A/N: Hooooooly shit okay so this is the kind of chapter length I've been wanting to have for my last couple of ones. I put a lot in here but only because I jumped around a lot and it's kind of daunting for a reader.
But like. Yeah. I wanted to note that some unclear things here will be made clear later. That's the plan, anyway.
Clouds surrounded all of Albion, shrouding the true time of day in mystery and capturing the gloom of the morning.
It looked as if the sky would begin sobbing at any moment, as if the Earth itself was mourning. The air was humid and sorrowful, hot and melancholy. The land and trees were painted a grey, original colors diluted. Nature knew what it had lost that day.
Out in the woods, it was quiet.
Leaned against a trunk had been the world's greatest sorcerer. Merlin could still feel the tears staining his cheeks.
Kilgharrah was long gone, Arthur's empty body having already disappeared into the distance of the water. The dragon's furious words echoed within his head, pounding against his skull. Merlin slumped over, sliding to rest himself.
"You have shifted fate as no man has before," was a statement Merlin might have in some circumstances considered positive, yet the enormous beast towered over him threateningly and gave a whole new meaning to the words. "Should you prove unable to right your wrong, the world around you shall collapse! You must first and foremost undo your actions, young warlock. Otherwise..."
He'd made a mistake.
Merlin had made a grave mistake.
One side of him argued that he'd done it on accident. He hadn't meant to alter the balance of the world, to cast such a dangerous spell. He'd just been so desperate to keep Arthur alive that, at such point, he would have done anything.
And anything, he evidently did.
It wasn't as if he'd done the magic on purpose. Yes, Merlin learned to more or less control his magic throughout his years, but he couldn't say that he'd perfected it.
He imagined more than once that his lack of personal control would be his downfall, but the way in which he assumed it would happen would have been through a misuse in front of someone who would turn him in, or who would directly have him killed.
Even directly after Arthur's soul passed, he hadn't realized what he'd done. Only after Kilgharrah told him did he realize the gravity of the situation. In a last attempt to save his king, he'd used a type of magic he'd purposefully avoided using in the past.
Time magic.
He had, in a sense, sent Arthur back in time. Or, at the very least, his spirit. That much, Merlin could understand.
A sorcerer was not meant to change the course of history so dramatically. Out of curiosity, Merlin had often researched magic regarding time travel and control, the type that many a warlock had been either unable to use or too afraid to use. He knew the repercussions, the issues that could arise from such abilities, yet he did so anyway. Could that have been his fault, really?
For a time, magic was all he had.
And then...
Arthur's soul was somewhere in time, altering the events of the past, no doubt. He must have felt lost, disoriented, because Merlin knew that the king had died, felt the last breath he took, saw the life leave his eyes and his lips still. It was the most agonizing event for Merlin to have been forced to watch, to see in close detail how he'd failed, how he'd lost the one most important to him.
How could the sorcerer put back together what he'd broken? There seemed no hope. He hadn't even known when he'd sent Arthur back to.
Merlin's very essence was magic. He could sense the equilibrium of the world around him shifting.
"Father, you have it wrong," there was Arthur's voice, somewhere in the back of his mind, somewhere within his memories. "I saw the man drop the dagger himself. I saw him. Merlin has no magic, you know this."
Where had that come from?
He jerked his head up and thought back, new memories forming alongside those which he knew were true. It was happening so quickly, much more quickly than he'd ever expected. Merlin thought he may have had a bit of time to fix his problem, but it seemed that the results of his actions were hitting him straight away, not giving him the time to rest, to think.
It sent him in a state of panic, and he concentrated on his breathing for a moment before recollecting his thoughts.
Merlin knew only one thing, and knew it well.
He had to fix the problem he'd created.
Somewhere along the lines, Arthur had made a mistake.
The festivities had gone just as he'd remembered, him avoiding his wine all the while. As the night went on, he began getting increasingly anxious, tapping his fingers impatiently against the wooden table and being unable to focus entirely when he'd been asked questions or talked to. Some things, he could remember his responses to from when it had happened before. Others had slipped his mind completely.
Much like his other birthdays, noble women throughout the land spoke mostly to him, wondering about his life and his kingdom, lacking subtlety in their attempts at gauging whether he'd been marriage material. He ignored them, and attempted to ignore the obvious look of jealousy from Guinevere, as well as the amused expression of Merlin.
It was strange how Merlin had been against his romantic attempts with those other than Gwen. As if he'd known from the very beginning just how much he'd cared for her, how much he couldn't live without her.
The fact that his manservant had so determined to set the two up was something Arthur had been rather grateful for. Even disregarding his love for Gwen, he knew that she'd made a wonderful and caring queen. She connected with the people, knew their stories, gave them hope in a way he couldn't imagine any other queen or even any other royal leader had.
There was a remarkable way she'd been able to talk with others. She had a specific type of face, a certain look which could seemingly understand anyone. Guinevere had the capacity and intent to love and care for many. That had caused many an issue in their relationship, no matter how Arthur admired it.
Perhaps the trait was a double-edged sword.
His mistake, however, had nothing to do with that.
After a few hours - Arthur didn't know exactly how long, dizzy as he was - he started to realize his speech running together and his mind becoming dark and vacant, as well as a dulling of both his emotions and senses, and a sudden urge to fall asleep on his chair. His eyelids were falling at a slower and heavier pace than usual and the light of the room's candles strained his vision.
The apple.
Of course it had been the apple. How could Arthur have been so stupid as to accept any sort of food, suspicious in nature or not, from a known enemy? The fruit must have had a sort of sedative, or the knife which embedded it previously did.
His plan would be ruined, he realized as he stepped through the door to his room. Arthur couldn't fight off a murderer in that state. He knew he couldn't because he'd tried and failed to do so before. No, he thought despairingly. History just couldn't repeat itself. He wouldn't allow it. He'd defied his own fate, aided in Lancelot defying his, and he knew he could do the same for his father.
Arthur's glazed over eyes locked with Merlin's. Something escaped the other's mouth, something claiming him to have been drunk. It didn't get through far enough to be truly heard.
He knew of one solution only, and the repercussions of such did not pass through his mind enough to convince him of otherwise. Arthur needed help. He needed to stop his father from being murdered. But he knew that he couldn't do it himself. Not in that state.
As he stared at Merlin, he began to realize what had to be done.
If Arthur were a better, or perhaps more intelligent person, he would have found it within himself to explain his situation to Merlin. Or, if he weren't so heavy in the head from the drug he'd been slipped. All he could made out from his unorganized thoughts was that he'd needed to have some sort of backup, someone who could halt his father's demise at any cost.
"Merlin," he started, leaning himself against the bed frame and trying not to slur his words. It proved difficult for him to stop seeing the world as if it were spinning - hah, spinning, it seemed as though the joke was truly on him - and he felt his head rocking back and forth. "I need you to - to come with me to see my father."
His manservant stared strangely at him, eyebrow raised.
At first, he'd expected his servant to question him, but all he'd received was an amused smile. "...Not much of a surprise you'd need someone with you like this. Though, you probably should put all of your clothes on before walking around the castle."
Arthur had never been so grateful to have forgotten his trousers.
Their walk to his father's room was something of a blur.
He couldn't bear thinking of what would happen, should his plan fail. It was hard to imagine having to lose his father a second time, to hold Uther in his arms as the man died yet again, and wondered briefly why Merlin would have done something so cruel as to send him back at that moment, just before two of the most prominent tragedies in his life.
It convinced him even further that it had to have been a mistake, that something went wrong, because to consider that Merlin would purposefully put him through all of that was more than unbearable.
As he swayed slightly, his shoulder brushed against Merlin's, and he pulled away.
He took a seat beside his sleeping father and smiled softly. He'd hoped that it wasn't the last day he'd see that peaceful expression.
"Servant boy," a quiet voice behind him caused a hitch in Arthur's breath, "if you are keen on living, you will remain where you are."
And just as it had happened before, Arthur turned around, jaggedly attempting to defend himself as the warlock looked on in abject horror. There were moments in their exchange that Arthur could see him wanting to do something, to possibly cast a spell or to physically push him out of the way of the attacker. Arthur couldn't keep track of his own movements.
At least, not until he was thrown to the ground. Just as he'd done before, Uther stepped in the way, his own sword brandished and blocking the blow that may have otherwise killed the once and future king.
He lied on the ground, coming up to his knees and witnessing the repeated events as if they were rehearsed.
In the corner of his eye stood his distressed manservant.
This was the reason Arthur had Merlin go with him in the first place.
The former king of Camelot stared pleadingly at the warlock, overcome with trepidation, eyes distraught and matching the other's anxiety. He knew that Merlin would be fearful of doing anything rash, especially at that point, but Arthur himself was unable to stop it. Merlin had to do something, whether or not it involved magic, and Arthur could handle whatever came after.
Or, that was how he'd felt at the time.
Their gazes met. A look that Arthur wouldn't remember passed between them.
Something like resignation overtook Merlin's face as he pressed his lips together and turned away.
On the ground, the Gleeman held up a dagger as Uther prepared to finish him with a sword. Arthur's eyes were trained on the sorcerer, whose own briefly shone a breathtaking gold, something he'd vaguely recognized, and his lips moved to speak a likely ancient language. The smaller blade seemed to be thrust from the perpetrator's hand, flying unnaturally through the air and landing several feet away.
It dropped to the hard floor with a clank, and before the shock could register on either the two's faces, Uther struck the fallen and failed killer.
He hadn't waited for the life in the Gleeman's eyes to leave, and turned around in - Arthur had seen that look before - betrayal, shock, and wrath. All directed at Merlin, who almost appeared to have already accepted his fate.
"Sorcerer," the king whispered, voice hoarse and lips tense as if he'd swallowed a bottle full of poison. "You...are a sorcerer. You used magic!"
The other hadn't responded, probably didn't know how to respond in the face of an angry king; well, an angry one he hadn't known for years personally and hadn't called a prat on more than one occasion. Uther was about to call for the guards, he was sure of it, and he'd actually felt thankful, if only for a moment, that the Gleeman knocked them out.
Arthur stood, attempting to regain his balance as well as he could, and pushed himself between his father and manservant.
He had to think of something.
The accusations kept coming, louder in tone, as Uther attempted to push his son out of the way and get directly at Merlin. "You forced the dagger from his hand! Magic, at the heart of Camelot, I will have your head for this - !"
With one look at his manservant, at his best friend, one fixed gaze at the terror and hopelessness, Arthur knew of the only solution.
Walking to the Crystal Cave was something of a blur.
It had been the only area which Merlin thought could provide some level of solitude, as well as insight. He'd received visions of the future there before, had encountered a spirit in the form of his deceased father, and he hoped that the cave could allow him time to think and mull over his decisions, or if it could give him the answer of how to fix what he'd done.
If it couldn't, well...
He wasn't entirely sure of what he would do. It seemed his last resort.
The memories kept appearing out of nowhere, in no particular order. He'd remember something, then get an entirely new memory of the exact same time, only with differing events or words exchanged.
It was because of Arthur, because Merlin had sent him back into the past.
As he walked, he took note of various sharp protrusions from the ground, some lying seemlessly. They nearly looked like daggers.
It felt as if his head was splitting open, like he was becoming a completely different person, or like he was genuinely going mad. Not the type of 'mad' that nearly everyone assumed him as, but the real kind. It'd been daunting and unnerving. He couldn't blame his king, not really, as it wasn't exactly his fault. No, it was absolutely Merlin's fault, and he was then paying the price.
He'd wondered for a moment if entering the caves had been an entirely sound idea, as just a few minutes into his trek through the darkened area, he began to hear people speaking. Some were him, some were others, but all were those he'd known.
They were much like the memories, though clearer, harder to push away.
"You have to marry Guinevere."
The words came in his own voice. Had he said that before? No, he didn't remember where that had come from, what spurred him to say something like that. He'd sounded angry and demanding, as if Arthur - he assumed that he'd been speaking to Arthur, at least - were arguing with him on whether to marry Gwen or not. Yet, how could that have been?
Arthur had already married Gwen. It was highly unlikely that he'd have suddenly changed his mind. Merlin blamed it on the cave tricking him and moved on.
It was hard to tell what was a product of his own memory altering and what was of the power coming from the crystals.
An image of Lancelot flashed before his eyes. "I've seen how you two are acting around each other," he didn't know which two the knight was referring to, but still listened in. "We can't fail this mission over a quarrel between friends - I'm going into the temple, as well."
Those were definitely never words spoken by the bloodied warrior. Merlin began to wonder if this were truly visions of the past, or false visions of the future. He shook it off as best he could and continued forward. The deeper he went into the cave, the more vivid the hallucinations became. He'd wondered if that was the cave itself, or his magic interacting with it.
He decided that in the end, it didn't matter. His figure reflected on the sharp crystals throughout the dark cavern. It seemed almost alive, and despite that, he felt entirely alone.
One last voice came - this time, sounding like Arthur's.
"Merlin, I love you."
Both his body and his mind stopped on their tracks.
A minute passed, then another. Merlin stayed put and the voices got much quieter, the magic halting in place alongside him.
What had that been about? When had that happened? When would it happen?
It sounded so heartfelt, sent affection throughout him, but it was nothing like how Arthur had normally been. Arthur, of all people, wouldn't have said that to him. He had no idea of why the king would have said that, or when, or even if he did. Again, he thought as logically as possible. Was that the cave's way of trying to confuse him further? If that was the intent, it certainly succeeded.
Then again, the imagined voice actually served to calm him, in a sense. He attempted to ward away the rest of the hallucinations, outright ignoring the ones he'd been unable to stop.
Perhaps it was due to his mind being so vulnerable at the time. He'd only just lost the one most important to him, his absolute best and most cherished friend, and that may have affected his magic and, in turn, its interactions with the cave. That seemed to make the most sense, and certainly explained why the forced visions and words were weighing down on him so heavily.
Eventually, he'd come to a clearing, and began to recognize the faint sound of running water. The cave no longer was suffocating and instead filled him with a strange sense of freedom, of tranquility.
The peace came to a rapid end, however.
Surrounded by the clear formations ahead, there stood Arthur.
"Father, you have it wrong," Arthur stood confidently in front of his friend, staring at his father with what he'd hoped appeared as pity and determination. "I saw the man throw the dagger himself. I saw him. Merlin has no magic, you know this."
He'd attempted to sound as reasonable as possible, as though the very idea of accusing Merlin of being a sorcerer was ludicrous, yet he had no idea of what actions Uther would take. The way in which the warlock had used his magic made what had happened undeniable, at least from Arthur's angle, but he hoped that his explanation was a bit more believable for his father, who had his back turned at the time.
Arthur didn't want to turn around and see how his manservant had reacted.
"I heard him!" the booming voice of Uther responded. "He spoke only as sorcerers speak!"
The prince shook his head and placed a hand on his father's shoulder, trying to seem as concerned and as logical as he could.
All the while, Merlin remained with his mouth closed, possibly in shock at either Uther's rage or Arthur's insistence, or at both. He felt grateful. Though he knew that Merlin wasn't stupid - which wasn't something he'd have liked admitting before - he also knew that the sorcerer at that moment had no idea of what could spark this defensiveness in the prince.
He'd known that Arthur saw him use magic. There wasn't any doubt about that. He must have been beyond puzzled.
Arthur spoke lowly and nodded in understanding. "...You know what you know, father. If what you believe you saw and heard is indeed true, we should punish him thoroughly," the words seemed to calm Uther down slightly, and the prince continued. "But the festivities of tonight should not be interrupted by matters of court. A proper investigation should be held next morning."
They stood silently for a moment, the former king not having a real idea of what Uther may do. He'd always been something of a wild card in how he reacted to everything, especially concerning magic. However, he knew that he had the advantage of it being his birthday, childish as it was.
"This is true," Uther said slowly, hatred never leaving his eyes as he focused on Merlin. "Escort him to the dungeon. We will have a fit trial when the sun rises, but for the time being, I want him out of my sight."
Willing himself not to breathe a sigh of relief, the prince nodded and turned, finally getting a look at the warlock's horrified and lost face. It was almost laughable, and Arthur took Merlin by the arm, being a little more forceful than usual as they both hurried out of the king's chambers. Merlin seemed too out of it to resist, not that Arthur expected him to in the first place. His eyes were stuck on the prince's.
One last look behind him showed his father, sitting unreadable with a hand holding his head.
It seemed that once they both reached beneath Camelot's castle walls, the sorcerer found his voice.
"Arthur," Merlin's weak voice reverberated against the stone walls. "You saw me. You - you saw - "
He was cut off by a heavy sigh from the then-prince, who turned to look Merlin in the eyes. "The fact that you saved my father's life matters not to him. You could prevent all of Camelot from devastation using magic, which," he paused and got a distant glaze in his eyes, taking a breath in faint realization, "you...all things considered, likely have done before, and it would make no difference to him."
The two were stopped at one of the cell doors. The prince's words evidently stunned Merlin to near silence. "You...you've," he cut himself off, eyes glimmering as if he were about to cry, and Arthur nearly rolled his eyes as his stomach and frown dropped even further.
"We can talk about this later, Merlin," he said dismissively. "Understand that my father will go to any lengths to ensure your execution. I will...I will speak with Gaius before the sun rises and we will ensure that no harm should come to you."
How exactly they were to do that, Arthur had no idea, though he assumed that the physician would know the answer. He'd truly been the prince's only hope by that point and, in turn, also Merlin's. They had to come up with something - anything which would convince his father that he'd been wrong in what he'd seen, or at least to convince the people of Camelot.
Apparently, his reassuring words worked, and the sorcerer nodded after moments of internal conflict. He likely had a thousand things to say, countless worries to express, but it had already gotten late and Arthur was still feeling the effects of the sedative.
"You know," Merlin said evenly and quietly. "You know that I have magic."
It sounded almost like a question, but not quite. Like a sort of clarification, more than anything else. Arthur paused. He hadn't been very clear in his wording, he had to admit, and his manservant would worry himself to death if he hadn't known for sure.
"Yes," he replied. "I know."
Not knowing what was to come sent a sort of unease in Arthur.
It wasn't as if he'd been in the past for long, but up until that point, it was simply a reliving of what had already happened to him. Everything was going just as he'd remembered, with only the slightest bit of alterations. Then, he had to go and mess everything up by forcing his manservant, best friend, and undercover sorcerer to save his father's life using magic.
...That wasn't a thought he'd ever expected to have.
Arthur awoke exceptionally early, just as the light of the sky was barely beginning to show. He figured that Gaius would by then be up, judging from how early Merlin seemed used to waking. His suspicions were proven correct after he knocked at the wooden door.
"Come in," came the voice of the old physician.
Gaius had been surprised, yet not immediately concerned. Instead, he'd almost looked relieved. "Prince Arthur," he greeted formally. "Have you seen Merlin? He failed to return home last night."
Immediately, Arthur's throat went dry. He hadn't wanted to be the one to break the news to Gaius and expected that, as the one who was officially the advisor and closest person to the warlock, the king may have already sent for someone to interrogate him. That didn't seem the case - at least, not thus far - and it sent his previously collected thoughts into a whirl again.
He swallowed and momentarily closed his eyes, then opened them.
"I presume that you have not yet been informed of what happened to him, then," was the first thing out of his mouth.
Perhaps that had not been Arthur's best choice of words, as Gaius immediately responded in alarm, "Something happened to him?"
The former king felt deeply grateful for the physician. Without him, he could imagine that Merlin would be lacking one of the only people who could truly understand him. He'd have been without possibly his biggest and most crucial emotional support. At least, that was what Arthur assumed, and it filled him with a small bit of guilt. He pushed the feeling away.
"He is unharmed," Arthur said quickly. "Though, he is being kept in the dungeons beneath Camelot for the time being. Very soon, Merlin will be placed on trial for being a sorcerer and using magic in the presence of the king."
"...Surely, this is absurd," the physician replied in shock, loyal mentor he was.
Attempting to assure Gaius of his side on the matter, Arthur huffed and softened his gaze. "I know," he responded, exasperated, and the physician's brows twitched in dubiety. "That is what I tried to tell my father. I saw the entire scene, Gaius. I plan to try as hard as I possibly can to convince him that it wasn't magic. But, well...you know my father."
Nearly all of the agitation on the older man's face disappeared at that as he nodded.
"In fact, the fact that you do know my father was one reason that you were the first I approached about this," Arthur confessed suddenly. "I came to you because I knew that of all the people in Camelot, I would need your help in convincing him of Merlin's innocence. He may listen to reason if it comes from you, and I have my doubts that Merlin himself would be much help in this situation."
"Sire," Gaius stated lowly, "I believe Merlin is much more capable than you give him credit for."
There it was. That vague praise, the words that didn't seem to make sense because Arthur had been given no context, no level of understanding, no necessary information. It was like a joke - one he'd never been in on. And now that he knew those implications, now that he was told the story leading up to the punchline, it lost any ability it had to be funny in the first place.
Suddenly, the words, 'greatest sorcerer to ever walk the Earth,' popped into his mind.
He rolled his eyes so hard it hurt before responding, "You'll find that I'm very aware of how capable Merlin is, Gaius."
It wasn't even Merlin's capability that had been on his mind; he knew then how the sorcerer was more than competent, probably even to an extent larger than some of his noblemen. It was the fact that Merlin - this version of Merlin, to be exact - had no clue of the true enormity of the circumstances, and that Arthur had no idea of how to bring it up or tell him.
Then again, well, that was Arthur's own fault.
The older man raised an eyebrow in a skeptical manner. "If you're sure of that, Sire."
Of course he wouldn't believe Arthur. That wasn't something he should have found shocking, as he had yet to explain his situation, or even the fact that he knew of Merlin's magic. In the eyes of Gaius, he was just as blind to the truth as he'd been before. He had to convince the man of how wrong that was, of just how much Arthur really did know.
An almost bemused look fell upon the former king's face as he lowered his voice.
"...Allow me to explain myself in full."
A sharp wound echoed through Merlin's chest as he came face-to-face with Arthur's apparition.
He paid no mind to the crystal shards lying below him, the blade-like rocks as the cavern's decor.
His knees fell weak and he stared up into the face of his slowly approaching friend. As the spirit stepped closer, almost hovering forward, he seemed to stare with the intensity of a million lifetimes. Though he hadn't said anything, there was so much to be felt, the deep connection resonating within Merlin. The sorcerer reached out instinctively to the misty illusion, fingers stretched to grip at the king's arm.
It went right through.
"You aren't real," he said painfully, turning his head away. He knew it from the beginning to be true, yet he didn't want to believe it.
Arthur lowered both his chin and eyelids, casting an incriminating gaze upon the kneeling man. "I am as real as you imagine me to be," he spoke expectedly, then lifted a hand to brush across Merlin's cheek.
For some reason, though it felt somewhat cold, the sensation sent a warmth through him.
"Arthur," he pleaded loudly, not bothering to stand, speaking the name of the figure despite knowing it not to be true. "I've made a mistake. I know that I've made a mistake. I have to fix it. Tell me how to fix it, Arthur, please!"
He'd thought that it was the cave he'd been speaking to, but used the name of his king regardless. It felt natural to say it, natural to call the apparition by his name. It was likely a product of Merlin's own imagination and magic, after all; he doubted that it was the cave itself. He didn't make unnecessary assumptions, though, and begged for the advice, no matter what or who it was.
His king's head moved forward in a nod of acknowledgement.
"Think to my death, as harrowing as it is," the voice sounded like the once and future king's, though laced with a maturity and magnitude he'd never been able to achieve in life. "You'd sent my spirit back after it passed from its body, but only then. Why do you believe that was?"
Merlin almost lashed out, almost allowed his anger to get the better of him. How could the figure, whether it be from his own mind or not, have the time to play games with him? To give him riddles like an adult speaking to a child would? He clenched his fists and felt his headache return. "It wasn't as if I could send his body back along with his soul! He needed to be dead for the spell to work - that was what the book said!"
The Arthur in front of him hadn't seemed at all phased by the rude and hostile tone. Instead, he nodded again. "Correct. If you are to remedy your ill deed, your only option is to follow that piece once more."
At that, the sorcerer fell silent.
There wasn't an existing spell to pull anyone from any point in time, only those which sent them back.
One meaning to the cave's words stuck in his mind. The only way to fix his mistake was to do unto himself what he'd done to Arthur. Send himself back. Find Arthur's time and cease his reality-warping actions. At the very least, abandon this broken future and stick with the king from the past. He had to. It was the only way he could think that the consequences would be, at the very least, lessened.
Yet, there was only one way to accomplish that.
"You're..." he'd suddenly felt sick. "You're saying that I have to - no, there must be another way - "
He cut himself off and stared at the ground. There was no other way, he understood, and brought a hand to his forehead.
Absently, he reached for a broken crystal.
He stared at his hand through the glass-like and keen gem. He'd almost sliced his thumb open by running it against the edges and pulled his head back up, looking incredulous and hurt.
The apparition gave a sympathetic expression, bringing himself down to eye level with Merlin. It was as if he'd read Merlin's fears and his most prominent thought when he spoke. "You know the nature of the soul. You are deeply familiar with it. Once a being passes, their spirit lingers. Should you do this, you'll likely have no issues in sending your own mind back."
So many questions passed through his mind.
When would he send himself? How could he be sure of when to cast his magic? And yet, he only could bring himself to ask one thing through his deep, dry sobbing.
"...If this doesn't work?" Merlin asked shakily, nearly breaking down and wide-eyed at his imagined companion.
The fake Arthur gave no verbal response. He only smiled softly and tenderly.
Merlin knew the answer.
With a sharp jerk of his arm, he brought the shard to his collar, pulling the front down as far as he could. If he were to say he had no qualms about this, no hesitation in ending his life and pushing his own soul back to an unknown place and time, he would be lying through his teeth. In reality, he feared death more than almost anything else.
Even through all of his heartbreak, throughout all of the people he'd lost and the lives he'd taken, Merlin knew himself to be a fighter. He wouldn't give up. The only reason he'd gone through with this was that it was, technically, just another form of struggling for success.
He'd only been able to feel the blood pour from his neck for a few seconds. The hot anxiety filling his body ran cold as he fell to his side, spitting and convulsing, hands wrapped violently around his chest. Voice still intact, he used his last breath to cast the spell he'd set upon his king not long before, mouth leaking red all the while. His eyes wandered throughout the cave in panic.
Their eyes met.
The last thought Merlin had was a flash of his recent failures, of his immense disappointment. He thought of how he'd lost his closest friend - no, he corrected, the king was more than that, though he couldn't place in what way - and how, if this were to fail, the last thing he'd see would have been Arthur's face.
He came to the conclusion that perhaps, were killing himself not the right decision, and were he to truly pass, that giving up fighting for the first time in his life might have been just fine.