"So," Merlin says. "You called me here."
"Yes," Oblivion replies. It does not elaborate.
"Care to explain why?"
"All things come here eventually. Stars in the sky all fade into my care, just the same as fish in rivers and the waters they swim in. Even powerful warlocks and their noble kings pass into my realm and make a home here, given enough time."
"But you called me here early," Merlin says, furrowing his brows. "Do you share Achlys's beliefs?"
"Achlys," Oblivion sighs, "was told very little from the beginning and spent a long time with you. It came to its own conclusions about things and used its own methods. Not that I gave it much detail."
They're quiet for a while.
"Do you know how many gods and spirits surrounded your mother's bed at birth?" Oblivion asks.
"I assumed just the normal ones," Merlin says with a shrug.
"All gods are fond of new life," Oblivion states. "But you especially were popular. All the gods and goddesses of your particular pantheon were there, of course: the Triple Goddess, Destiny, the Fates, War… but others, too. Ancient rulers whose names only appear in one or two carvings across the whole world. Spirits of those who have passed on, whose names are still whispered at altars by odd and devoted descendents. Gods from far, far away whose followers are down to one or two believers. Creatures whose names have been nearly lost to time."
"Why?" Merlin asks. "I know I'm Emrys, but–"
"You are called Emrys," Oblivion says.
Merlin responds, voice slightly bitter, "Emrys."
"Do you know what it means?"
"Immortal," Merlin answers. He shifts slightly where he sits.
"You were only gifted the name twenty-five years ago," Oblivion muses. "It makes sense that you know not the meaning."
Merlin lifts his chin and tilts his head to the side. His eyes wander for a moment, drifting over the endless sea of empty fog.
"What does it mean, then?" Merlin asks finally. His gaze flicks back to Oblivion with sudden curiosity and scrutiny.
There is a long pause before Oblivion speaks again. "You know, young one, that names have power."
Merlin nods.
"You know that I am Oblivion," the being states.
Merlin tries to take in the being seated before him. Even in the absence of light, the thing appears to be made of something darker. The flashes of life and existence die in its all-consuming shroud.
"Names have power, Emrys," Oblivion says. "You were gifted your name by my sibling, Existence."
"Existence gave me my name?"
"Yes," Oblivion says. "Yours is a name that means witness."
Merlin blinks once, then twice. Witness. Immortal. They mean such similar and disparate things.
"You are meant to witness, Merlin," Oblivion states. And above all things, it sounds regretful. Pitying. "Your destiny is to be my sibling's champion."
"Champion," Merlin repeats.
"Yes. Humanity's greatest warrior."
"I'm meant to be a warrior?" Merlin asks.
"You already are," Oblivion points out. "But not just against magical creatures or human threats. You are humanity's champion in the fight against me."
Merlin reels. Being a child and told over and over how deadly his existence was, that had been more than enough to deal with. Just being Merlin, the peasant-turned-manservant living in Camelot while hiding a treasonous and deadly secret, that had been a lot. Being told he was Emrys, the prophesized man to help the Once and Future King unite Albion had been a lot to take in. Being told he was foretold long ago to restore magic to Camelot, that had been nearly impossible to reconcile. Being shown his king's first death, that had been unbearable.
And now this.
Champion of humanity. Against this thing before him, this nothing and everything, and told he was named by the god of every other god, by Existence itself, to combat Oblivion on behalf of humanity?
Despite the lack of a body, Merlin feels he may vomit.
Oblivion may have nodded its head, as if reading Merlin's mind. At least, Merlin gets the impression that it nods its head. It leans forward slightly, becoming with sudden eagerness closer to Merlin.
"Do you know what the true death is?" Oblivion asks.
"No," Merlin chokes.
"It is when all memory and recognition ceases," Oblivion says. "The last time a name is uttered. The final time a story is told. The true death is when every mark, every carving, every memory, of someone or something is gone. Whole worlds have escaped into me, Merlin. Everyone who ever was or ever will be becomes…"
"Oblivion," Merlin finishes.
"Yes," Oblivion replies.
"Eternal death."
"Yes."
"So why call me here?" Merlin asks. "If I will come here eventually anyway?"
"I want to offer you a choice," Oblivion says. "More than my sibling will ever offer, much less give."
"Your sibling being…?" Merlin says, the words trailing into a question.
"Why, Existence, of course," Oblivion says.
Merlin nods once, slowly.
"Existence wants me to… to witness," Merlin says. "To bear witness to humanity through immortality."
"And if you do," Oblivion says, "there is someone to remember all of it. Or, at least, much more of it than ma 's history will."
"The true death happens when your name is spoken for the last time*," Merlin murmurs.
"What I have found," Oblivion says, "is that the true death happens when the rocks erode from sand into stardust and become another world."
"Is that one of the things I am to witness?" Merlin asks. Curiosity and fear line his voice.
"Eventually," Oblivion says. "Perhaps. But that is far into the future, when even Existence is called into question. The only thing that is ever certain is me."
"You are what comes after the last person believes in and knows of Avalon," Merlin guesses.
"I am what always was and what always will be," Achlys confirms.
"Oblivion," Merlin murmurs.
"Oblivion."
They are quiet for a long time.
Then, Merlin says with a wondering tone, "You leave so much out. Both of you, you and Achlys."
"What do you mean?" Oblivion asks.
Merlin blinks a few times, slowly and in succession, before answering, "Do you really know so little of your sibling?"
"What do you mean?" Oblivion asks again.
"When you called me here," Merlin says, shifting where he sits, "did you really expect me to choose Avalon or Oblivion over Existence?"
Oblivion is quiet. Merlin takes this as an answer and leans forward just as Oblivion had done.
"You heard my conversation with Achlys, did you not?" Merlin asks. At Oblivion's answer perhaps-nod, Merlin continues, "It called itself the inverse and echo of joy."
"Yes," Oblivion agrees.
"What is sorrow without joy?" Merlin asks. "What are despair and misery without exaltation and comfort? What is death without life?"
Merlin rocks backward, taking in Oblivion fully again.
"What is Oblivion without Existence?" Merlin breathes.
Oblivion does not answer.
"You and Achlys," Merlin says slowly, "showed me the sorrow, misery, despair, and death in my life. But I remain human throughout all of that, don't I?"
"It is your curse," Oblivion argues. "To see and participate in the sorrow, misery, and despair. To witness the deaths of everyone around you and grieve as it happens."
"And it is my blessing," Merlin returns. "You showed me nothing of the joy. Nothing of the human connection that makes me grieve, of the empathy that made be sorrowful."
"You lose everyone. Your joy is shattered, your grieving makes you question the nature of humanity. Achlys may have been heavy-handed, but he is no liar. Gwaine lives because Achlys obscured the memory of your existence, Merlin. All others crumbles before the weight and despair of your witnessing."
"Does there ever come a time where I do not love? When humanity becomes a scourge, and I completely and permanently lose empathy and love and doubt?"
"You come close. The massacre of scholars and teachers in China. The slave trade. The World Wars. You witness so much misery–"
"Do I ever stop loving those around me?" Merlin presses.
Oblivion is quiet for an interminable amount of time. Then, it answers, "No."
"Do I ever stop feeling pain for others, feeling sorrow for others?"
Another pause.
"No."
"Do the dreams ever stop?"
"No."
"Do I ever forget the faces of those I have known and lost?"
"No."
"Do I ever forget their names?"
"Not as long as you live."
"Do I ever find a despair greater than my hope?"
"No."
A moment of silence.
Then, Oblivion continues, "You always find a hope greater than your despair."
Merlin nods once. Slowly.
"Witness," the warlock murmurs again.
"Witness," Oblivion responds.
"You are giving me a choice," Merlin says, repeating the being's words from earlier.
"One my sibling will never give you," Oblivion says.
"I am grateful for the choice," Merlin tells the being, looking up with wide eyes. "And I am going to choose correctly."
Oblivion gives the impression of nodding.
"What is your choice, Merlin?"
"I want to go back," Merlin says resolutely. "I want to bear witness. I want to fight against you."
"You are sure?" Oblivion asks.
"None of us can choose our destiny, Oblivion," Merlin replies wryly. "And none of us can escape it."
Oblivion may have smiled.
"Witness," Merlin repeats, his voice confident.
"Yes, young one," Oblivion replies. "Witness."
Merlin and Oblivion sit looking at each other for what may be a long time. The fog curls around them, lit by a light that does not exist. Merlin nods, confirming his choice. Oblivion inclines its head in assent.
"Go home, Merlin," Oblivion says, and it is a command and benediction in one.
Quiet. Not silence. But quiet.
It is not apparent what the quiet is against. What noise still occupies the background of the empty.
But it is there. And it is quiet.
Merlin takes a deep breath inward and realizes with sudden clarity that there is, indeed, a need to breathe.
Just next to him, someone gasps.
"Merlin?"
He would know that voice anywhere.
Merlin opens his eyes.
*this is a paraphrased quote, I believe, from David Eagleman in 'Forty Tales from the Afterlives,' where he said, "There are three deaths. The first is when the body ceases to function. The second is when the body is consigned to the grave. The third is that moment, sometime in the future, when your name is spoken for the last time."