompanied with a groan that emphasized all of Arthur's feelings on the topic. "Oi! Why are you assuming this is my fault, princess?" Gwaine's voice was loud and if Arthur could scowl at him, he would. He fisted his hand, jolting with surprise when he realized that he was wearing gloves and then he felt the heaviness on him and realized that he was still wearing his chainmail and armor from the assumed patrol. Normally, after Gwaine somehow tricked them into joining him in the tavern, Merlin would help him out of his garb before letting him fall asleep.
In the moment, it irritated Arthur because it prevented him from sleeping, but he grew to be thankful to wake up not weighed down by his chainmail.
Footsteps pounded near him and Arthur refrained from recoiling at the intrusion of noise into the somewhat peaceable clearing, although he felt his lips tilt downwards in displeasure. "Sire! Gwaine! Are you alright?" Leon crouched down beside him, propping him up in his arms and Arthur felt the slight breeze as his first knight's cloak fluttered around them.
"We're fine, Leon." Arthur answered.
"Other than suffering from the worst hangover in my entire life." Gwaine muttered and Arthur opened his eyes, counting inside his head to distract himself from the brightness of the day around them. He glanced at Leon, spotting the visual confusion that crinkled his first knight's eyebrows as the man opened and closed his mouth wordlessly, his visage darkening.
"Do you two remember what happened?" Leon inquired, an urgence in his tone that worried Arthur and he opened his mouth to deny the blank spot in his memory before it cleared and his throat dried. The Dorocha. The tear. He had been about to sacrifice himself but then the world went dark, and he could assume that someone had knocked him out to prevent him from doing so.
Gwaine cursed foully and Arthur could imagine that the knight's memory had just returned to him as well. Arthur pushed himself upwards and forced down the nausea and dizziness, momentarily scowling at his weakness. He was the best swordsmen in the land, he could not be bested by a migraine. "The veil is gone." Arthur stated, hand resting on the hilt of his sword as he stared at the space which had held a gaping hole in it last night from where the Dorocha had emerged.
Leon countenance showed relief. "It appears so. And, sire, you are still alive." The knight's eyes shot to him as if reaffirming something he already knew.
Arthur hadn't thought of what might happen if he should be successful in trading his life as the price for ridding the land of the Dorocha and what that might mean for the succession line. He had instead focused his attention on the moment and not who the throne of Camelot would fall too should he die. He didn't know whether to be grateful for his life, or terrified because then who exactly had sealed the tear if it wasn't him. Although, a small voice hopefully piped up that Gaius could have been wrong about the price to pay.
Though, Gaius was hardly ever wrong. But wistful thinking—an effect of spending too much time around Merlin, who held too much belief in his heart—overrode any logic or the statistics.
Gwaine stumbled, stepping away from the outstretched hands of Elyan. "Merlin?" He cupped his hands around his mouth and both Arthur and he winced at the volume, though the knight continued in spite of the pounding in their heads. "Lancelot?"
A stone dropped in his stomach as they fanned out in search of Merlin and Lancelot. In front of them hidden by the pedestal and laying on his side, Lancelot laid there with his eyes closed although Arthur could not find his wayward manservant and his throat closed. "Lance." Percival tried to nudge the knight awake, his fear for his friend palpable on his face. "Can you hear me?" He pressed two fingers against the pulse point of the knight's throat, his face anxious. Percival exhaled suddenly. "He's alive."
"That's great." Gwaine said, searching around them and squinting in the sunlight. "Where's Merlin? Merlin? Merlin!" He shouted, his eyes bouncing around frantically, and Arthur forgot about his discomfort.
He already knew that answer, Merlin had done the utterly ridiculously selfless idiotic thing and sacrificed himself to the tear like he had promised around the campfire. Arthur had thought he could prevent Merlin from dying, unable to even vocalize the thought without his eyes stinging worse than they had when he had helplessly watched Lancelot ride off with Merlin—knowing it may be the last time he would ever see his brother. He had thought that Merlin would be smart, for once in his life, and not choose to die.
He should have known better.
Something wrapped around his heart and squeezed as Leon reached the same conclusion Arthur had. "Gwaine." Leon tried to place a placating hand on the errant knight's shoulder but Gwaine shrugged him off. "Gwaine, stop."
Gwaine whipped around, his eyes mad and trapped in denial. "No! No! I won't stop, it's Merlin! He's my best friend! I won't give up on him!" Gwaine shouted, his voice echoing chillingly around the open space.
"Gwaine…" Elyan trailed off.
"No! I won't accept that!" He glared.
A chilling voice spoke before Arthur could try to reign the knight back in—although Arthur knew it would be next to impossible. The only one who could get Gwaine to do anything he didn't want to do was Merlin. Arthur stood no chance, although he had wished that he could go the rest of his life without hearing the voice of the gatekeeper. "There is no need for the theatrics, knights of Camelot." The haggard and aged woman stood in front of them suddenly, appearing between one blink and the next and in front of her…
…Merlin.
Arthur drew his sword, the image of his manservant's lifeless body driving him to seek justice. Merlin was pale, eyes closed and lips blue—no comfort to be found in the lack of movement of his chest. "Get away from him!" Arthur could hear his knights unsheathing their blades around him, unfaltering because Merlin was important to them all.
Even if the creature in front of him may be a powerful sorceress, Arthur would not be cowed. He would never cower, especially if the odds were stacked against him.
She stepped backwards slightly, expression blank.
"Peace, Once and Future King." The gatekeeper spoke, her eyes dropping to Merlin and Arthur wished the manservant would bounce up with his sunshine-grin and clumsiness providing a cacophony of noise. "I mean you and the brotherhood of the Round Table no harm."
Gwaine growled. "Yet, you have killed Merlin!" He stepped closer to run the woman through but was halted by her raising a commanding hand.
She spoke clearly, her eyes on Merlin still and looking infinitely discombobulated. It was disorienting for Arthur and he wondered why she wore that look since she was the one who killed him. "I have not killed him. He is the immortal one. He cannot die." The gatekeeper looked up at them. "Destiny has changed since young Emrys was not meant to know of his immortality." Her eyes saw right through them and Arthur thought that his soul might have been bared before her.
"His name is Merlin; not Emrys." Elyan stated.
"One can have many names. I have not denied that he is Merlin, but he is also Emrys. The immortal one." She inclined her head. "The legend of Emrys is to protect and safeguard the Once and Future King. His life has been written in the stars since the beginning of time, as has all of yours."
They were silent in response and Lancelot stirred, a groan slipping from his lips. "Merlin!" Lancelot exclaimed, shooting upwards, his eyes landing on the scene in front of him with confusion. "I don't understand. He sacrificed himself to the veil—preventing me from doing so. He asked me to promise to not forget him." The last words Lancelot spoke were a mere whisper and Arthur knew that he and the other knights were not meant to hear them.
Something inside of Arthur ached thinking that Merlin thought he had to ask for something like that. Arthur would never forget his manservant—and the man was an absolute idiot for thinking otherwise.
None of them would ever forget Merlin. How could they?
He was Merlin. The wayward country boy that had become Arthur's manservant after saving the prince's life. The boy who had drank poison for him and followed him into danger without an inkling as to how to use a weapon. The boy who followed them to fight a dragon without a piece of armor, unafraid to face death alongside them. The boy who guided him into taking back his kingdom, summoning old friends when Arthur hadn't even thought of it.
But, more than that. He was the boy with the brightest smile that Arthur had ever seen. He was Arthur's brother in all but blood.
Gwaine choked for a second, eyes wide. "Immortal? What do you mean he's immortal? He can't be." The knight trailed off, dark eyes landing on Merlin with something akin to horror and Arthur felt the same horror spread over him.
While Merlin being immortal would explain how the man could be so reckless and follow them into places that normal servants didn't—the boy had assumed, and Arthur hadn't even thought to correct him. But it also was a terrible thing. While Arthur knew that some craved the secrets of immortality, he also knew that immortality was something that Merlin would never want for himself.
Lancelot glanced up from where he had stared at the ground for a long minute, hands clenching at his sides and a muscle jumping inside his cheek. "Why are you telling us this?" Lancelot asked, standing to his feet, and ignoring the support that Percival tried to offer him.
Arthur wondered the same. Perhaps, Merlin had slighted the Cailleach, and she sought to stain his name as she gave them his body. Perhaps, she sought to give them hope that Merlin would survive sacrificing himself to the veil. He did not know, and he found his eyes wandering over his unbreathing manservant.
It was torturous to watch Merlin be so still.
Merlin was never still. He was also constant, always in motion and doing things. Whether it was the chores Arthur assigned him or the tasks for Gaius or even the help he provided to someone he passed who was having a bad day.
His manservant was too good, too pure for this cruel fate.
It should have been Arthur who walked through the veil. He should have known that Merlin would find some way to knock Arthur out in order to pay the ultimate price.
"The immortal one has traded 100 years of his lifespan to seal the veil." The gatekeeper crouched down, reaching out to touch Merlin before any of them could think to stop her. Arthur heard Gwaine and Lancelot sharply inhale and felt the stirrings of hope being given light inside his chest. He did not want to hope that what the gatekeeper spoke was true because it was cruel to subject Merlin to that fate, but the selfish part of him longed to see that Merlin would live to see another day.
That part of him knew that he needed Merlin in his life; they hadn't done all that they were meant to do.
The second she touched him, Merlin inhaled, cobalt eyes shooting open.
Air rushed into his mouth, filling his lungs and he almost choked on it. His body spasmed; mind reeling as he tried to remember how to breathe. Theoretically, he knew that breathing should be a reflex, but the reflex he never even knew he had was dissipating. He could feel the skin on his fingers breaking, blood rushing down the appendages and fire coursed through him, as he scrambled—seeking purchase for something to grasp onto in the earth. Faintly, he registered that his flimsy lungs were not releasing the air and he choked, trying to exhale and he could feel water trailing down the side of his face, disappearing into his hair.
Black spots danced across his vision and there was something hitting his chest—a demanding voice shouting in his ears and he continued to struggle. A particularly hard hit sent the air rushing from his lungs.
He inhaled again and felt the same struggle to exhale—but it seemed lessened and he felt a bruise forming on his sternum. He blinked slowly, the black spots slowly dissipating, and his ears were ringing as his mind tried to process the nearly white sun in the blue sky above him with white clouds scattered around the former. His vision was blurry—like there was a film over his eyes that prevented him from seeing clearly.
A few seconds later, he registered that there was a cacophony of sound around him—numerous voices shouting, pleading, begging, whispering. Their words were lost, but he gathered the desperation well enough, and he blinked up at the face hovering over him—a face that blurred with the water falling from his eyes. Though he gathered the colors and hues of the features nonetheless: sunshine gold, sky blue, liquid gold, fire-red, polished silver.
He wondered why the color scheme rung several bells inside his head—mind desperately searching for a name. A corner of his mind screamed at him to offer comfort, but when he inhaled to do so, his blood seared and burned while his bones froze. Ice and fire warring inside him, tearing him apart. The face slid away, replaced with an orange glow that slowly darkened and he could hear another voice joining the noise that hovered just outside of the ringing inside his ears.
It took a minute for him to realize it was his own voice.
"I am sorry, immortal one." A voice slithered against his mind, and he latched onto the invasive thought. Even though the person was foreign, and his magic recalled them with a sense of warning, it was the only thing that would tether him to the world rather than trapped inside his own mind. The voice was female and elderly—age clinging to the words and tone and the power she radiated was strong, belying the crippling effect of age catching up to the body.
He swallowed, "W—W—Who are y—you?" His thought reverberated back at him, and he registered that he was screaming—crying from the pain of his soul turning against him. "Please, s—someone help m—m—me."
Her magic reached out to his, brushing against him and fire shot up his spine. "Your soul lies in tatters, immortal one. I cannot unite the pieces for you, I am sorry." She whispered into his mind, her magic withdrawing and he cringed at the loss but could not help the relief from her brushing against the raw corners of his mind.
Several minutes passed—minutes that stretched and slid together, time becoming fluid. The ringing in his ears lessened and he could hear a voice close to his ear and feel water sliding down his neck. "-ease. Please. Please. Come on Merlin. Please." The voice whispered and begged, and he could not understand what the man was begging him to do. "You can't die. Please, I just got you back."
Agony shot down his spine like lightning bolts, though he clung to the voice. The voice was a life-raft in the storm that was his soul and he clung to it as the waves tossed him around mercilessly.
He swallowed, throat incredibly dry and aching—like someone had rubbed chainmail against his esophagus and a disturbing image of blood filling his throat from his broken windpipe entered his mind which he dismissed. His mind cleared somewhat, vision slowly inching back to him and he registered that he was propped up with someone's arms around him, holding him to a shaking individual. The same shaking individual whose voice provided a balm to his pain and he registered that the man was crying.
Swallowing once more, he tried to speak. "I—I—I—I'm h—he—here." His voice was hoarse and quiet, too quiet to be heard—though the man stiffened. "A—A—Art—Arthur, I—I—I'm h—h—here." This time when he spoke, his voice was slightly louder.
The man, Arthur—his mind helpfully piped up—pulled back and he caught a glimpse of Arthur's face. There were the beginnings of disbelieving hope as if the man had thought his pleas would fall on deaf ears. He blinked at Arthur when Arthur stared at him for a long minute, as if not daring to believe. "Merlin!" Arthur let lose a sound that was half a laugh and half a sob, wrapping his arms around him.
Slowly, his memories returned—though the return caused his body to shiver and his vision to temporarily blacken. When they were finally complete, he raised both eyebrows. "I—I—I thought y—you s—s—said you d—d—didn't d—do hugs." Merlin teased.
"You're an absolute idiot." Arthur breathed, not relinquishing his grip.
Merlin patted his back awkwardly, vision clearing enough for him to see the other knights—they were all around them, expressions brightening though Merlin could see the tears crystalizing their eyes. "A—And y—y—you—you're a p—p—prat." Merlin stated. He could suddenly vividly remember what happened, walking into the veil and the everlasting darkness that invaded his senses. "A—Arthur, I—I—I don't u—under—understand. W—Wha—What happened?" He asked.
Arthur chuckled, the sound showing that his walls were completely down, and Merlin got the feeling that something terrible had happened. "Of course, you don't. Tell me Merlin, do you ever understand anything?" Prince Pratdragon asked.
"I—I—I understand t—that y—you—you're h—hugging me." Merlin quipped without missing a beat.
There was a beat of silence and Merlin's feeling solidified, knowing that Arthur wasn't letting him go because the prince was afraid. He was shaking so badly, fit enough to fly apart and Merlin knew that the hug was just Arthur's way of reaffirming something he already knew but had not yet understood. Finally, Arthur pulled away, though not completely and Merlin spotted Gwaine hovering uncertainly in his peripheral. "I thought you were dead, you idiotic clotpole." Arthur suddenly narrowed his eyes, a flash of anger that was familiar to them both. "Haven't we talked about you playing the hero, Merlin?"
Merlin raised both eyebrows, trying and failing to support himself on his arms—he could still feel the twinges of pain along his body as if he was being torn apart, but he ignored the pain in favor of paying attention to their conversation. He knew that this was a conversation that needed to be had. "Yes. Y—Y—You've said t—that it d—d—doesn't s—suit me." He chose instead to cross his arms, knowing that he was propped up against Arthur and that the prince—though a prat—would not let him fall.
"Then why would you try to sacrifice yourself to the veil?!" Arthur shouted, shaking him and Merlin glowered at him, moaning slightly as his vision swam alarmingly. Arthur calmed slightly at that, tucking Merlin against him, and putting his chin on Merlin's head.
Merlin's throat dried even more. How it could dry more, he didn't know, but somehow it did. "T—T—Try?" He tried to glance around, his heart stalling as he thought of the possibility that someone else had sacrificed themselves to the veil and he glanced at all of the knights to be sure they were all there. Leon. Elyan. Percival. Lancelot. Gwaine. He relaxed upon realizing that they were but did not understand why they were not freaking out over the veil—instead, standing around them both in a semi-circle as though they were defending Arthur and Merlin.
Arthur sighed, squeezing slightly. "The veil was sealed, Merlin." He stated. "The Dorocha have retreated back to the spirit realm." Arthur informed him and Merlin relaxed at the information.
Something tingled at the back of his mind—they were withholding something from him, and he couldn't understand how the veil could be repaired if they were all alive. "Then, how am I alive?" Merlin was thankful that the stutter had dissolved, though he couldn't be sure it wouldn't come back.
No one spoke. No one moved.
"Arthur? Tell me; how am I alive?" Merlin demanded. Fear filled him and he wondered what they had done to keep him alive. "Someone had to willingly sacrifice themselves for the veil to heal, so how are we all alive if the veil is healed?"
He suddenly remembered with startling clarity—the feminine voice that had tried to cajole him from his suffering. The woman who had tried to patch together his soul as best she could. She had called him immortal. At the time, he hadn't the presence of mind to question being called the immortal one. He had been in so much pain, seeking for respite that the title had completely went over his head.
Horror rushed at him. "Tell me it isn't true." He begged. "Please. I don't want this. I don't want to be immortal. Arthur, tell me it isn't true." Merlin clutched at Arthur's forearm, feeling the teardrops as answer enough dripping onto his head. "No. No. No." He didn't want this. He would rather have died than be forced to live forever while everyone around him died. It wasn't fair. What did he do to deserve a destiny this cruel? Why was destiny always railing against him?
He sobbed; forgetting how to breathe for an entirely different reason.
"You were not meant to know this truth, yet." A voice caused him to freeze, and he turned to stare at the gatekeeper. She stood just outside the semi-circle of knights and Merlin realized that they were trying to protect him from her. Merlin wanted to laugh at the thought, there was nothing the knights could do to protect him from the blows left behind by words alone. He could tell by the tension in their shoulders that they had heard the words she spoke into his mind as well.
Gwaine snarled. "Leave him alone!" He pointed a sword at her throat, and she regarded him coolly. "Haven't you caused him enough pain? Why must you inflict more?" His words were loud and deadly.
The Cailleach stared past him to Merlin, though Gwaine and Lancelot tried to shield him from the infinite sadness in her blue eyes. "Because destiny has been rewritten." She swallowed, sounding awed in spite of herself. "His destiny has changed as has all of yours and though his heart may not be ready for the truths he is being forced to hear, he will heal." For a second, Merlin wondered if she, like the Druids, revered him for his destiny. For the prophecy and the fate that she had claimed was written in the stars.
"You told me it was not my destiny to die this day. That my time amongst men was not over." Merlin remembered, staring at her. "Then, does that mean my destiny is to die another day? That I will live a long time, but not forever?"
He could feel Arthur gearing up for a fight—with the prince refusing to let him go, probably having spent so long thinking him dead and unwilling to deal with that—but simply squeezed the prince's arm. He needed to hear the answer, to grant himself peace of mind. "Yes. Your destiny is to safeguard the Once and Future King." She answered, as if that was an answer and Merlin felt the familiar concoction of frustration and exhaustion simmer in his stomach.
"I know that." Merlin snapped, "Destiny's keepers have told me that for years. Protect and guide the Once and Future King. But, what does that mean?" He asked, aware of the knights around him furrowing their eyebrows and their confusion pouring off them in waves.
The Cailleach sighed, as if he were the daft one and Merlin swelled with indignation. "The time of the Once and Future King is upon us, yes. But, as he is mortal, he will die. Take heart, immortal one, for he will rise again, and you will be there to guide him once more when Albion's need is greatest." She stated and Merlin stared at her for a minute, his mind mulling over the new information.
"And, when he rises again, my immortality will be sapped." Merlin muttered. "I will not face the suffrage of losing him twice." He asked her, louder—ignoring the knights around him. He knew that he would have to explain himself, before he was even ready to since this whole previous ordeal was due to Morgana going to darkness, once she left, but craved the answers she could give him. Rather than the cryptic messages left behind by the overgrown lizard who delighted in flying away when Merlin was annoyed and incensed.
The gatekeeper nodded. "Yes. But, you will suffer much until then. Though, destiny's key players have been forever altered by your actions this day, immortal one." She gestured to the knights and Merlin watched as they tried to understand what exactly they both were talking about.
Arthur finally spoke, his voice loud and demanding. "Who is the Once and Future King?" He asked and Merlin wondered if the gatekeeper would answer for him or leave him to his own devices when he could hardly stand.
"You, Arthur Pendragon—son of Uther Pendragon and Igraine De Bois—are the Once and Future King. The man destined to bring the five kingdoms together and usher in a golden age. The man destined to unite the old religion with the new." The Cailleach spoke and Merlin saw as everyone else's jaws dropped and thought about commenting on there being plenty of flies for them to catch.
Merlin sighed. "I feel as though I would have been more delicate telling him that."
Arthur helped him to his feet and grasped his shoulders. "You knew?" He asked, his sky-blue eyes searching Merlin's face for the hint of a lie. Merlin eyed him, knowing how difficult it was to know one's destiny. Arthur had been spared the burdens of his destiny through Merlin's willpower alone, though he supposed that willpower had come back to bite him in the ass. Though, he did not regret it. He would have regretted letting Lancelot die—even if it kept him ignorant.
"It's my destiny to protect you, prat." Merlin stated fondly. "I told you, you have no idea how many times I've saved your royal backside." He could feel his face strain as he felt his soul trying to sew itself back together and knew that once he let himself collapse, he would sleep for days as his soul tried to find a way to move forward.
The prince's hands dropped, and Merlin could feel Gwaine lurch forward to keep the manservant upright. "You…All this time." Arthur's voice was shaking as if he was being crushed under the weight of destiny and Merlin reached forward with the aid of Gwaine to catch the prince when he crashed to his knees.
Merlin sighed. "Destinies are troublesome things, aren't they?" He quirked a smile. He could feel his smile losing its bitterness though, becoming soft. "Know this, Arthur. I do not protect you because we have this great destiny. I protect you because you are my friend and I believe in the man you are, even if that man is not the Once and Future King. I believe in you, Arthur. More than I believe in destiny or prophecy or fate. I would die for you, without question. Without thought. Almost have, but I suppose the immortality thing ruined that."
Arthur stared at his gloved hands, golden hair falling over his forehead and his eyes lowered so that Merlin could not read them. "Why? What have I ever done for that loyalty?" Arthur asked.
"I'd give you a list, but that would feed your ego and your head's already as big as your waist." Merlin quipped. He could see the beginnings of a smile forming on Arthur's lips. "Ealdor." Merlin stated simply. "You came after me to Ealdor, even though you didn't have to. You owed me nothing, then, Arthur. Yet, you still came with me, even when you were ordered not to. You helped my village without expecting anything in return for that. You gave people hope without demanding anything. That's one of the reason's you have my loyalty."
He could have said Arthur had gone to get him the cure when he drank poison, even though the circumstance were similar. The prince had been under orders to not go retrieve a flower for a servant and had done so anyways. But, Arthur would justify that as owing him for saving his life and drinking poison for him—not knowing that Arthur had never really been the target anyways. "I also almost sacked you when Cedric came around." Arthur whispered, as if that countered the noble act.
Merlin shrugged. "You've had your prat moments. We all have moments where we do stupid things, we're human." He offered a cheeky smile. He glanced around at the other knights—eyes checking that Lancelot was still alright and grateful that the noble and selfless knight was still there. "If anyone has any other questions, now would be the time to ask. I'm probably going to collapse in a few minutes since my soul is quite literally in pieces and it's sort of painful." Merlin stated casually.
Gwaine chuffed. "Well, I'd love to hear about all the times you've saved the princess's life, Merls." He stated, sending a teasing grin to the figure of the prince. Arthur lifted his head then and Merlin tried not to swallow at the gratitude in the other man's face.
He wondered if Arthur would still look at him like that if he knew that Merlin had magic—had been born with magic as a matter of a fact and performed magic the first second he opened his eyes. Then again, the prince hadn't batted an eye at the fact that he was destined to unite the old religion with the new religion—so maybe there was hope there. Then again, the prince could have not processed that thought yet and would later and question why Merlin would want that last part.
Leon spoke before Merlin could gather his thoughts much further. "We should start heading back to Camelot." The first knight stated, casting his eyes skyward. Merlin wondered what the older knight made of all of this—a prince with a large destiny and an immortal manservant who would die for said prince.
"All of us?" Merlin asked blearily, feeling exhaustion darkening the corners of his vision and he knew that he had not been joking about the collapsing thing. His body was shutting down, he could feel that and the pain stirring inside of him could not be quelled for much longer.
Arthur snorted. "Don't be an idiot, Merlin."
Merlin slouched against Gwaine, his legs giving out. "Merls. Hey, Merls, can you hear me?" Gwaine poked his cheek and Merlin would have swatted the hand away, but his limbs were deadweights attached to him.
"Merlin." Arthur sounded frantic with worry and Merlin found the strength to pry his eyes open, though the colors swirled in a manner akin to paint swirling and mixing together—the colors not yet meeting but at the precipice of blending.
"I won't die, Arthur." Merlin breathed, "I promise."
He closed his eyes and let the world slide away.
Arthur and Gwaine both caught Merlin when the youth collapsed and slowly lowered him to the ground. The man's face had steadily grown increasingly pale, in spite of his returned speech—the stutter slipping away to be replaced with the firmness that Arthur knew—and for a heartbeat, Arthur was absolutely terrified that Merlin's immortality spectacle was a lie and the man would die without Arthur able to do a thing. Arthur pressed two fingers against Merlin's throat, sighing and deflating when he felt the pulse underneath the pads of his fingertips.
"Is he alright?" Elyan asked, dark eyes worried as he reached out to Merlin, his gaze appraising the youth as if there was an injury the young man had sustained that they didn't know about. The thought caused Arthur's mind to narrow as he thought of all of the battles they had fought together—how many times had Merlin been the one to bring him valuable information at the last minute? And, what had been the cost of that? How many of those times had Merlin been injured with him none-the-wiser? The leather creaked as the fingers on his left hand curled into a fist.
He loathed that he had been such an oblivious fool.
Gwaine nodded, scooping up Merlin and stumbling slightly under the weight, eyes blinking furiously, and Arthur was reminded of the fact that the knight had sustained a blow to the head. "Yeah. He's still alive." Gwaine said as Percival rushed forward and took Merlin from Gwaine—against the knight's protests that he could do it.
Arthur held up a hand. "Gwaine, you sustained a blow to the head. We don't want you to drop Merlin. He'd wake up as more of an idiot than he already is." Arthur stated, though he couldn't stop himself from checking Merlin's pulse once again as Percival adjusted the youth. "One more thing, not a word of what was revealed or is revealed is to be repeated outside of our group. Not to any council members. Or my uncle. Or anyone in the tavern, Gwaine." He narrowed his eyes at the knight.
Gwaine rolled his eyes. "As if anyone would actually believe me if I spun a story of an immortal manservant." Gwaine stated, "People tend to have a perverted version of what having power causes people to do, and no one would be believe that an immortal would stoop so low as to wash the prince's socks." The knights face twisted with fondness as he doubtlessly recited something Merlin had frequently complained about doing.
Elyan poked Gwaine's forward, earning him a glower. "Sorry, mate. For a minute I thought you might be possessed by someone wise." Elyan teased good-naturedly while Gwaine tossed his hair.
Lancelot shook his head. "Nope. It's still Gwaine in there." He stated, before turning to check on Merlin as well. Arthur knew that none of them would want to stop making sure that Merlin was still breathing. They had all seen him when the gatekeeper returned with him, the man whose chest did not rise and fall, and lips were blue. Then, they had seen the same man struggling to breathe, as if his lungs were failing him and his fingers scrambling for something, skin flaking off.
They had all borne witness to Arthur collapsing with grief over his struggling manservant, pounding his chest and ordering him to breathe as he sobbed over the man. They had watched as the prince fell apart and squeezed the man tightly to him when his breathing started to even out, tears falling unchecked from both of their eyes.
Arthur thought of ordering their silence on that but knew that they would keep quiet without needing to be asked on that matter.
"What do you plan to do with him, princess?" Gwaine's voice drew him from his thoughts and Arthur turned questioning eyes on the rebellious knight. Gwaine's facial expression was tense, as if he was about to fight Arthur if provoked. "Merlin. What do you plan to do?" He clarified.
The prince thought for a long minute. "I plan to ask him about this destiny of ours." He surveyed Merlin's countenance. "If it is true that he has saved my life numerous times, then I'd be a fool to hurt him. I will never hurt him. Gwaine, I do not bring him back to Camelot to face a trial, but because I need my manservant. A good manservant is hard to come by and he's halfway decent. I don't have time to train a new one." Arthur turned back to the way they had entered.
Gwaine snorted. "Good. Because if your hurt him…if I find out you laid one finger to harm him then…well…" Gwaine cracked his knuckles, letting the sound and motion speak for him and finish the threat.
If Arthur were not trained in combat since he was small, then he might feel scared, but he knew that Gwaine's threat would never need to come to pass. "You saw what we all did, Gwaine." Lancelot whispered to the knight, before clearing his throat. "Let's get off this island." The knight announced, following Arthur's lead as they walked to where they had last seen the boat.
It was still docked with a withered man clutching the oars—one in each hand and the ends lifted above the water. He stared at them for a minute. "Only four shall cross at one time." If he wanted to comment on all of them being able to come back, he said nothing, waiting patiently as though he had all the time in the world. Arthur couldn't help but feel disturbed by the man as he pictured Merlin in that position—he wondered if immortality would make Merlin's blue eyes lose their spark and become hollow as his features never changed.
He wondered if Merlin would become as deadened as the man who seemed to only be there to sail them across the water.
Leon sheathed his sword. "Very well. Elyan, Lance, and I will stay behind while the rest of you go first. We have to get Merlin to Gaius as quick as possible." Leon stated, taking a step back to give Percival room to board the boat. Gwaine hopped onto the boat, holding his arms out to balance himself as the vessel swayed slightly and the elderly man gave him a look that brought life into his withered features momentarily.
Gwaine did not seem to notice the other man's annoyance—or maybe he did but he could care less—and instead, sat down, holding his arms out to take Merlin, making the other man comfortable. Arthur was unsurprised when Gwaine wrapped one arm around the leaner man to press his fingers against the pulse-point of Merlin's throat and took comfort in the fact that the tension drained from the other knight as Merlin's heart continued to beat. Gwaine flashed a grin upwards at Percival as the large knight unclasped his cloak and put it over Merlin.
Lancelot grasped Arthur's shoulder and the prince was reminded of the fact that the knight was Merlin's closest friend. "Look after him." Lancelot whispered, a small smile quirking at his lips when Arthur nodded.
"Look after yourselves." Arthur appraised the three knights he was leaving on the island. He did not like the idea of leaving behind the three of them on an island that made gooseflesh cover his arms. But, they had to be split apart if they had any hope of getting off this godforsaken island and back to the mainland and he clasped forearms with Leon. His first knight always seemed to know what was going on in Arthur's mind—it's how they worked so well together both in battle and around the campfire—and Arthur felt a swell of gratitude for the older knight for taking charge when Arthur had still been reeling.
There was a small smile on Leon's bearded face. "We will. You're the ones stuck with Gwaine." The knight glanced past Arthur to rib at Gwaine.
"Oi! If I didn't have Merls to worry about, I'd kick your ass, Leon." Gwaine declared while Leon shook his head with an amused smile, obviously not taking the threat seriously. "Come on princess, we don't have all day. Get your ass on the boat or we're leaving you." The man continued.
Arthur sent the knight a glare, getting onto the boat and sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with Percival, well as shoulder-to-shoulder as he could get with the bulkier man. "Shut up, Gwaine." Arthur's gaze settled on Merlin. He flicked his eyes back up to Gwaine and the other knight nodded, fingers still checking Merlin's pulse. He focused his thoughts on the exchange that the gatekeeper and Merlin had had before the woman had dissipated—there one blink and gone the next—rather than the feel of the boat swaying gently from side to side as it crested the minimal amount of waves the sea of water had.
"You know, I've spent some time with the Druids." Gwaine spoke up after a few minutes of silence, fog settling around them and hovering slightly over the water. Arthur drew himself from his thoughts, his gaze snapping to the knight's face. Gwaine was looked down at Merlin, studying his features as he spoke. "During my travels. I had stumbled into the forest after a tavern brawl and when I awoke, they had treated my hangover and I joined them around the fire. I was just a traveler, so they told me stories around the campfire."
Arthur studied the knight intensely, his throat drying. "They talked about this Once and Future King I'm supposed to be." He tugged his gloves off and put them into the small satchel at his waist—thinking idly of how Merlin had insulted him so casually about his head and waist size.
Gwaine nodded. "Aye, they did." He responded, adjusting Merlin slightly as the man laid against him, his legs splayed out over the bench with Percival's cloak acting as a blanket cocooning him. "The gatekeeper wasn't lying about what the Once and Future King is meant to bring about. She also wasn't lying about the purpose of Emrys to serve and aid you." Gwaine added, though Arthur could sense he was withholding something.
"Why didn't he tell me?" Arthur pressed his knuckles against the wooden bench he was seated on. "He should have told me. If I'm meant to have this great destiny than I should know about it." He didn't bother to clarify who the 'he' was in this situation, knowing that Gwaine and Percival understood him well enough.
Both exchanged a look, before Percival cleared his throat. "I don't think that is something that we'd know the answer to, Arthur." The normally quiet knight responded.
Gwaine grinned, letting out a low whistle. "Wow, Perce. I'm so proud of you. For so long I didn't think you could speak." The knight teased, lifting his free hand in surrender when Percival gave him a look, before grinning.
Arthur felt a smile quirk at his lips before he glanced over at the foggy water around them. Faintly, he could see the mainland taking shape in the distant horizon, looking distorted and briefly unreal. There was a lot of information that he was trying to comprehend and let soak in.
First, he was supposed to be this Once and Future King—a title he had never heard before, though he supposed he could credit that towards the title being part of a Druid campfire story.
Second, Merlin was immortal. That fact made Arthur's chest ache with empathy for the younger man because he had seen how Merlin had reacted to that knowledge—shaking in Arthur's arms as if he was flying apart, ripping at the seams.
Third, the gatekeeper had also called Merlin, Emrys, though she had started using the term immortal one when lucidity returned to the leaner male.
Fourth, Merlin had been protecting him and knew about this destiny of his. It took a minute for Arthur to get over his instinctual disbelief that someone like Merlin could protect Arthur when Arthur had been trained in combat since birth and Merlin could hardly lift a sword to fight. Which is why it was so hard to believe that Merlin had been protecting him, though a part of him knew that that was the truth…
…he didn't understand how he could have missed something like this.
The brief thought crossed his mind, bringing with it a wave of pain in his chest as he wondered if the destiny they shared was the reason Merlin protected him. His manservant had said that Arthur was his friend, but Arthur couldn't help but question him after all of these truths had been revealed.
Here we are. Again, I might post a second part, depending on if that is what you guys want or if you want to leave the explanations part up to your imagination. For now, the story will be labeled complete, though.