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Chapter 2
His second life was easier than the first. The memories of who he was came naturally and easily. He was Charles, son of a British missionary of the 1600s, but he was also Nicholas and foremost, Merlin.
His childhood was a good one. His father, Benjamin was kind and patient. His mother, Elizabeth, was soft-spoken and caring. Merlin wished he could love them more, wished that he did not cry for Hunith at night.
His parents moved them to India when he was six. He remembers crying into his pillow for hours as he was afraid Arthur would not find him so far away. India was to be exotic and exciting, Elizabeth said. It was their duty to bring the word of God to their civilisation, Benjamin said.
Even at such a young age, Merlin knew not to say anything of his past to his parents. How could they possibly understand that after death there was no light and angels playing on the harp? God was not there waiting on the other side, arms open. There was only darkness, and maybe peace, then a new life.
Like rewinding a clock.
Benjamin took position as pastor at a modest church situated a fair distance from any city. The congregation was made up of mostly farmers and traders from villages nearby, Indian and British alike. It seemed that was the only time they felt equal, when kneeling in front of a pier accepting wine drenched bread.
Merlin spent most of his childhood reading in the small attic above the church. He was hungry for knowledge, needing to fill in the blanks between his lives. He had no idea where he went when he died, no idea if that is what he was actually doing…dying. When he looked in the mirror, he saw himself. The same dark hair and blue eyes. Maybe that is what the dragon meant when he said he was immortal, he would never change.
That is where he was the first time he saw Arthur.
He was huddled by a small oval window, trying to make use of the soft afternoon light washing over the pages of his latest book. The weather was unbearably hot, sweat dripped steadily down his brow despite having changed to just an undershirt and a pair of shorts.
He would pause from his reading to look out the window, taking in the spans of dry land that stretched for miles and the cloudless blue sky. There was a spot of colour breaking up the familiar image.
A boy.
A boy in red, standing just below the window. Merlin felt his heart rate pick up. He held his book to his chest, fingers digging into the worn leather of the spine. He watched the boy turn and look up at him.
Then he passed out.
He woke up on top of his parents' bed with Elizabeth holding him against her. It was the first time he had allowed himself to be held like that since he was a babe.
He felt hot, feverish; like his skin was being slowly set alit. He wished for rain, he wished for a storm to wash away the anxious feeling building at his core.
He was not surprised when rain clouds formed just outside. He felt the relief wash over him as rain fell and disappeared on the hot ground. His magic wrapped around him like an old friend.
He was more prepared the second time he saw Arthur.
He knew by then to call him Edward, though the name felt wrong on his lips. He was the son of a well-known tycoon in Britain, sent to India to acquaint himself with one of the family businesses; spice.
Merlin thought it odd to send a child of eight to live in a foreign land with nothing but a formidable nanny and a trunk full of outlandish clothing, but he never spoke of it. He thought that if he ever met Arthur's current father, he would see Uther in his eyes.
The church was used as a school for the British children around the area when not in use for services. Up until then, Merlin had not begun classes as he was a year or two younger than most of the other children. He begged to start attending classes the moment her realised that he could be by Arthur's side again.
The first day of class did not go well. He was late, having spent the early morning helping his father repair benches; the wood having seen better days. He burst through the church doors, sweaty, breathless and with polish smudging his best shirt. The other children snickered, Arthur among them. Merlin tried to not make a spectacle of himself as he went to his desk, but then the teacher turned at looked at him.
Mother, he thought, and swiftly burst into tears.
Needless to say, the other children did not take it kindly. They teased him mercilessly, insult dropping like stones in a still pool; rippling through him. He wanted so badly to make a good impression; to start afresh and be the kind of boy Arthur would befriend. But he wanted his mother more. He spent the first few days by her side always. He ignored the sneers and taunts from the other students. He couldn't care less, as long as he could be close to her.
He took to spending break times in class with her. He'd help her set up for the next lesson, wipe down desks and the blackboard. He'd eat his lunch with her and, sometimes when he was especially good, she would read him a bit of whatever novel she was reading at the time.
Days passed by lazily and contently. He could have dealt with the bullying, he really could have. That is, until Arthur started too.
Arthur was relentless. His best friend was a trader's son; Lucian (though to Merlin, Valiant). They would wait for him every day before the beginning of class and make fun of his worn down clothes and unpolished shoes. They would tug his ears and laugh at the expression he made. Threw balls of paper at his head when Hunith wasn't looking or trip him up during the rare breaks he ventured out. He tried to swallow the hurt. Tried to rationalise that Arthur was just a boy and he didn't know Merlin; didn't know all that they had been through.
It was raining the day he snapped. He really should have foreseen it as it hadn't rained since the first time he had seen Arthur, all but a couple months ago. He knew enough about his magic to know that sometimes the weather was but a reflection of how he was feeling.
Heavy grey clouds hung pregnant in the sky as he marched into the little courtyard outside the church. He saw Arthur and Valiant perched on an unfinished wall throwing stones at birds, laughing as they flew away.
Anyone watching would later note the dramatics of the moment. How Merlin's face was set in an expression not unlike one worn to battle. How the birds that had been flying away seemed to pause in the air as if they too could feel the electricity coming off the small boy. They will say that Arthur didn't see it coming. That he barely had enough time to bring his arms up and protect his face before Merlin pulled at one pant-leg and tugged hard enough to send the older boy sprawling on the graveled ground.
They will talk about how Merlin only had time for one punch before the headmaster lifted him off Arthur. But that the punch had enough force to make him clutch his nose and whimper; rolling side to side on the ground.