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To say he’d been happy for the improvements in medical science would be a huge understatement.
It helped that humankind in general actually knew what diseases were, instead of blaming the unknown on magic. No, it had taken on the other extreme; the whole population of planet earth was unswervingly and unconditionally convinced that magic was just a child’s tale. Sure, that meant he didn’t really have to hide and he could do magic out in public, he wasn’t feared, but in some ways it was worse than hiding. Anything he did, anyone he told was reduced to laughter-induced tears, and for Merlin – who had trouble being taken seriously anyway – it hurt. That people laughed at him, but then it was for the one thing that people never laughed about back in old Camelot. Strange how destiny always managed to change its bloody double standards.
Anyway, he really was glad for the improvements to medical science over the ages. In his previous ‘lifetime’ he’d been a doctor, so he knew the ins and outs pretty well. He was just glad that people didn’t have to die in droves from silly diseases like influenza and diarrhea anymore.
But with the advancement in medical cures and remedies, it meant that people tended to notice a lot more. His GP had referred him to a therapist two years ago for severe depression, which he supposed was fair. They had regular appointments twice every month and whilst he knew he really couldn’t tell his therapist anything at all, sometimes talking to another human being helped alleviate the loneliness for a while.
And so he sat, in the small, homely waiting room right outside her office. It was a small practice with only a couple of other doctors working, but it was nice and less mainstream.
The waiting room was painted in reds and browns, giving it a warm and welcoming feel. To be honest, he actually liked the place; Gods knew he’d been here enough for it to grow on him. The chair he sat on was padded and comfortable and there was calming music playing over the speakers, the tables were stacked with recent magazines (what a shock!) and the people who worked there were brilliant.
He sighed and sank further down into his seat. The heater in here worked like a charm and he was glad; the Killer Breeze Of Death outside was very cold. Even though his coat was thick, it seemed like he had to wear even more shirts underneath to keep said wind from ripping him into little shreds of Immortal Warlock. In short, it was an embarrassing and painful way to die.
He was about to strip off his coat when the door to Miss Sophia Avalon’s office swung open. She came out with a smile on her face and beckoned him over, calling for professional purposes; ‘Merlin Emrys.’
She waited for him to reach her before she turned and swept him in, closing the door behind them. She was young and pretty, with dark burgundy hair and a healthily thin build. He had liked her from day one because of her approach; she was real and understanding.
As per their usual routine, he settled down into the plush red armchair and looked over to her expectantly. A flash of jewelry caught his eye and he leaned forward, admiring the new addition of a ring to her left hand. ‘He finally proposed!’ he exclaimed happily. ‘When did this happen?’
A smile full of sunshine and tenderness flooded onto her face. ‘About a week ago. I’m so happy that he finally did it!’
He offered her a happy smile in return. Once, Arthur would have called it The Merlin Is An Absolute Idiot Smile, but he liked to think it was a happy one.
‘Now, Merlin,’ she said, the smile still on her face, ‘How have you been doing in the last two weeks?’
The warlock sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. ‘To be honest, I think its getting worse. I keep having nightmares…’ he hesitated before deciding to tell only that half-truth.
‘About the war in Afghanistan?’ Sophia prompted.
About all of them, he thought bitterly, before telling another half-truth; ‘About my time as a Marine.’ In this current lifetime, he’d served for ten years in the Marine Corps; enlisting at the age of nineteen. He’d been brilliant, but after an injury that would supposedly have ‘severely effected’ him, he’d been forced to retire. He’d had trouble finding friends again after that.
‘And have you been eating, Merlin?’ His therapist appraised him; he could understand that he looked skinny, but he really ate more daily than a horse and he wished he could explain it to her. His magic needed sustenance, too, so he ate extra but it never went to his hips (or ass, for that matter), which was good, he supposed.
‘Yeah, I haven’t stopped eating.’
She nodded and started to open her mouth when he was suddenly seized by a moment of such loneliness it stole his breath and felt like a ton of bricks on his chest. He wanted someone to understand. Not everything, but at least his magic and the consequences. Someone he could trust.
‘Sophia?’ he asked, sounding strangled, even to himself. She was immediately at his side, holding his hand and giving him that concern-filled look he had seen to many millions of times from millions of faces over the years. ‘Can – I need to show you something.’
‘Of course, darling,’ she said.
‘Don’t freak out,’ he warned, and reached for her hand.
Calling his magic, he felt the burn at the back of his eyes as it responded and on her hand appeared the beginnings of a beautiful flower tattoo. It appeared in swirls and patterns, almost growing into her hand, and in full colour. He could tell her attention was split between watching his eyes and the flower tattoo forming on her palm. It was in perfect perspective and appeared just like they were looking down on it from above.
He felt it when the spell was over and he ran his hands over the tattoo, not even feeling a bump in the skin. The ‘ink’ was all underneath. Then he let go and sat back.
Sophia brought her hand up to her face, looking more closely and then feeling over it with the other. He had to give her credit – she hadn’t run out of the room screaming or collapsed into laughter. Instead, she simply sat and stared and felt in wonder. She looked a little shell-shocked and he was instantly contrite. ‘I’m sorry. It’s too much, isn’t it?’ His head fell and he could feel the beginnings of hurt and regret and sadness curl in his stomach. His eyes watered and he stood up, avoiding her eyes. ‘I get it. I’m a freak. I’ll leave.’
And yet, as he turned towards the door, a hand caught his wrist and he glanced down to see Sophia smiling up at him in wonder. She held the tattooed hand close to her chest and tugged him back. ‘No, stay,’ she said, and urged him to sit on the floor with her. He did so, relieved when she held out her hand and put it into his. ‘Show me more,’ she prompted. ‘It’s beautiful, your magic.’
This time, he hovered his other hand above hers and reached into himself again, drawing his hand up. His eyes flashed gold as the tattoo obeyed and he drew the flower out of her hand, solidifying it and making it real. It slid out of her palm, the tattoo completely gone, but now he was holding a flower out to her, one that had been his favourite back in Camelot, the white and orange petals tangible and real.
Sophia took it and stroked her hand over the petals. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she whispered. ‘Thank you, Merlin. For trusting me.’
He gave her a warm smile and rose from the floor, turning to the door, but interrupted by his therapist. ‘Merlin, is this why you are so lonely?’ she asked.
‘Sort of,’ he answered. ‘But there is always more, isn’t there?’ he took his hand in hers again and instead of creating a picture, he funneled a memory through into her mind. It was of him, him as a young man, in his leather jacket and blue tunic, red neckerchief. Arthur stood next to him, and they were arguing and smiling, the King in his chain mail and looking glorious. It was a happy memory.
A sad smile on his face, he said, ‘Don’t worry. I’ll be back next time.’
She gave him a nod and a smile, holding the flower close, and he stepped out of the room.
As he left, he might have felt a little less lonely than usual.