Chapter 3: part 2

It took seven years for Merlin to make his way to London. It took seven years to convince his parents that India was not for him; that he had dreams that stretched beyond the borders the isolated village. He felt horrid leaving them but Elizabeth had given birth to a baby girl two years prior. He looked in his baby sister's eyes, found Elena staring back and knew they would be okay without him.

Saying goodbye to Hunith was another matter. She met him at the docks before the traders' ship left. He held her tight and whispered promises into the soft folds of her dress wishing that he could bottle up her scent and take it with him.

He was surprised, though he shouldn't have been, when the captain of the ship introduced himself as Tom, with his greying hair and tired green eyes. He shook Hunith's hand before he helped Merlin with his bag. Merlin wondered if a part of his mother's soul recognised Balinor behind those tired green eyes. If there was time, if there was no Arthur to find and miles upon miles to sail, he might have introduced his mother to the love of her lives.

Merlin was by far the youngest traveller on the SS Dragoon. Most of the other men had pepper hair and wrinkles framing their eyes. They were strong though, a crew of approximately thirty bringing new treasures and delights to British soil. Merlin was to serve in the kitchen, helping only one chef cater to a rowdy group of sailors.

There were good days and there were bad. Will, known by the others as Shorty because he was so tall he towered over the others, made most days bearable. He slept in the bunk below him and shared whatever he won off the others whenever they played cards. Life seemed doable when he fell asleep to the sound of waves hitting cold metal and Will shuffling cards.

Other days…other days he asked himself why he didn't just do it. Why didn't he tip over into the water and let the waves take him. He always imagined death by water was how he would want to go. As if he might see Freya or feel her filling his lungs.

Those days he would find a corner and curl up in it. He would open the old wooden cigar box he kept Arthur's letters in. He read them so many times the earlier ones where beginning to fade. Arthur kept to his promise for the most part. He wrote him often the first couple of years. He would tell him about his favourite teachers and the most horrid ones. He would talk about his best friend Fredric who could fit a whole box of chocolate melts into his mouth and Lillian, the girl from the sweet shop that had the most perfect smile.

Sometimes Merlin felt he was right there with him, as if he was witnessing Arthur growing up all over again. Arthur sent him a picture of him with his school friends, all of them looking posh in their custom uninforms. Merlin had no doubt that Fredric was really Leon and the rest were the knights of Camelot. It seemed that Arthur had no trouble fitting in at all.

So Merlin did not blame him when the letters became less and less. He really did not. He was a childhood friend, something to outgrow. He knew that Arthur would be taking his place in society. He would be busy courting blushing maidens and learning about the trade that gave his family such an acute reputation. What time did he have for the little boy that clung to him when he was eight?

He tried to be happy. He tried to date girls from the village and open his mind up to the bible, because maybe he could do it, maybe he could live this life. He wanted it so badly but, no matter how many stolen kisses he received or truly joyful moments he experienced in the church, he never felt complete. It seemed that he was always waiting, always looking and always wanting.

He had to be near Arthur, if only to sate the itch beneath his skin.

There was a storm one day. Everyone felt it in the air before it hit. Merlin was standing in the wrong place at the wrong time when the sky broke and a wave came crashing down above him. One moment he was on solid ground and the next he was looking up at the solid grey sky wondering why he felt so warm when he couldn't breathe. For a moment, he thought to just let go. Let go, because his life doesn't matter anyway. Because he is tired of saying goodbye.

Just let go.

Then he felt hands around his waist, hair against his cheek. He opened his eyes and there was his Freya. She was there looking just as she did in Camelot; hair wild and eyes dark.

She smiled and Merlin realised a few things at once; she was breathing under water, he could not see her legs and he really couldn't breathe. He started to panic and she just held on tighter. She kissed him and air, pure and cold filled him. She led him back up to the surface and spared him only one more look before she dived back under. A flick of tail and she was gone again.

The ship found him again and the deckhands pulled him in. He lay awake that night covered in every blanket in their cabin but shivering still. Had he really meant to just let go?

He lay there and everything was so clear. Everything was so simple. It was better to live half a life if living half a life meant he could be with the people that he cared for.

London was beyond anything he imagined. When he would think about it again in another life he would still recall the fear and excitement he felt as he helped unload the ship. He said goodbye to his best friend and his father, knowing he would see them again, and begun to navigate the narrow roads looking for his destiny; his purpose.