I had someone ask for a continuation of this story, so here you go! I already had this one partially written, so I decided to put it up. Sorry that I haven't updated Coming Home yet. It's my winter break after this week, so I'll have much more time to update then. Please review!
Now that we've established Merlin's current situation, I thought I'd take the time to regale you with another story from my vast collection. This is another installment in the tale of Merlin's and my acquaintance. As I have explained before, each time I met him, he would die, I would try to do my job, only to be thwarted and forced to return the boy back to life. But this instance stands out in my mind as a pivotal moment in the fates of the boy and his King.
This meeting occurred a handful of years after the incident with the poison. Merlin had spent those years attempting (not very successfully) to avoid me while keeping the young Pendragon out of my clutches as well. The chain of events that once more led me to Merlin were set in motion by a meddling sorceress by the name of Morgana Pendragon and her equally meddlesome sister, Morgause. They had interfered in my affairs before, and would continue to do so until I finally came for them, but their greatest offense was the tearing of the Veil between the Worlds.
Briefly, let me explain to you about the Veil. I have my realm, the living have theirs. It is my job to transport souls from one to the other. This should be a permanent, one-way journey. But sometimes souls do not come quietly, or have unfinished business in the living world, so a barrier was set in place to keep the worlds apart. This barrier is known as the Veil between the Worlds. It is guarded by the one known as the Cailleach.
There comes a time every year when the Veil is at its thinnest and the souls become restless. This is the day of Samhain.
***About Samhain***
Samhain is the day the mortals of Camelot chose to honor both me and those whom I have taken. I do love it when you humans take the time to remember me. Too often I am ignored.
On this particular Samhain, however, Morgana and Morgause had committed a most unspeakable act. Using the life of Morgause as a sacrifice, they tore the Veil asunder. (I do not approve of sacrifices. I choose when you come with me, not you.)
As the Veil split, all of Magic cried out in pain as the world was wrenched out of balance. I knew that somewhere my young warlock was collapsing from the total wrongness of it all. (What a burden it must be to be born from the very fabric that makes up the world, susceptible to its every change and movement.) But Merlin did not need me just yet. I had other matters to attend to.
Hundreds of tortured souls, the Dorocha, poured from the Veil like blood from a wound. I could not bring them back. Like the mythical Charon (based off me, of course, though a very poor representation), my ferryboat only goes one way. I sighed. Now free, the Dorocha would wreak havoc throughout the land. Not mortal can survive their touch; a living soul cannot bear the kiss of death. I was about to become very busy.
For the next few days, I swept up and down the countryside, gathering up the souls that had been frozen by their literal brush with death. There were hundreds: entire villages wiped out. The air was soon filled with the unearthly screams of the Dorocha.
As I continued my rounds, I learned that Merlin, Arthur, and a company of knights had set out from Camelot with the intent to close the Veil. The Cailleach required a life to be sacrificed to close the Veil, just as a life had been sacrificed to open it. Arthur intended to give up his life to save those of his people
***On Schedules***
I have a very specific schedule and I do not take kindly to people attempting to alter it. It was not Arthur's time to die. He had much left to do before I came for him. Merlin's time, on the other hand, I could never quite pin down. He was a gray smudge on my carefully printed list.
I decided to tag along with their little party, as I was most interested in watching this all unfold. Of course, I still continued my regular duties. I never take a day off. Ever.
When I arrived at their small camp, our young friends had found themselves in a bit of a fix. The knights had been separated from their prince and his manservant, and now Arthur and Merlin were trapped among the ruins of an abandoned fortress, surrounded by Dorocha. The two men were caught up in what sounded to me like the kind of conversation one would have when face to face with certain death, which they were. (Pun intended. I do have a sense of humor too, you know.)
As I listened closer to the words, I heard Merlin attempt to tell Arthur how many times he had saved his life while Arthur tried to convey how much he actually cared for his servant. Their true meaning was shrouded in banter and jests, but each knew what the other was really trying to say.
***A Reminder to You**
Do not wait until you are on my doorstep to say such things to one another. Do not keep secrets until it is too late. You never know when I might be coming.
A shriek pierced the air. To use another human phrase, I felt a chill run down my spine. The Dorocha were coming. Merlin and Arthur had only seconds. This was about to get interesting.
As the Dorocha appeared around the corner, I began to wonder how Destiny planned to get itself out of this mess. Merlin and Arthur were trapped with their backs against the wall, facing the wrath of the undead. But, as I have said, it was not Arthur's time to die. The Dorocha streaked down the hall, heading straight for the pair. Without warning, Merlin shoved the prince aside and flung himself into the path of the monster. Merlin flew backwards, his face frozen in shock, and slammed against the wall. He did not move again.
I have always wondered about that moment. Why did Merlin jump into the Dorocha's way? Did he think that the monster's lust for vengeance would be sated once Merlin was dead? Did he expect to vanquish it? Or was he so desperate to save his friend's life that all thought or reason fled him? I suspect it was a bit of all three.
I approached Merlin's still form slowly. This was not at all how I expected things to go. Then again, you all find ways to surprise me. The knights burst in, armed with torches, and began to fight off the Dorocha. It would only be a matter of seconds before they reached Merlin. But I am not bound by time or space. I can do a great deal in seconds.
The Dorocha had nearly turned Merlin to ice. The touch of the dead is unbearably cold. His blood had frozen in his veins, his heart stopped mid-beat. His eyes stared blankly ahead and frost covered his face. I reached down to take his soul, but found it just a frozen as the rest of him. It would not budge. The mystifying gold-and-blue light sprang forth once again, engulfing my hands where they gripped Merlin's soul. The light was warm and pure, filled with love and loyalty. It was then that I realized what it must be: Merlin's magic. The light entered his chest and began to thaw the ice. Slowly, like an icicle in the sun, the ice melted, his heart began to beat weakly, and his breath returned, though it was almost imperceptible. His skin remained deathly pale and his face frozen. Merlin's magic had kept me at bay, but it could do no more. The Dorocha's touch was too powerful.
Once the Dorocha had vanished, the knights and Arthur rushed to Merlin's side. Arthur dropped to his knees and gingerly turned over Merlin's limp body. One look at Merlin's unseeing eyes, and Arthur began to plead, hoping against hope that Merlin was not dead. (I hate it when you plead. Your cries fall on deaf ears, for I do not change my mind. Merlin, however, was different. He made up my mind for me.)
Arthur felt for a pulse in the cold neck of his manservant, but found none. Tears sprang to his eyes but he refused to let them fall. In desperation Arthur placed his head on Merlin's chest. The knights waited in tense silence. Suddenly, Arthur's head sprang up, on his face a look of sorrow with a touch of hopeful fear. He placed his head back down, holding his breath this time, listening. There. He had heard it: a faint, slow heartbeat, but a heartbeat nonetheless. Merlin still lived. With a sigh of relief, Arthur stood up, hastily wiped his eyes, and ordered his men to return to the campsite, Merlin in the arms of Sir Percival.
So Merlin had evaded me once more. I would not see him again for three years. Of course, I ended up taking the soul of brave Sir Lancelot as the sacrifice to heal the veil, but, true to form, Merlin and Arthur had escaped unscathed.
It was this meeting with Merlin that I learned the most about him. I was witness to his undying loyalty to Arthur. Merlin was willing to sacrifice anything, including his own life, to save the prince. I had seen that during the poison incident, but there was no doubt in my mind after the Dorocha attack. Merlin and Arthur were inseparable; two sides of the same coin, indeed.
But the greatest revelation of all was Arthur's obvious love for his manservant, a love which he had previously hidden behind an uncaring façade. (I tend to crumble the walls you humans build around your hearts. You do not have as much time as you think.) I could see now that Arthur and Merlin would fulfill their destiny, no matter what. They would need that unbreakable bond between them to face the endless trials that the future would bring.
Merlin and Arthur will face new danger in the same way they faced the Dorocha: together. They will overcome their darkest hour and the new day of Albion will dawn, and their coin will shine brighter than ever.