A/N: Ah, sorry this took forever to get up. I wrote it and re-wrote it and re-wrote it until I finally settled on something I kind of liked. The premise is based on the idea that Merlin had to be to some degree lucid while Arthur was on his quest. He knew what was going on, even if he didn't remember knowing. So I rolled with that and finally hatched out a Ghost!Merlin fic that's at least acceptable. I wanted to finish the whole scene on Merlin saying his farewells to Gaius, but I thought the ending that developed as Arthur left the cave felt more organic.
Series 1, Episode 4 "The Poisoned Chalice" missing scene:
1. The majority of the episode from an ethereal Merlin's point of view.
"I'm fine, really," Merlin said shakily, staring up into the face of his master. He'd never seen Arthur look upon him with such deep... concern? The thought was unsettling. A commotion rose about them, swords being drawn, curses flying from either side of the room. Gwen and Gaius were suddenly at Merlin's side as well, each equally as etched with worry.
"Merlin. Can you hear me?" Gaius asked, reaching for his ward.
"Gaius, I'm-"
"We have to get him back to my chambers. Bring the goblet. I need to identify the poison."
"Wha-?" Merlin asked propping himself up on his elbows, feeling entirely disoriented. And then his world did a slight flip as he watched the prince lift his body - his body. "Oh that is just not right," Merlin said as Arthur raced out of the room behind Gaius and Gwen, his limp form slung over his master's shoulder. Merlin's mind raced, trying to piece together what had just happened. He had drank the wine from Bayard's poisoned chalice. The wine meant for Arthur. And it had been fine. Hadn't it? No, Merlin thought in alarm. But it hadn't. The memory of fire in his throat returned, a suffocating burning sensation that had taken his feet out from under him. He had crashed to the floor, and it wasn't until the cold stone raced up to meet him that he felt a sudden release, relief.
"Oh no," the young warlock whispered, sitting and staring down at his translucent form. "No, no, no." All around him Bayard and his men were being led at sword point from the banquet hall. The world had taken on a soft and hazy edge. Shouts and curses flew freely between both parties, but their words were distant, muffled. Merlin would've had to strain to understand them, but he could not bring himself to focus on them. He could barely focus on anything save one thought that resonated deep within whatever spirited form of himself he now possessed: he was dead.
"This isn't right," he said, hands going to his hair in frustration. Surely he should've had time. Gaius should've had time. He knew his chances weren't guaranteed, but he should've still had a chance. Gaius. Gaius would never forgive him. What had he done? Saved Arthur. Fulfilled his destiny... Some destiny, he thought bitterly.
He took in a ragged breath. Wait, no. The dead didn't breathe. But he had felt it, if only for a moment, a painful rasp as his chest tried with difficulty to fill with air. The room swam, a sea of blues and reds, his lungs - his lungs wheezing in desperation. And then he fell into a deep black... nothingness.
"... he's struggling to breathe. Gwen, fetch me some water and a towel." Merlin moaned, his lungs whining, chest burning as Gaius' words washed over him. It took him entirely too long and entirely too much focus to process the conversation that ensued, his mind fighting to recall what was happening.
"Is he going to be alright?" Arthur... worried?
"He's burning up." Gaius. No wonder. The room was blisteringly hot.
"You can cure him, can't you Gaius?" Ah Gwen, not you too.
"I wont know until I can identify the poison." Merlin's eye's shot open. Poison. The fire in his chest receded, replaced by the burn of his memories boring back into his skull. He had been poisoned. He had died. He was dead. How could he have forgotten that? Focus Merlin, he berated himself, there was something in the words he had just heard that should be clicking. The young warlock sprung to his feet with disconcerting grace. The room had the same soft hazy edge as the banquet hall, as if he was surrounded in a heavy mist. The blurred figures of Gaius and Arthur stood hovering over something, but his attention was drawn to Gwen. The young serving girl seemed somehow small, her shoulders hunched over the patient's cot, a moist cloth in hand. Merlin stepped slowly out from behind her, eyes drawn to the figure she was attending too, and suddenly the words clicked: struggling to breathe... burning up... cure him... words that did not describe a dead man.
Merlin let out a little whoop of joy, throwing his hands in the air triumphantly. Not dead! Dying, by the looks of it, and not pleasantly either. But he wasn't there yet. He looked around, a grin plastered to his face, half expecting to be met with the same elation that currently flowed through him. Instead the room was all the more somber, Gaius and Arthur still hovering over something, having a terse conversation.
"Arthur, it's too dangerous," the elder man said plainly.
"If I don't get the antidote, what happens to Merlin?" Arthur asked, brow furrowed.
"The Mortaeus induces a slow and painful death," Gaius said gravely. "He may hold out of four, maybe five days. But not much longer." The physician seemed to age considerably as he weighed his next words. "Eventually he will die." The prince merely nodded, a look of determination in his eyes, before turning to leave the room.
"Arthur?" Merlin and Gwen said in unison, but he was already closing the door behind him. "Gaius," Gwen continued, Merlin still silently deliberating. "What's happening? Where's he going?"
"To find the antidote," Gaius said. There was a darkness in his eyes that Gwen didn't see - but Merlin did. Arthur was throwing himself in harms way, and for Merlin's sake. After he had just done the same for Arthur. The hair on the back of his neck bristled in anger. That royal prat. What good was Merlin's sacrifice, if Arthur was bent on getting himself killed anyway? Before he knew what he was doing, the young warlock began half running, half gliding after his master. He reached a hand towards the door, only to feel his arm slide through with a sickening, sinking feeling. He jerked his hand back, cradling it in surprise.
"Right. That," Merlin mused, glancing down once more at his ghostly figure. He made a mental note to ponder more deeply about his current predicament later, but pushed the thought aside for now, bracing himself instead. With an effort of will he forced his body through the very solid wooden door. A feeling of being dragged through a deep, icy undercurrent washed over him until, with a small pop, he found himself on the other side, entirely whole - or at least figuratively so. He was on the prince's heels in mere seconds - though whether he'd been carried by a surreal speed or simply just appeared there evaded him. Merlin shook his head, the disorientation returning.
"Arthur," he spat. "Arthur stop!" But the prince wasn't listening... typical. "For once in your life would you just swallow that arrogant, pompous pride of yours and listen to me!" Merlin thought he saw a twitch of hesitation in his master's step, and then Arthur did it. He stopped. Hope filled Merlin's chest - had he heard him? "Right," Merlin pressed on, desperate for his words to make any kind of impression on the prince. "Whatever you think you're doing, whatever plan you've got brewing in that thick head - please," he rasped, "don't do it. Arthur, I'm not worth it. Camelot needs you. It's..." he hesitated, realizing he was condemning himself with each passing word. "It's alright." His throat felt raw with emotion. "It'll be alright."
The prince rubbed an anxious hand over his forehead, shoulder's hunched, his other hand on his hip. He took a long steady breath, the looked up. Determination still blazed behind those blue eyes. He pushed open the door in front of him. "Father."
Merlin's heart sunk. The hesitation had not been for him.
"Ah, Arthur. Walk with me," Uther replied, appearing suddenly in the hallway. "Any news on your serving boy?"
"No change," Arthur replied. "Gaius fears he will not survive the week without the antidote." The king paused for a moment, sizing up his son.
"That is unfortunate," he replied, but there was little feeling behind the words. Merlin trailed behind the two, but his focus on their words was quickly fading. The rawness in his throat dug deeper, clawing at his insides.
"Father, the antidote is in the Forest of Balor," Arthur rushed. "He doesn't have to die. With your permission, I would like to-"
"No," Uther said firmly. Merlin sagged with relief, or perhaps it was the pain, he wasn't sure. The king and prince faded from his vision, and the young warlock whimpered involuntarily as the burning reignited. Focus, he thought desperately. His mind fought to find something to keep him afloat, finally settling on Arthur's face. He tried to breathe deeply and calm down. Uther would never allow the prince to risk his life for him. It was a comforting thought, though Merlin doubted it would be enough to stop his master. He'd seen the look; it was embedded in his mind. He winced and curled inward. The darkness was going to drag him under again, he couldn't let it disorientate him. When he woke up - if he woke up, he needed to be ready to act. There was a reason he was separated from his body; he still needed to protect Arthur. Remember, he pleaded with himself. Arthur. Forest of Balor. Protect. Arthur. The words became a mantra in his head as the world rolled viciously around him and pulled him under.
Arthur.
Words floated above him, too vague and distant to grasp, his head pounding in protest.
Forest of Balor.
There was something pleasantly moist being pulled softly against his skin. He fought the urge to let it lull him back into a slumber.
Protect.
A hand squeezed his reassuringly. There was comfort. Why was he fighting this? Rest, he should just rest.
Arthur.
"Arthur... Arthur," the words slipped out in delirium, but there was an urgency to them. A truth he was missing. Arthur. Forest of Balor. Protect... Arthur? Fight it Merlin, and with an immense effort he pulled himself free of the pain. He slumped to his knees beside the patient bed, exhausted and weak. He would not be able to keep doing this for long. It was okay; there was just one thing left to do: protect Arthur.
Merlin's ghostly body carried him with alarming speed and assurity. The castle grounds flew away from him before he had hardly committed himself to a course. He ignored the constant icy sensation of drowning that hit him every time he passed through any tangible objects. A field glided beneath him, giving way to a tangle of trees that passed through his vision so quickly that they were little more than tall blurs. And then the world stopped mid-flight. Merlin lurched forward, thrown off balance by the sudden loss of momentum. He toppled to the ground directly behind Arthur. A sigh of relief escaped him; Arthur appeared to be completely unscathed.
Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps Arthur didn't need saving. A slender figure moved through the warlock's kneeling form; he grimaced in displeasure before considering the woman that stood before him. He could tell, even from behind, that she was in rough shape. Her garments hung haggard from her body, her arm bruised, her leg bleeding. But there was something familiar in her shapely skin, something he recognized in the beauty of her disheveled hair. Merlin was quick to his feet, maneuvering around the woman, a sense of unease in his chest.
"Cara," he gasped, recognizing the stunning face of Bayard's servant. She wore a devilish smile as she glared at the back of the prince's head. "Arthur," Merlin shouted, desperation filling his voice. "It... it's a trap." His heart sank, betrayal filling his gut. But Arthur continued onward into the mouth of a looming cave. "It's a trap," Merlin repeated frantically, rushing to his master's side. But Arthur marched on, completely oblivious. "Arthur you dollop head, listen to me! You've got to go back," Merlin pleaded. But his words held no weight. Arthur just kept walking closer to his demise.
Merlin's hands went to his hair, biting his lip. He closed his eyes, reaching for his magic. He wasn't even sure it could be reached in this state, but he had to do something. He had to try. "Eft gewunigen wilgesiþas, þonne wig cume," he bellowed, holding his hand out to Cara. He waited a moment and... nothing. A scream tore through his chest in frustration. He was helpless, utterly useless. All he could to was watch as the pair wove deeper into the cave, muttering desperate unheard pleas along the way.
All he could do was watch as Arthur stepped precariously close to the edge of a deep, unforgiving pit.
All he could do was watch as Cara began chanting the language of magic, his language.
And all he could do was watch, as the stone Arthur stood upon gave way, leaving the young prince hanging unsteadily from the other side.
Merlin's vision darkened, the pain returning. He vaguely noted that he was floating towards Arthur, an exchange occurring between the prince and serving girl, a quick battle between Arthur and an arachnid, a stream of blurs. No, he thought desperately, feeling his senses dull, not yet. The young warlock focused his attention, he would not - could not abandon Arthur.
The prince clung to the side of the cliff. What little light they had had from Cara's torch long gone with her. "Arthur, it's too dark," Merlin muttered weakly. He nit his brow, a sudden surge of familiar warmth flowing through him, numbing the pain. "Too dark..." he trailed off and lifted his hand, focusing with what ever little concentration was left to him. "Fromum feohgiftum on fæder bearme. Fromum feohgiftum." He felt the fire in his eyes as the magic leaped from his body. A beautiful ball of glowing blue light danced at his finger tips. Merlin couldn't help but smile, a small tear rolling down his cheek.
"Come on then. What are you waiting for? Finish me off!" Arthur cried at Merlin's little happy orb.
"Shut up and climb, clotpole," Merlin replied, and for once the prince listened. It was as Arthur was finally stable on the far ledge that Merlin began to notice the shuffle of a thousand feet racing towards them. He rolled his eyes, clutching vaguely at his chest. "Of course."
Arthur stood, eyes darting between the light that led upward and the flower he had come for.
"Leave them, Arthur," Merlin panted. He had a sinking feeling it was too late anyway, and there simply wasn't time between Merlin's fading strength and the onslaught of arachnids heading their way. "Go!" Merlin demanded. "Save yourself. Follow the light." He was slipping, he could feel it, falling slowly into the deep abyss below. He feared there would be no waking this time. Arthur stubbornly reached for the flower before following Merlin's commands.
"Faster," Merlin whispered, the arachnids flying past him as he floated further. "Go faster. Follow the light!" Arthur climbed up the side of the cave with impressive speed, but it wasn't enough. The spiders were almost upon him and Merlin barely had the will to keep the light lit. "Move!" he cried. "Climb!" And suddenly Arthur and the light disappeared from view. Merlin's heart caught in his chest for a moment, before he realized the arachnids were retreating. Arthur had made it. He had done it.
The warlock closed his eyes, beyond exhaustion. There was pain on some level, but he barely noted it. For far more overwhelming than the pain, there was peace. Merlin held out his arms to let the depth take him. The world rolled, but gently this time, as if swaddling him like a babe. He convulsed slightly, his breath catching in his chest, but the darkness held him tighter. He imagined his mother holding him, and her soft hum soothed his ears as he fought to fill his lungs. He sagged deeply into her arms and whispered a little, "Thank you," before letting go completely.