w h o y o u b e c o m e (a merthur oneshot)

w h o y o u b e c o m e

Some write songs about living forever. They etch the words in the sky. Some write about life that is never tarnished by age.

Every magician, author, singer misses out half of it. An average life comes with pain and happiness. If you live forever that pain doubles until the happiness turns numb to your touch.

Merlin was one such immortal. He had loved. He had lost.

There were faces in the back of his mind. A list of names. Some were blurred, others stood out like blood against snow. There was Gauis. The old man who had treated him like a father. Gwen. Lancelot and Percival. The list went on and on, a never-ending song in his head.

There was no face that stood out more than that of the once and future king, Arthur. The two of them had been like two sides of a coin.

There was a prophecy that Arthur would rise from Avalon when Camelot's need was greatest but Camelot had perished along with every one in it. Fire's had scorched the walls and all had been taken. Merlin was the last survivor.

He used to go to the edges of the lake. Sit there whilst the sun pelted against the skin of his back. The visit filled him with a strange sort of relief like a sweet poison flowing through his lungs.

They were building a parking lot over it now. More grey buildings, corroded concrete. It made him sick.

This was what had finally lead Merlin to where he was now. Sitting on the edge of his bed, the handle of a blade pressed against his cold hand.

For you see, right now Merlin thought that pain outweighed happiness. That it made the happinesss smaller, negligible.

Merlin Emrys was a fool.

The tip of the blade slid closer to Merlin's skin. Silver it shone in the light of the glowering sun. His hands shook. His heart was fast.

Merlin's hand slipped.

Behind him, the door to the house was thrown upon. A man stood in the doorway. The storm pressed against his skin. It tore at his clothes. Rash, wild and cold.

The man was soaking wet. The sky was so dark one could only just make out the strands of blonde hair that ran against his scalp.

He donned clothes not of this age.

"Merlin?" the man said. His voice smelt of home.

———

He tore his way through the room. Ambling towards where Merlin sat. He didn't waste a second. His strides were long and full of fire.

Eventually, he sat beside Merlin. The man draped his hands over Merlin's cold skin, pressing him close towards him.

Merlin turned his head into the fabric of the man's clothes. He began to cry. Merlin was oblivious of who was holding him. Right now all he needed was a friend. He didn't care what their face looked like.

Merlin cried for years lost and smiles stolen. He cried for hugging friends and the blackened hand of Death.

The man didn't mind. He cradled him in his hands. He held him because he loved him.

Eventually, his cracked lips fell open.

"Is this what you become when I'm away? You can't look after yourself can you, you dollophead. I'll have to never leave you again," the man said. His tone was hushed, tender and teasing. He did not let go of Merlin.

His words seeped through Merlin's desperate head. They were white noise. The only word that Merlin managed to grasp and hold onto was 'dollophead,'.

That was his word. It had been a long time since he had heard it.

Merlin placed his hands on the bed and dragged himself away from the man. He stared at him perplexed. He was sure that his heart meant to break out of his chest.

The world was blurred. His thoughts of just seconds ago seemed ancient.

"You can't be here. You-,"he mumbled. Not even attempting to hide his shock.

"Are you back?"Merlin asked. The man tipped his head back and smiled.

He was wearing the exact same clothes that Merlin had last seen him in. They were covered in dust and grime. A blood stain lay near his heart.

He was still dripping wet. In desperate need of a towel.

Merlin Emrys loved him like he had the moment he first saw him.

"Merlin,"the man said. Every note of the word was worryingly stressed.

"Don't be thick,"he added, "You know I am,"

Merlin wasn't so certain.

"Can I touch you?"he asked, "Just to make sure,"The man smiled back at him. He didn't give permission but didn't say he couldn't either.

Merlin thought that was good enough.

Leaning in, he cupped the man's chin in his. He tousled his hair. Merlin bent in and placed his head on the man's.

His skin was warm too his touch.

Merlin nodded. There were tears welling in the pits of his eyes.

"Welcome back,"Merlin said. Licking his lips to taste the word that, once friendly, was a stranger. Slowly he spoke.

His voice was like wind pushing against the autumn leaves of willows. It was light rain against the window pane when you are locked inside. It was a fire flickering on the hearth.

"Arthur,"he whispered. He said the name like it was his dying breath.