Rage. Hopelessness. Sorrow. All aided in the sinking of Merlin's heart as Arthur stopped breathing, his eyes on some pointed figure in the sky. Though his feelings swarmed, built up, caused the tears of frustration, at his core, Merlin knew he had failed. The prophecy he had tried for so long to deter had taken over. And, there was no one but him to blame.
The body Merlin dragged around now was not his Arthur. No, Arthur wouldn't have been so accepting of his friend's magic. He hated magic, knew it was evil. Merlin almost smiled at the memories. Hadn't magic been proven to continuously kick Arthur in the butt, knocking him unconscious, trying to kill him for at least eight years?
He stopped mid-step. Eight years, he reiterated as he saddled Arthur back to the horse, curious of his pale demeanor as he studied the corpse. Had Arthur only reigned for eight years? If so, he hadn't matured… much.
Merlin rode his horse full gallop towards Camelot. Arthur had wanted to die on the battlefield. It was Merlin's stubbornness and defiance of that damn prophecy that had led Arthur to die in his arms. His own fault. Merlin felt the tears sliding down his face, his head buried in his hair. He had forgotten Morgana's body close to her half-brothers'. But then, she had betrayed both of them for her own sake.
Trying once more to defy this prophecy, the tears subsided for rage to control him. He called for Kilgarrah in the language of old, hoping to plead with the Great Dragon again. Kilgarrah said no. But, you, Merlin, are the magic for which Arthur needs to return. And Merlin knew of no spell to bring the dead back as they were.
The day he returned to Camelot was the day Merlin truly died. He felt trepidation, fear, worry from the same eyes that blamed him. He traveled the same paths as he did when Arthur was alive, stunned when Arthur wasn't asleep or at the table.
Time moved slowly and yet, quickly. Gwen had remarried.
"Too soon, too soon," Merlin protested. "Mourn Arthur just a little more."
"What is too soon, Merlin?" Gwen had asked.
"My dear Gwen, he's only been dead two or three months at the most."
Gwen shook her head. "No, Merlin. It's been six years."
"No… No, no, no. Can't be." He had started shouting. "Arthur was only here yesterday! Don't you remember his brood, his royal pratness sitting at that very desk?"
He turned to prove his point, discovering the desk no longer there. Strange, he thought, that Arthur would move it. He snapped himself out of his reverie, discovering Gwen gone.
What is the use of being magic, Merlin thought as he poured over the books in the libraries, if I can't use it when I need to?
Days and days passed. Gaius passed. Gwen gone. The castle all but empty. Aithusa came and went. Merlin only noticed the minor changes that pertained to himself: his cataracts, the age spots on his hands.
Within his books, sources of his friends' mysteries and pasts came through. Like the Griffin that had come and Gwaine's friends that had come to join them. Still, not a word about how to resurrect a person.
It was twenty years before Merlin stepped away. Gwen and her new husband had aged. He watched as she loved again, the smile on her face the same as when she'd smile at Arthur. This only enraged him, granting him banishment after he accused her love being so swift to change and how she had never loved Arthur – only he, Merlin, had loved him and that he was the only one paying for his death.
With an eternal potion, Merlin vowed anew to watch the resurrection of Arthur, to be the guiding hand that helped him acclimatize to the changing world. No one had done Merlin the mercy.
In the tongues of the Dragon Lords, he called for Kilgarrah. To his surprise, it was Aithusa who answered. It was not the same dragon he recalled for now; her wing was repaired but spears pierced her scales. Thankfully, Kilgarrah had taught her the old wisdoms before he had passed to the Great Cave.
"How much has changed?" Merlin asked.
"Time enough that people would hunt the last of my kind and use us for the scales. Where magic is not celebrated and wielders will burn."
Merlin covered his face. "How am I to resurrect him if I cannot use magic?"
She nudged his shoulder. "Do not fret, Wizard. There are some that know the story of the great Warlock and his loyalty to the Once and Future King. Look to the East."
"Where do I go?" Merlin held a sniffle.
"Anywhere." She had a knack for Kilgarrah's final answers, her great wings flapping in goodbye.
He traveled Albion first then to Ireland. He had aged, his hunched figure shaking as he traveled towards inner Europe and Asia, gaining no further logic than he had. Every time he used magic, he felt Arthur everywhere: beside him, around him. He heard his voice, saw his eyes. Time had not changed the young man he knew. At first, Merlin wept, saying he shouldn't have died. After a while, he ignored the figure and its antics, concentrating on the spell that would bring him back for good.
It wasn't until the twelfth century that Merlin first experienced the return. He had been sleeping on his cot, gasping for breath as his back cracked into a different position. This is it. This is death. He told himself as he felt a new draft on the top of his head. It wasn't until the foggy images before his eyes cleared that he suspected differently. His rough skin smoothed over, like a cloth had been covering them.
Panicked, Merlin looked for a connection, for someone to explain what had happened. After much explaining to his scholars, they deemed him crazy. Only one thought differently.
Merlin helped the old man to the floor, both searching the underworld for the answer. The underworld had never been Merlin's forte – well, when he was searching for Arthur. The medium stood up, his eyes glazed over. Merlin seated the old man, his heart pounding. "What do you see?"
"Arthur Pendragon. Once and Future King. Alive." He repeated the phrase many times. The medium never recovered as Merlin began his search anew – this time, on the same plane. Again, his heart sank for, Merlin never found him.
The twentieth century had achievements Merlin predicted. He had been young during the first and second Wars yet, he couldn't find Arthur. Or, he muttered bitterly to himself while nurses and doctors swivelled around him, he was being patriotic to Germany. For a brief flash, he saw Arthur next to Uther. Hitler and Uther… He held a grin. Those two would have been friends.
He remained blissfully unaware of the gazes or the rumors around him. As he aged, he realized he was in the hospital, an IV in his arm after a stroke – or, so called. In his opinion, the nurses and doctors had forced the stroke with the poison they called 'medicine'. He laughed at their attempts. As if he hadn't tried to kill himself before. He couldn't die. But, that' didn't mean he couldn't feel the agony as his overly old heart had slowed its beating.
During his recovery, a nurse that reminded him of Gwen checked on him constantly, a pleasant smile on her face. "And, how are you today, Merlin?"
Even the way she spoke his name reminded him of her. How long had it been? He couldn't remember. "Much better."
He froze. Was that his voice? That croaking, weak sound? For a thousand-year-old Warlock, it should sound commanding, powerful. He shrugged to himself. "And you, Gwen?"
The nurse rolled her eyes at him as she fluffed his pillows. By now, even if her name tag said Jennifer, she and the other staff never tried to correct him. No, Merlin convinced himself, she knows she's Gwen. It'll always be her name. "I'm all right.
Another nurse, this one he called Morgana, rolled in his roommate, Gaius. Except, this wasn't the kind man he knew in Camelot. No, this one was bitter, old and angry who yelled at any girl. Or man. Gwen smiled sadly at Morgana as Gaius turned towards Merlin.
"Goddamn kidney stones are hard to pass." Gaius' look alike shouted, his eyes narrowing in Morgana's direction. "And, the women may be easy on the eyes but, they are some of the d-"
"Malcolm, medicine." Morgana commanded, not bothering to look in his direction.
"Why doesn't Jennifer do it?" Gaius shouted, preparing to work himself into a fit. "She's not a dolled up, stupid…"
Merlin covered his ears, his heart going out to Morgana. Even in this life, she had someone demeaning her abilities. Regardless, Merlin loved these nurses and hated his Utheresque doctor. Still, Gwen and Morgana switched places. As Angelica (Morgana, Merlin fixed) slid out the bedpan, he took her arm and gestured her closer. She leaned in, her ear hovering above his lips.
"Don't listen to Gaius. You're amazing and you do a wonderful job." He knew it wasn't completely true but, she smiled. Talking was difficult for him. He smiled to himself as he thought of the times it had gotten him out of trouble. Or in trouble, depending on the situation. He made himself sad thinking about it.
"Thanks, Merlin." She whispered back, squeezing his hand.
"How's Leon?" Merlin rasped, trying to remember the name of Morgana's fiancé. He knew that it wasn't that but, he couldn't be bothered. Morgana shook her head.
"Leon's fine. Working but, we're trying to get pregnant. I know, it's not traditional…" On and on, she prattled. Merlin briefly wondered if Morgana had done so in the years' he had known her. Of course, Arthur was his main priority.
Merlin drifted to sleep to a dream and woke to a nightmare. Uther or, as others referred to him, Dr. Bates, stood over him, reading his chart. He gave him a snide smile that sent shivers up Merlin's spine. The scariest, evilest man I ever met, he thought.
"Well, Mr. Merlin, you're doing fine." He crossed his arms over his chest. "But, you must keep down these excitations to a minimum. Your pulse is weak… I say, a couple more days and you can go to the day room."
This is not a life. Merlin narrowed his eyes as he watched Uther closely. Had he not known the man's habits in past lives, he would have ignored him. But, he did and he knew that Uther was in a power position right now.
"No, the other pills, Jen."
"Father." A new voice whined. Merlin furrowed his eyebrows and paused on the blonde-haired boy, no older than seventeen. He opened and closed his mouth, examining his arms. Not Arthur, he concluded.
"I'm working, Henry." Bates replied, writing a prescription.
"Can I go yet?" He was pouting, Merlin knew. If it had been Arthur, he would have done it without question.
"I've told you a million times, it'll look good on job applications and transcripts. You want to be a politician, yeah?" Bates encouraged, finally examining his son. Merlin gritted his teeth.
"Yeah but, not a hospital. It's full of death."
"We'll go when I'm done, okay?" Uther cut the little jerk off midsentence. For once, Merlin agreed with Uther as the doctor left the room followed by the nurses. Henry sighed and sat next to Gaius, slumping in the chair. Gaius roused from his sleep, smiling at Henry. Merlin raised an eyebrow.
"Has Richard been?" Gaius asked, stretching.
"Another week, Grandad." Henry answered. "Why can't I live with you?"
"I'm old."
"So's dad."
"Then, I'm ancient." They shared a grin. Merlin grew bored, snapping his head back when he heard his name.
"Anyway, now you know. He's nice but, he'll die before I go." Gaius grinned as Henry waved. "Happy birthday, Once and Future King."
Henry laughed as Merlin blinked. This little punk? No. "Grandad, can't I have a new nickname?"
"No new names. I can barely remember the old ones." He insisted, dismissing the youngster.
Henry checked his watch before waving again toward Merlin. "Nice to meet you."
He ran off. Merlin laughed to himself. That little punk, the Once and Future King? Arthur would be turning in his grave.
Merlin felt the agony before consciousness had roused him. He found himself clutching the bedsheets, sweat pouring down his face. Oh, Death. Where the hell you've been all these years? As he roused, he recognized the pain, gasping as he clutched his chest. He bit his lip, his body convulsing as a tingling sensation ran through his arthritic fingers and up his spine. The hunchback posture straightened with a loud crack. The machine beeped rapidly as his strained heart tried to right itself, growing stronger.
After what seemed to be an eternity, he slumped into his bed, panting as his fingers pulled out the needle. They were nimble enough to do so. He sighed. Where the hell was Arthur.
Standing he reached his toes for the first time in years. This time had been more painful, he decided. His body had begun the next course of action as his mind worked on a plan. He would not lose Arthur. Not this time. "And, what are you doing out of bed?"
He scowled, hating the tone of her voice. At least it wasn't Jennifer or Angelica. He turned. If memory served, this was Elena. Yes, that blonde hair and clumsy demeanor. Merlin felt a twinge of guilt. Still, his powers caused the tingling in his hands. "You will find me a change of clothes. Merlin has passed away. His body resides with the coroner. All paperwork and body were destroyed in a fire you are to create."
Elena furrowed her eyebrows, eyes glazing over as Merlin instructed her. With a nod, she set off on her task. Merlin slipped through the doors, using magic to remain undetected and unlock one of the many car doors. He slipped inside, locking them again. He a place to sleep and something to eat. Then, he could plan.
Merlin slipped into his motel room, an empty bag of chips next to him. He sighed. Arthur was sixteen or seventeen when Merlin met him. So, he'd have to enroll in school. But, if he called himself Merlin, it would be a dead giveaway. No person had that as a last name. Unless he claimed that Merlin at the hospital was his grandfather. But, how many schools were in the country? Even if Arthur was in this country, the chances of finding him would be slim.
Merlin sighed and leaned back. He had become too old to sit still and listen to another youngster talk about the days he had already lived. His hand clenched into a fist. He examined it, trying to recall the last time it had hurt that badly. Almost never. He pinched the bridge of his nose. What did that mean for him?
He sat up, one eyebrow raised as he considered all the possibilities and landing on one explanation: Arthur was near to him. Quite possibly, he had already been introduced to the prat. And, he was younger…
Not that little punk! Merlin screamed inside his head, hearing a window break from afar. He ignored the cries and the search for the vandal, his head pulsating. It was the only thing he could think. Arthur had found a host: Henry. Which meant he needed access to the internet. Thankfully, the girl on nightshift hadn't cared what he needed and allowed him to use the computer, her eyes on the tiny screen she used to text her boyfriend. Merlin typed in Henry Bates. Within five links, he found what he was looking for. A school name featuring an interview with the prestigious Henry, a senior who had done more than any of his classmates.
Thanking the girl, Merlin returned to his room. Even if it wasn't Arthur, Henry would become a powerful politician. He'd, at least, be a link to the Knights of the Round Table – perhaps another Galahad. Which meant he'd have to be around him all the time.
The hospital would be easy enough – they'd call. That would be his first step. But then, what would his name be? And why didn't he visit his grandfather?
Hunith needed him. That was the lie. Hunith… Merlin felt another course of guilt. He hadn't attended her funeral. He was drained after using more magic than he had used in three years. He thought about his story some more. Instead, his mind tried to remember his mother. Was she disappointed? Did she understand?
Focus. That shushed the thoughts. What could his name be? Now, kids took the name of their fathers. He wasn't completely lying if he were to say he were Taliesin Emrys Balinor. A dark train started. He snapped himself out of his thoughts, staring at his reflection in the television. Yes. You are Taliesin. You are sixteen. Son of Balinor and Hunith.
Bull. Merlin chided, pinching the bridge of his nose. He could have laughed at himself but, the last time he held conference with himself, they locked him in the nut house. At least he'd have Arthur.
He found himself swimming towards the surface. The barge he had been placed on had decayed and he had fallen off. Water, water everywhere. Something was holding him back.
He looked for his companion, standing on the shore. Evidence of tears on his face, he wore a mask of numbness. Idiot, help me! He thought to his companion.
He inhaled by accident. Water in his lungs. His eyes blurred. Whatever had pulled him down had vanished. And he was drowning.
He sat up in bed as he coughed up water, enough to create a lake in his bedroom. The lake, he reminded himself as he slipped into the bathroom, clearing his lungs of the substance. He looked himself in the mirror, flushed. Raising an eyebrow, he examined himself closely. It was as if he had never left.
But, he knew who he was and who he was not and he was not himself. So, who was he? Clear your mind, he ordered himself. Images flashed through, castles, orders. Vows. Wars. But, who was he now?
Politics. Yes, he had been involved in politics. The boy shook his head, his clear blue eyes peering from behind his blonde mess of hair. Yes, and he was interested in politics. That was it. That was the game his doctor father wanted him to play. A position of power. All his lives had been similar. But, who was he? His name was Henry. Is Henry, he scolded himself as he caught his breath.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Richard. Richard leaned against the doorframe, rubbing his tired eyes. "What are you doing up, Henry?"
"Bad dream." He grumbled. My name is Henry Bates. I am sixteen years old. I live with… Richard Bates. My grandad is… Malcolm. I love my father and would die for him. No surprise there.
Richard patted his son on the shoulder. The intruder tried his best not to glare at the affection. "Get some rest, Henry. Don't forget you have an eight-hour shift at the hospital."
Oh joy, he thought to himself as he nodded absentmindedly. Richard returned to bed as he sank to the ground, covering his face. Was he on his own this time? He shook his head staring at his hands. Regardless of Merlin's promise, he had never returned to him. Did he die?
Again, the boy shook his head. No, Merlin didn't die. He'd known if he had, right? No, thought Henry firmly as he slipped into the covers, Merlin's not dead. He just doesn't care. He vowed to protect me with his life and, like the coward he is, he won't come to me.
He fluffed the pillow with a look of amazement. Why was this bed so comfortable? He remembered his head in Merlin's lap on his dying day. How comfortable had that been. But, Uther was right. Warlocks aren't to be trusted so, he should never trust a warlock.
With that, he fell asleep.