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It wasn't bad, really.
He'd suffered worse.
He was sure of it.
Then again, he hadn't known he was immortal back then. He wasn't quite sure how he hadn't noticed. He supposed he had always assumed that he'd graced death by, ever near but never quite touching it.
But he and death were far more intimate than he realized.
He knew death now, learned who it was and how it felt. It caressed him eagerly each time he slipped away, now that he was conscious of it. It was a vile feeling, like a hole in his middle that sucked everything in until he was empty.
There was a literal hole in his middle now.
The beasts, whatever they were, were tall and wide, coated in a layer of thick fur. But their hands, oh their hands, were so large in comparison, sporting long, pointed claws that were larger and stronger than lances.
Death tugged on him, pulling him into the hole. He hated going, hated feeling death for it was nothing. He neither felt nor was numb, he simply wasn't. The chasm in which the reaper drowned him removed him completely from this world and held him somewhere empty and full at the same time until he spilled back into his body.
So, he held on as long as he could, even as his body had shut down, his heart stop beating, he let his magic stir and keep his mind alive for as many precious seconds as possible. He'd stopped feeling the pain ages ago anyway, no longer in touch with his nerves or his spine. The nails dug into him as the beasts cupped his flesh in their hands, bringing it to their mouth to suckle it. It was torture, but it was something.
Now, he couldn't even see, could hardly even recall what the things had looked like as his life drained away. He felt the vague sense of other souls approaching, of his body being moved, but anon he was gone.
Just gone.
He opened his eyes some time later, finding himself in a cave with a party of foul smelling men keeping him warm. He knew them, but his self was still slowly seeping back from the dead, and he didn't have all of the pieces yet. Death tickled him, taunted him with the time spent between all realms. It made Merlin feel like a hollow shell, even as his soul filled his body in like it was a well fitted glove.
"Merlin?"
Ah, his name.
A breath left him in relief, as his wholeness began to return to him. He looked up, eyes sending him visions as last, and found Arthur's grave face above him. He huffed out a laugh, touched by his worry, and it caused the king to relax slightly.
He couldn't feel his legs, despite his body repairing itself. There was always some lingering effect of whatever had taken him. This time, it was a hot, sharp pain in his abdomen and a numbness of everything below his waist.
But it was something.
"Can you stand?"
Merlin shook his head, smiling still, but through a grimace. "No."
A haunted look passed over Arthur then, and it pained Merlin to see him so. He never liked when Arthur was the one to find him, to see him empty and lifeless, body parts with no soul stringing them up.
He liked when he was there when he woke though.
"Should we wait?" he asked, trying to shake away his discomfort. "Or would it be best if we carry you?"
Merlin shrugged with a wince. "Depends on how much time you have."
A laugh bubbled out of Arthur and Merlin grinned. "We'll rest here for the night," he said, smiling. "Then you ride with me." He pat Merlin's knee before standing straight and moving to help the others with food and bedding.
He didn't feel like he could eat, and he was exhausted beyond measure, so Merlin laid his head back down and stared at the cave ceiling. He knew it was hard on the king, to see loss in front of him and force away the urge to mourn or grieve. Merlin would come back, every time. There was no need to tally his deaths. And yet, he supposed that if he were any other man, if he weren't here to fill this role, each time he passed could have been a permanent departure for another soul.
He closed his eyes against the thought, guilt stirring in his gut. Arthur saw his destruction as a failure on his part. He still felt that Merlin was to be a protected citizen, a life preserved. His immortality has proved useful on occasion, aiding him in tasks that no other could survive.
It was never pleasant though. He never wanted death to be a friend.
He listened to the atmosphere lighten as Arthur delivered the news that Merlin was recovering normally, and smiled as he began to doze. Gwaine began leading the party in merriment, boasting about the luscious fur they had skinned from the beast and consulting the others on how one might mount the ivory claws. The chatter drifted away as rest called to him, a warm feeling overtaking him as his friends all recovered by the fire and shared stories. The hollowness of death became a memory and he silently thanked Arthur for always trying to keep him from its grasp.
May he live long before they meet again.