Disclaimer: IDOM.
Chapter Four: Of Man
"The only person you are destined to become is the person you decide to be." – Ralph Waldo Emerson
In the looming darkness of the cave, Merlin stumbled, and nearly hit the boulder which appeared out of nowhere on his right. Without his magic, everything looked different. The air was cold and lifeless, and his actions more sluggish than ever. But for the first time since moving to Camelot, his heart was light as a feather. The stillness that surrounded him tried to swallow him whole, to drag him down into the pit of void, free of trouble. He walked on, and every step he took felt more surreal than the previous one. Stones turned soft, and footsteps were shallow. No need to rush, no need to choose, he just had to walk on and on and on. Why seek a destiny that doesn't weigh a thing? He himself was no more, as the sense of time and space was soon lost on him. This must be what people without magic feels every day, such serenity and peace. And if this is what dying is supposed to feel like, he mused, not too unpleasant, enjoyable even.
Something tugged on his awareness, pulling him out of his reverie. A name, his name. Someone was whispering his name. The calling bounced off and around the cave walls. A calling so deep, that it made his blood boil slightly, the mark of his birth, the dragon's call. As he rounded the corner, the path narrowed and winded upwards, and there, standing at the top of the boulders, bathed in pure white was his father, or a silhouette of him. The beard and the hair were exactly as untethered as Merlin remembered, but what nearly brought him to tears was the eyes, the ever-loving eyes that speaks so much. How he wanted nothing more than to run straight into those loving eyes of his father's, to be selflessly loved, so loved. Merlin drank in the heart-warming feeling of unity, and somehow, he felt at home.
Balinor waved him over, and held out his hand, as if to hold something precious, but paused midway. Much like Taliesin, he too possesses no physical body, a spirit wandering in the cave as he so seemed. The lack of physical contact did little to remove those loving caresses his eyes made towards the man he proudly called his son. Merlin had grown over the years, a more muscular build, more hard lines etched on the face, but the same forgiving eyes which resembled his own. Knowing your son grows and witnessing it firsthand are still different, for Balinor simply couldn't remove his gaze from Merlin's face. So much had Merlin had to endure while he watched helpless in the cave, but with suffering came knowledge and experience that none other than time can grant. Too many a times, he wished he could hold his little boy tight in the arms, away from the storm raging outside, but knew deep down that he had to let go. For who can brave the storm but the storm-braver? He would tear this destiny away from his boy's shoulders if he could, damn the destinies, damn the path that was set for him. But a part of him was secretly proud that his son was at least saved from the mindless chase for a hidden path, but towards a goal that shall come to pass. It will, Balinor thought, it must. And now destiny calls upon me to do this sacred mission, for her son, for all magical beings.
Merlin likewise couldn't tear away his gaze from his father. Never had he imagined seeing his father again after that dreadful day, oh how he wished he could make amendments then and beg for forgiveness now. The image of his father choking his last breath was vivid every time he went near that place on a patrol. It was not the fear of death, but hopelessness that drowned him. He was then incapable and weak in mind, fear of discovery, despair of his inability at healing, and the pressing tension of Kilgarrah's attack brought his mind to a holt, and he had to watch his father slowly slipped away. He had always imagined what his father would look like, a soldier maybe, out on a secret mission so secret that he couldn't return home. But those speculations were never to be brought home, for at the mere mention of it, Merlin feared for his mother's mentality. Seeing his real father in front of him for the first time shattered all hopes of self-deception. Balinor was no brave soldier, nor a man of trade, but a cynical recluse shying away from the world, and putting up walls of steel, against his own hatred and self-abnegation. Merlin was disappointed, that was moderately put, but if truth be told, he wished he had never met the man, so that his childhood fantasies could remain. It was only when the arrow pierced through Balinor's chest that something clicked in Merlin. His father was never coming back. He could only sit back and do nothing, but as the tears dropped, the part that was his imagined fantasy for his hero father was gone. His inability resulted in the passage of his father, in short, he had indirectly killed his own father. When the shock had sunk in several days later, Merlin felt years older than days ago, but lighter all the same. A mystery resolved, a lesson learnt, and a heart hardened.
This time, as Merlin wondered into Balinor's gaze, he felt more than kindred affection, but of a recognition of the soul. In some way, he was connected more to Balinor than he first met him. The strange yet warm presence engulfed him, ad even without his magic, his heart told him to trust this man before him.
Balinor softly spoke, "My son, you have come a long way, with a heart burdened as yours and a body abused. Rest and all will be well."
"Will they?" there was a slight quiver in Merlin's voice, a tired resignation that still carried a hint of doubt, "None, not even seers can promise a definite future, especially not one as physically none existent as you. I've been fooled many times in the name of destiny, by people of different kinds. Should you be but a messenger sent by the Divine in the form of my father, or be a playful nymph seeking company, I urge you to leave, for I am tired both in body and soul."
With a barely noticeable shake of his head, Balinor tried to rein in the tremors in his voices when seeing his son such traumatized. In a voice as gentle and loving as possible, he said, "Be I dead or alive? Real or imagined? Past or present? These things are of no consequence, not in the crystal cave. Here no mortal worries shall accompany you in, or have you not encountered some unwanted guests at the entrance?"
So those spirits of Nimueh and Agravaine and others are nothing but shadows of my own fears, Merlin thought. How fortunate, or how unfortunate. Am I to make amends with them and with myself, or am I still harbouring those shadows of failure? Another one of my failures so it would seem. What good does repentance do when we cannot relive it, what benefits do failures bring if we cannot correct them? Failure or not, they matter little, not in the face of time. Years gone by, and I would still relive those memories, but others wouldn't keep polishing their memories, and they would fade with time. Whatever decisions I made back then weren't important, for there exists no greater judgement than the pronouncement of birth and death.
"Stay, my son." His father's soft murmurings broke his thought, and he wanted nothing more than to comply, to rest, forever. But first, he needed to understand.
"Are you really my father, or a spirit sent by the goddesses?" Merlin ventured.
"I am who you wish me to be," Balinor answered after a small pause, "for you are more than a son of your father. You are son of the earth, the sea, the sky, magic is the fabric of this world, and you were born of that magic. Magic chose this form to stand in front of you, not because for our kinship, but it is what you wished to see at heart. Had you not felt lost and alone? Had you not questioned who you are? So magic sent me to become such a fatherly figure you need, and answer all that I can."
"So there is another reason, more than what Kilgarrah said, more than what the Druids had foreseen." To say Merlin was amazed was an overstatement, he was annoyed. He had initially wished to comb things through, and now things were running wild. A discussion of destiny and all the stuff would lead to no end, and a rest was all he needed, not another preaching. The tiredness had now seeped into his bones, he felt heavy as if clad in clay, unable to think straight.
"Sleep then my boy, we shall talk later." his father encouraged. "Sleep well, knowing that this place shall always look out for you, and always welcome you with open arms." Merlin was asleep before he could hear what was then uttered, and it was one of the soundest sleeps he ever had.
When he opened his eyes, his father was still there, still in the same position as before he slept, as if no time had passed at all, or had it? He didn't realize he voiced that aloud, for Balinor chuckled and replied, "Indeed, time is a fickle thing. It passes as if it hadn't. We are, so to speak, outside of time in this cave."
Merlin only mumbled an acknowledgement. All that happened in the past couple of days were just catching up on him, and with a rested body, his mind wandered to
the incidences that occurred, the mistakes he wished he hadn't made but was unable to change and had to admit defeat. Defeat, that was not something he thought he would admit, but it popped into his mind when he was searching for something to describe them, and it resonated. A soreness was showing somewhere in his heart, rubbed off by the defeat he just mentally admitted.
I've shown weakness and despair, two things I hoped would never appear on me, Merlin thought. Am I strong enough to defeat Morgana as was prophesised, or am I a weakling shrinking back from failures and mistakes? Who am I but a servant that held no say in political matters, and how shall I ever achieve my destiny? All but illusions and bedtime stories for people who nearly lost faith, not reserved for resolute minds that separate actions from words. I proved to be no man of actions. Each death weighs me down and puts a warning against my conscious. They strike at what's weakest, and demand an explanation for who I am and what am I to do, when I knew neither.
As if reading his thoughts, Balinor started, "Only if you accept defeat. Those faults weren't yours alone to bear. Sins were created only through the choices of both. Morgana was not the woman you knew when she chose to destroy all who loved her, and your actions merely spurred the outcome, which was as inevitable as the sun rising from the east."
"Then why should I tempt fate over and over again if nothing can be altered?"
"Because my boy, you are still as much human as anyone else. And being a man with feelings denies you the ability of sitting back and doing nothing while your friends meet their fate when you can well do something, anything to help. This is what mortality is for. As a spirit or a part of nature, I have long lost the ability to interfere, to love, and to hate. We stand by your paths, neither benevolent nor malicious, but simply being." Balinor paused long enough for his words to sink in. Merlin creased his brows. Balinor continued without giving him any more time to rethink what he had heard. "This is why I am sent here, Merlin. Not only to help you heal, but to tell you who you are. So this is what I'm asking you, boy. Think very carefully before you answer." Balinor paused and it seemed to suck away all the air in the cave.
"Do you want to know you are?" Balinor stared straight into Merlin's eyes, not letting him any chance to avert his gaze and to hide any emotions.
Sensing the gravity of the question, Merlin opened his mouth as if to say the affirmative, but then felt silent. Yes, he had wanted to know the meaning of his destiny, even before his slumber, the answer to all that he had endured and walked for the past decade. But the enormity of a truth laid bare before his eyes made him quiver. What would happen when I finally understand? Can I still muster up courage to face my life, my future and everyone involved? What if I was wrong, and destiny mistaken? So many what ifs, and so much hesitation. Ha, Merlin you always are a coward, backtracking nearing the finish line. No wonder Arthur calls you a fool.
Something in his eyes hardened, and he nodded, clearly not trusting his voice to speak the words that would mark the turning point of everything in his life.
Balinor said, in a voice not his, but composed of thousands threaded into one, "Merlin, you are Emrys. You are magic itself. Your power lies not only in you, but also in everything around you. Your power tap into nature's reserve, never depleting and can never be assessed. In essence, you have always been, and always will be."
This shouldn't have come as a surprise, for a small part of his mind knew it and had accepted it, but to hear it enunciated from the mouth of his father's still came as a shock, and Merlin was rooted to the spot, not daring to voice the one doubt swirling in his mind.
He breathed out, "So I am not a human?"
"Physically you are. And mentally, I would say you are the most compassionate man I've met, my boy, and I'm proud of that." Balinor said with a smile, "But your spirit is as much a force of nature as a nymph or a tree. Or maybe more than that. The extent of your humanity depends on your decision alone. Should you choose to abandon it, you shall roam free as the air and wind, or should you choose to remain, you shall still be Merlin."
"The choice sounds as if there are two-selves battling in me to get dominance." There was a bitterness in Merlin's voice. "To be Emrys would be abandoning my friends, my life, and everything to be 'free'. What would freedom mean if I cannot live it with those I love? But to remain as Merlin, I would chance the denial of magic's return, for Arthur would never accept me for who I am."
"You can be free here, not having to choose, without worries and fears of the outside, and remain yourself," Balinor whispered.
"But it's not only about myself, is it?" Merlin questioned, "Why I was born, why I was called Emrys. The choice I make shall affect everyone, the druids, all magical being, and Arthur. More importantly Arthur. If I stay here, Arthur shall meet his end upon that plain."
"But your destiny was never Arthur, but to restore magic to this land and unite Albion. Arthur is but a part of the grand scheme," Balinor pointed out.
He is the most essential part, Merlin whispered. A tiny voice gnawed at the back of his head that Balinor was right, and of course he was. However, years of company by the king's side could not be equalled to the lives of strangers, be they magical or not. The golden head that stood out in every crowd embodied all hope for achieving his destiny. Merlin knew his priority should be placed on helping his own people, but his heart had chosen otherwise and took the side of his king. This was not a choice to be made, but already decided. Merlin would choose whatever that could help the king, even if it required him to lose humanity.
His face must have betrayed his thoughts, for Balinor sighed as if anticipating this answer, and said, more to himself than to Merlin, "Indeed, just as what was written in the stars, Emrys." With a little bow of his head, he waited for Merlin to voice his decision. And at that precise moment, the world held its breath. If people later ask around what happened at that moment, they would be amazed to find that druids paused to listen, and soldiers in battles halted in unison.
The words came from nowhere, "I choose … to be Emrys."
As the last note dissipated in the air, the world seemed to resume its turning, people finishing their chores and soldiers clashed at each other. But the air in the cave suddenly grew tense, and statics start springing from crystals like flashed of lightening, illuminating the cave in blues and whites. Yet Merlin was not seeing or hearing anything, his face was devoid of all emotions and should you not see the blues and golds swirling his eyes, you would pronounce him as a marble statue.
Through his mind's eye, Merlin saw millions of possible futures, of fires raging across valleys, of children screaming, of bleak winter days, but all ended with the sword impaled into the side of his friend and king. The wound would never be healed, the damage too deep to reverse. Arthur would be lost to him forever.
With a wordless cry, Merlin grasped at his own chest, tighter and tighter he pulled, as if scratching his heart out. And that was probably what he did. A small ball of light was slowly being ripped from his body, and his already pale face was quickly turning an even palish colour. The light manifested and pulsed, a life of its own. But no, the pulsing resonated with his heart beat, and as one, they contracted and thudded. The glow emanated a warmth that washed over the crystals and flowed out of the cave, so full of life that the air started vibrated in sync with it. Like a soothing spring breeze, the light was dancing up and down in his hands, bouncing as only a new life can do when seeing the world for the first time, opening its eyes and truly see. But the most remarkable change was in Merlin. Gone was the goofy servant who hid in the shadows, who shied away from attention, and in his place stood a man of stature, face upright and eye aglow. Though there was no wind, his hair was ruffling, and power exuded from him in waves. The face of a young man not seeing many winters, but the stance of an oak deeply rooted in the world. The gold in his eyes never dimmed nor paled, but bright as the sun. Wrinkles from late nights vanished, fatigue in his bones from hard work was gone. If not for the same features, one would say another person had taken his place. With a chin held high, and eyes all-knowing, there stood Emrys, the god of magic that prophets had extolled and revered. The coming of Emrys touched every heart of magical and non-magical alike. As if a cool breeze had cooled down all their hatred and animosity, and touched at the gentlest part in every man's heart. Like a cuckoo in spring or a father's gentle reprimand, the feeling of shame of committing such atrocity surfaced, and for a moment, men repented for their sins, and prayed for forgiveness. But even the power of a god was not enough to cleanse all the malice. No sooner had men's heads bowed in shame when they were again lifted, rage spelled their eyes. There was reasoning with men, they never learn, nor do they see. Blinded by darkness, they clashed and clawed at each other like their primal ancestors, their bodies resembling that of beasts', hunger for blood. All traces of sanity gone, for when blood was spilt, there remain no true man, even those holding the banner of justice. Emrys watched on, sightless, past the bloodshed, past the people struggling to live and failing, and focused on one figure alone.
Back in the cave, a sheath appeared out of nowhere, and he grasped it with his free hand, and very carefully tugged the ball of light insight it. It melted to the touch, and the eery glow of the sheath, the pounding it now took on, granted it more than meets the eye. This sheath carried all that was mortal of Merlin, and left the one holding it a shell of its former life.
Merlin held the sheath upright, or shall we say, Emrys caressed the sheath, traced every line and inch as if saying goodbye to a life lost. Then he let it drop and it vanished.
As the fight raged on, Arthur was suddenly aware of a lack of weight at his side. The sheath was gone, but the belt was intact. No traces of forced removal could be detected, and as he tried to look around in search for it, another blow came from his left, and he was forced to parry and dart out of the way. Whatever happened, magic was involved. Not a second later, a presence descended, basking him in a serenity so contrary to the scene at hand. All around him, soldiers and knights alike all paused as if listening for something. The world waited on baited breath. Then flash as a lightening, like a hydronated man stumbled upon a spring, life as they had never felt before was opened before their eyes. Their breathing went smoother, their eyes clearer. For the first time since that day, they saw what was before them. Friends and foes lying face down, splashes of red dripping on rocks and sand. None can shake the guilt mounting as they bowed in memory of their fallen brothers, all for naught. Reality gripped them like a vine, tightened around their hearts, remindful of their sins, be they wilful or not. But in the next second, it vanished as suddenly as it came. Nothing was changed, brothers still fought brothers and men killed men.
A heavy weight nearly dragged him down from his left side, and Arthur saw the return of his sheath as if it had never been removed. No, something was different about it. The carvings were more prominent and there almost seemed like a glow encasing it. Arthur shook his head, it must have been the fatigue or a flick of the light, as he mentally reprimanded himself for being so easily distracted in a battle. Yet he felt more energized, more confident than before, and his soul more rested and at ease since the fight. Could be the adrenaline, Arthur joked. As he raised his sword, Excalibur sang in his hand, shaking the air around and the sheath shook with it. The two vibrated as if took a life of their own and breathed as one. It slashed down, cutting the air into two. The power it held increased tenfold when finally united with its brother. When two halves become one, a soul was mended. Arthur lifted Excalibur with renewed vigour, knowing that somehow, he would brave out alive.