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How long does an eternity last, that is what Merlin constantly thought about. How long would it be until he could see Arthur again?
His new job is nice. Technically it isn’t new, since he’s done this same job several times before. But in Merlin’s defence it’s been several centuries since he’s been a History Professor.
Being a Professor is nice, the children are still the same, the staff still as closely knit together as ever. Hogwarts hasn’t changed a single bit, like always, it’s the people - the humans - that change. Merlin, magic and history are the ones that watch the world change, abandoned and separate from the passing of time. Unaffected, even.
Even though he’s older than the castle, than the school and the founders that he was friends with, Merlin hasn’t changed. He can’t. Unless forced.
The beauty of time allows him to be forgotten by most, so hardly anyone questions when his young hands remain young for several decades too many, when he isn’t close to anyone in those short decades it makes it easier to rebuild another identity and another life. But when he is close with some, it’s harder to fake a death and leave those he has grown to love.
But that is what his life is, that of Merlin the Warlock or Merlin the Sorcerer or Merlin Emrys, whatever you know him as, it is a part of him to watch people grow from young to old, to watch them love and die, to have to leave them early and unattached so it hurts less.
It won’t ever stop hurting, though.
The years fade by in a blur, the pseudonyms of fake names and fake profiles bleed together to create a wonderfully messy lie. That’s another part of Merlin's life; lying.
Eventually Merlin has started to forget; faces, places, people, memories. Some of it is terrible to lose, it causes him to scream until his throat is raw and cry until blood is mixed with the salty water. Some of it is good to forget, there are the selfish memories which he is glad to be rid of, deaths and losses, dreadful experiences that have had horrible consequences.
Though, there is one singular memory from so far ago, he has almost lost count of the years since it has happened, that he does remember. Except it would be a lie to say that he has lost count, or that he has forgotten this specific memory.
One thousand, four hundred and ninety seven years ago, the man Merlin cherished the most in his life died. He died because of Merlin. Because Merlin failed him.
That is another thing that is part of Merlin, failing those he loves.
He doesn’t remember how it happened, where it happened, or how it came to happen, but Merlin remembers a man with hair like the sun, in his arms, begging a simple request as life was drained out of him.
“ Just hold me, please. ”
The voice was broken, pained and hurting, it sounded like it was a burden to breathe let alone speak. Merlin remembers the voice and how he held the man, the feelings that he felt, the intensity of them. The fear of losing this man.
This man, his voice, it was normal, there was nothing special about it, and yet that man was extraordinary. He was a king, Merlin thinks hard, a good king, a kind one.
From the books and countless journals he has written over the centuries, he knows that it has been one thousand, four hundred and ninety seven years since that day, when he lost that man. A king. A love. A human.
A human called Arthur Pendragon, Merlin distantly remembers how human he was, how much he changed for the better and the worse. He remembers how much his heart ached for Arthur.
He knows that it did because it still aches for him, probably more than before. For a human whose face has evaded Merlin’s mind now for a few centuries. For a human that made him happy and often sad. Why does a human get to make him feel like this?
It is most likely arrogance that has led Merlin to think like this, but how can he not?
He has grown into his title of Emrys and the power that comes with it, the understanding of the balance between life and death - something Merlin has been excluded from - the power of all magic, the acceptance of being magic itself.
Merlin has grown into it all, he has had life times to, after all.
There is a problem, one that Merlin was quick to guess; forgotten memories, evading faces, the feeling of self loss.
The problem is that Merlin is human too.
He changes, just much slower than the rest of humanity. Mentally, not physically though. Because since the death of Arthur, Merlin has been stuck in the body of a twenty eight year old, even though - if his journals are right, which they are - he is mentally one thousand, five hundred and twenty five years old.
Yay.
“Professor?”
Merlin was snapped out of his depressive internal monologue. “Yes, Mr Potter?”
“Are you alright, sir?” The tiny first year asked.
“Of course I am, why do you ask?” Even though Merlin has lived through countless human tragedies, most children never fail to be sweet. Though some were little shits.
“You seem down, sir, and a bit pale.” Potter noted, his messy hair was the most noticeable thing about him, paired with his dark skin and thin rimmed glasses.
“Suck up.” Merlin heard Potter’s friend, Sirius Black, whisper teasingly into his ear. “If you’re trying to get out of homework, there’s better ways to go about it.”
“Piss off, Sirius!” James hissed back. “He looks like he’s about to pass out, that’s all.”
“Though I appreciate your concern, Mr Potter,” Merlin tried to regain James’ attention from Sirius. “Christmas time has never agreed with me, I have always had a tendency to fall ill in the winter months.”
“Idiot.” Remus Lupin murmured to Sirius without looking up from his work.
Sirius then scowled at Remus before going back to his own work.
It was a lie, more an excuse to tell people when they noticed his decreasing appearance around the cold months of the year.
Sometimes he could control it when he felt more happy, but recently he has been feeling nostalgic. And that is never good.
Comparing his normal rosy cheeks and ears with his now white as a sheet complexion, it made Merlin look like one of the sickened ghosts that haunted Hogwarts halls. There were times when he passed out in the evening and woke up on the floor randomly at night. It must be obvious to his peers and students that he isn’t doing well. All because Merlin clings to the past too much.
A headache was starting to bloom in the centre of his forehead, Merlin quickly shot a look at his wrist watch and breathed a sigh of relief, the end of the school day was a matter of minutes away.
“Right class,” Merlin announced, standing up he flicked his fake wand and his students' papers flew from the desks and landed in a neat pile. “I wish you all the best, Merry Christmas. I hope that you, your friends and families have a wonderful holiday.”
Merlin watched with a forced smile as his students ran out of the class with shouts of Christmas wishes at him.
He heard Sirius and Remus bickering as they left.
“I told you he wouldn’t give us homework.” Remus gloated proudly at Sirius.
“Shut up Remus.” Sirius said in retaliation.
Merlin continued to smile weakly, but as soon as he was sure that they were gone Merlin turned around and leaned heavily over his desk.
It hurt to breathe, he felt like he was going to throw up. Under the strain of holding him up, his arms shook with the rest of his body, Merlin was convinced that there was something trying to climb up his throat. The papers and books beneath him that lay scattered across his desk became blurred and unreadable.
His legs finally gave out.
With ringing ears and hazing vision, Merlin was sure that he was being suffocated beneath something. It was as if countless boulders and rocks were attempting to impale and kill him.
Everything became too much.
He slipped away into darkness with the last thought of wondering what that noise was, a quiet background sound that sounded terrified…
“I wish you all the best, Merry Christmas. I hope that you, your friends…” Professor Amber smiled as he wrapped the last class of the term up.
Hey,” James whispered to Sirius. “Will you wait for me? I’ll only be a couple of minutes.”
“Mate, are you seriously that worried about the guy?” Sirius looked at James as though he were crazy. “He’s a teacher, he might be a bit young, but he can take care of himself, he doesn’t need a first year fussing over him.”
“But he could be really sick!” James protested.
“Fine, fine.” Sirius agreed to wait behind, he packed his own stuff away and waited with Remus, the two bickered together while James and Peter packed away the last of their belongings.
James kept on looking between his bag and Amber, the Professor’s eyes were distant, barely even aware of everything around him.
As the last of his classmates left the room for their own common rooms, most likely talking about what they’re doing over the winter break, James walked between the desks and over to Amber.
“Professor Amber?” James said.
Amber had turned around, he was holding the edge of the desk like his life depended on it, his knuckles were turning white. The man’s breathing was becoming ragged.
“Professor?” James said again.
His teacher was shaking, trembling at the desk.
“Professor, are you okay?” James kept on saying, the others had started to realise that something was wrong and they joined him at the front of the classroom.
James slowly walked around the desk opposite Amber, he was terrified when he saw Amber with glazed over eyes and a fearful expression.
“Professor Amber, can you he-”
Amber fell to the floor, James, Sirius, Remus and Peter rushed to his side.
“What do we do?” Peter cried out.
“Shit, we’ve killed a teacher!” Sirius swore.
“Professor? Professor?!” Remus shook Amber’s shoulders as he desperately urged the man to get up and out of whatever trance he was in.
Amber’s eyes were cold and faded, his skin was as pale as ever, his entire body was shaking like a leaf. Strangled sobs wrecked through the teacher’s body.
“Fuck! Peter, go get Pomfrey! Mcgonagall! Anyone!” James yelled at Peter.
The mousy haired boy nodded, frightened, and bolted out of the room yelling his head off. “Help! Help! It’s Professor Amber!”
“Urgh…” Sirius groaned in a worried tone. “I’m so dead when my parents find out about this.”
“Seriously Sirius?” Remus snapped. “Now is not the time.”
In that moment Mcgonagall marched in with Peter leading her. “Boys, what is going-” She paused mid sentence when she saw Amber on the floor. “You’re crowding him, move!”
As the boys quickly scrambled over to where Peter was standing, McGonagall was casting several spells over Amber.
“Maverick? Maverick, can you hear me?” Mcgonagall called out to the man. When Amber was still unresponsive, Mcgonagall stood up and cast a spell to levitate Amber in the air. “Boys, I want you to clear the hallway, he needs to be taken to Poppy.”
“We have to make it to the lake.” Merlin tried to sound optimistic, as if it was do-able.
“Merlin,” Arthur said, almost for comfort. “Not without the horses.” Arthur breathed out shakily. Merlin fell to the ground, Arthur’s weight in his arms suddenly became too heavy for him to continue. “We can’t. It’s too late. It’s too late.”
Merlin tried to lift Arthur up again, but Arthur seemed adamant on staying put. His breath became ragged as he attempted to lift Arthur up again.
“All your magic, Merlin, and you can’t save my life.” Arthur tried to be playful in some stupidly twisted way, to keep it light hearted, but they both knew it to be true.
“I can. I’m not going to lose you.” Merlin denied, Merlin arms were under Arthur’s arms as he tried to pull him up again.
Arthur reached for Merlin’s hand, it was on Arthur’s chest. The king gave it a light squeeze and patted it gently, who it was comforting was unknown.“Just… Just hold me. Please.” Arthur took a heavy breath, his eyes were so far away. Merlin was holding him so closely and tight, it felt almost loving. “There’s something I want to say…”
Merlin’s head rested on Arthur’s shoulder plate for a couple of seconds before he pointlessly tried to lift Arthur up again.“You’re not going to say goodbye.”
“No, Merlin.” Arthur shook his head with whatever little remains of energy he had left. “Everything you’ve done. I know now.” The way Arthur looked at Merlin was different from the previous days, it was forgiveness. “For me, for Camelot. For the kingdom you helped me build…”
“You’d have done it without me.” Merlin’s voice grew hoarse and shaky, he was too late.
“Maybe.” Arthur breathed out a chuckle, his eyelids were starting to become heavy. His expression changed into something more serious, more thoughtful. The king's eyes drifted to the sky, briefly mulling over what he should say, then they slowly pulled back to Merlin. Merlin could see how much effort it took Arthur to do that. “I want to say… Something I’ve never said to you before.” Arthur paused for a moment. “Thank you.”
Arthur smiled and with the last of his strength, Arthur reached up with his right arm, and gently cupped his hand on the back of Merlin’s head. Merlin felt Arthur’s shaking hands.
Then there was the loss of touch, Arthur’s hand slipped away. “Arthur…” Merlin’s hand immediately went to Arthur’s jaw, Merlin shook Arthur, anything to keep him awake. “No! Arthur!” For a second it seemed to work, Arthur opened his eyes and met Merlin’s, the corners of his mouth twitched in a way that Merlin knew was a smile.
But Arthur’s eyes closed again, not properly, in a half-open-half-closed way, all Merlin could see was the milky white of Arthur’s eyes. “Arthur! Hey, look at me, Arthur! No! Arthur!”
Merlin screamed, for Arthur, for Albion, for his friends, for the dead, for himself.
Arthur was gone.
“Arthur!” Merlin yelled as he woke up, he jolted upright so he sat up.
But he didn’t know he was sitting up, or where he was, all he knew was that Arthur had died.
“Maverick? Maverick, you’re awake!” Someone cried out.
Then Merlin remembered; where he was and what happened.And also the fact that he has been going by the name Maverick Amber for the past four months, it is surprisingly easy to hate a name in such a short time.
“Maverick, how are you feeling?” Poppy stood beside him, she was holding her wand in one hand and a cloth in the other. Merlin nodded and she sat down beside him.
“I’m fine.” Was all Merlin said as she wiped away the beads of sweat from his forehead.
“Maverick, you’ve been in and out of it for four days with a fever that yesterday I was sure would kill you.” Poppy, as always, looked pissed at Merlin, only because he was her patient and he was being stupid. “You are very clearly sick, why didn’t you tell me anything?”
“Because I’m not sick.” Merlin knew he wasn’t sick, this happens every year, the same time each year, it’s always the same.
“You passed out and scared four first years!” Poppy berated Merlin, he did feel guilty at the scaring the first years part, he knew that it was probably Potter and his friends.
“I’m not sick,” Merlin said again, he looked away and buried his head in his hands. A part of him wanted to tell Poppy everything, in his short months at Hogwarts she was the easiest to talk to in his opinion. How does he tell her the truth without sounding mad? “I’m cursed.”
The lie rolled off his tongue easily, after centuries of practice, lying was just a masterful skill Merlin had collected.
Poppy became reserved, as if she didn’t know what to make with his confession.
“Every year,” Merlin began hastily as to not freak her out. “I go through the same experience. It makes me sick, my magic either goes haywire or none existent, nightmares, sometimes I pass out. But I can control it, most of the time.”
“That’s a very… odd curse.” Poppy mumbled quietly, she then looked back at Merlin. “If you don’t mind me asking, why are you cursed?”
Merlin sighed and sunk back into the bed. “Have you heard of the Old Religion?”
“Yes, I think so.” Poppy replied. “It’s based on magic before wizards and sorcerers.”
“Yeah, it is.” Merlin nodded. “You see, I had a… friend. He was tied very closely to the Old Religion, but he got injured, really badly. He died.” Merlin paused, his nightmares were still fresh, for the first time in a year, he could clearly remember what Arthur looked like. “The people from the Old Religion, they blamed me for his death, and rightly so, they cursed me for failing him, for letting him die.”
“I’m sure that’s not the case,” Poppy strongly disagreed. “You cannot control death, why should they blame you? Let alone curse you.”
“Eh, it’s a thing of the past, I have learnt to live with it.” Merlin shrugged, it was the half truth, it felt nice for someone to semi understand what he has gone through.
“You sound like someone in their nineties, not like a twenty eight year old.” Poppy teased.
Even though it made Merlin laugh, she was right, sort of.
“Poppy,” Merlin's tone went serious. “This curse… it’s at its worst on Christmas day, in the early morning, but it also ends then as well.”
“This was just the calm before the storm?” Poppy asked, worried and shocked.
“No one will get hurt, I won’t allow it, I will of course, but it’s my curse, no one else's.” Merlin said simply.
And that was the end of their conversation, Poppy nodded with her new information. Even though her mind was reeling with questions. He knew she had questions, but he was too tired to care at that moment, so he fell back into the pillows and rejoined his nightmares.
The wonderful thing about Scottish school holidays is the fact that they begin so close to Christmas day, that itself is both a blessing and a curse for Merlin, literally.
So as Merlin was confined to his hospital bed for only two days, though with Poppy Pomfrey as his nurse, Merlin might as well be in Azkaban again. Strict bed rest, disgusting potions, frequent check ups and plenty of berating about Merlin’s poor health. It reminded him of Gaius.
Poppy had discovered through a few tests that Merlin doesn’t take the best care of himself, she found injuries that were poorly healed, bones fused together in a way that should be unbearably painful but aren’t, and enough scars to shock even the most hard skinned Aurors.
She never asked the questions that Merlin expected her to ask, she only said, “Can I heal these properly?”
All of the broken bones and internal damage, Merlin allowed, but the scars were off limits.
Why?
He earned those scars. In a sick way, Merlin wanted a reminder of his time in Camelot. Even though there was plenty of objects hidden and stashed away deep in his vault at Gringotts, the oldest and deepest vault, he rarely went to it, the goblins were often suspicious of him so he only went once or twice a century, there were newer vaults which were just for money.
Merlin had earned those scars protecting his King and Kingdom, it was his only way of knowing that he wasn’t crazy, that he’s actually been alive these past years.
Poppy didn’t understand, she didn’t have to, no matter how many friends Merlin made over the centuries, no matter how close he was with them, he never told them about his scars. They wouldn’t understand.
But Arthur would.
So as he sat in his bed waiting, with Poppy keeping him company - sometimes with a random colleague - it made Merlin think. When this happened, each year, when the nightmares and memories temporarily came back to visit him, Merlin thought about Camelot, about his friends, about Arthur.
This time in the year he could clearly think, there would be no doubting what he remembers or what people actually look like.
And each time he was back in this head space, he would think about how much he hates christmas. Previously it was just a random day somewhere around the winter solstice, but now it was a fixed date that most people knew about.
The twenty fifth of December, as it is now called.
Before Albion was invaded several times over, it was just a random date that no one would understand, that no one would think twice about, most when they saw Merlin would just look the other way. But now the modern western world unknowingly celebrates Arthur’s death, while some are celebrating someone’s birth, Merlin is bitter and grieving a man who was taken too soon.
It’s not that Merlin hates the people celebrating, what they’re celebrating or why they’re celebrating. Quite the opposite in fact. Merlin wishes he was one of those people.
He is envious to the point of jealousy of those people, in their homes with their loved ones, happy and loud over food and presents. Merlin wishes that that were him and Arthur. Reunited and together. Happy and loud.
And he thinks all of this with a clear mind. Because that is the truth of Merlin, that he really is immortal with just the slightest bit of mortality in him, used as a disguise but not really there.
Merlin sat in that hospital bed, with the mind of a man who has lived centuries, with the memory no mortal person could ever have, with the knowledge no human could understand.
But Arthur would.
In his own prattishness, Arthur would find a way to comprehend Merlin, and even if he doesn't or can’t, Arthur will accept Merlin just as he always has before.
First with Merlin’s disregard for a servant's position.
Then to how Merlin became Arthur’s friend while everyone else disapproved.
From everything else in between.
And finally with Merlin’s magic.
Arthur, even when it took a few days, accepted Merlin, no matter what.
Just how long will Merlin have to continue waiting for that acceptance?
Poppy was holding his hand as he fell asleep on Christmas Eve.
She had asked him before what would happen, Merlin only told her to not worry over it.
“It hasn’t killed me yet.” That was the truth after all. “Just don’t go after me and don’t try to stop me, it will only make things worse.”
He could tell that she didn’t understand. Even though he was mentally her junior - her being thirty three years old and painfully mortal, and Merlin stuck with the mindset of a twenty eight year old and horribly immortal - Merlin could tell that right now they were both on very different levels, it was just like when Merlin taught Poppy when she was young.
Merlin was always the one who knew the most, but he could never tell anyone what he knew.
It was the early morning, just like the first time and every time after that.
In the most Albonian and British fashion, it was overcast in the early morning, the grey and white sky loomed through the tall windows of the hospital wing. It made the air cold and the stone freezing. But when Merlin sat up, slowly swung his legs over the side of the bed and steadily stood up, he paid no attention to the temperature.
Something was calling him. From a very deep and dark place, perhaps it was untouchable, Merlin had to find out.
A heavy trance-like state surrounded Merlin. He walked in a beat, one after the other, it wasn't robotic but instead surprisingly casual.
If someone had woken up to get a glass of water and seen him they would think he was doing the same, but if they paid closer attention they would see how his arms don’t sway with his movements, how most of his body is stiff and tightly wound up, how he has yet to blink, and if they got really close, they would realise how slow his breathing was.
Every year, Merlin would be separated, his body would take him to the nearest lake, the place that resembles the Isle of the Blessed the most, and for Hogwarts that was the Black Lake. It is filled with magic, from the creatures and natural magic in general. While his body tears through the water, deeper and deeper below the surface, his mind would be tearing itself apart.
As he walked down each set of stairs in the Grand Staircase, Merlin was screaming. Not aloud, but internally, always internally.
He wailed for Arthur, for the loss of his friend, for a love that was never there, for the king he was meant to be, for Merlin’s own failure, for every single thing Merlin has remembered from him.
He grieved how he hasn’t woken Arthur in the mornings for centuries now, the hunts that were just the two of them, the nights beside the fire with Gwen, the random deep conversations that always happened before a battle.
He missed the petty fights and stupid names, complaining to each other’s faces about themselves, he missed the roughhousing and the touches that lasted too long.
He wished for Arthur to heap a new load of chores on him in retaliation for spending the day at the tavern, he wanted to be forced into doing training with the knights, he wanted to spend the night and day running around Camelot in order to save Arthur’s life again.
Somewhere inside of him, between the agony of his grief and the anger he felt at everything, Merlin could feel this body walk into the water.
His bare feet recoiled at the freezing harshness of the lake, but instead of stopping and walking back to the shore, Merlin’s body continued deeper and deeper.
Soon he wasn’t walking on the lake bed, he was kicking through the sluggish push and pull of the lake. The water threaded through his hands, it soaked through his hospital pyjamas - courtesy of Poppy - and if Merlin wasn’t somewhat magic he would have caught pneumonia or some cold related disease and died instantly.
He travelled deeper, his only thought now was Arthur. Everything else had settled.
Somehow, through magic, Merlin was no longer swimming through the Black Lake anymore, he had gone deeper than what the Great Lake was recorded to be. Darkness surrounded him, his lungs burned for air in a way that he was disgustingly familiar with but he kept on clawing deeper and deeper.
Each time he went down, each year he thought the same thing; if he goes deep enough would he reach Avalon? Would he reach Arthur?
It was at this point in time where Merlin would be at peace, knowing that he had the slightest chance of seeing Arthur again. Merlin never really considered what he might see if he did reach the bottom of Avalon, would it be Arthur resting in the boat Merlin had left him in? Would Arthur be waiting for him? Or would it be like a safe haven, Arthur very much alive and waiting just like Merlin has been?
Oh how he wondered, but it was always at this moment when he was ripped away. Pushing the limits of everything too much.
This was when Merlin would become human again. He stops pushing, stops his swimming, stops his thoughts. Merlin sinks, little bubbles escape between his lips, whether it was from suffocating or crying, he has never been sure.
Gentle and loving arms encase him, just like always. They stop him from continuing to drown, they don’t stop him from dying but that has never been an issue. With the tide he rises to the surface and is dragged onto the shore bed.
Once again in an able mind, Merlin opens his eyes. Just like each year, he sees Freya standing over him, she says nothing like always and just smiles at him with sad eyes before going back to Avalon.
The air is crisp and cold, Merlin closes his eyes again.
Water fills his lungs, he has yet to throw it up but like a new born baby he doesn’t need to, so with a heavy heart and heavy lungs, Merlin lies against the rocks of the lakes beach as the sky let out its own heavy sigh.
Each tiny rock dug into his back, and each flake of snow fell onto his body.
It is like this every year; he gets sick with grief and wakes up on christmas morning searching for Arthur, and then Freya stops him because he is too early.
Every year it is the same, Merlin lying on a shore bed with his eyes closed.
Time passes as time does, he isn’t sure how much does pass but it is a few hours at least. It allows him to think clearly for one last time until he is stripped away for his memories for another year.
Somewhere in the castle, the elves would have woken up by now and would have started to light the halls and begin on breakfast, the early risers would have been up by now and wandering about the place.
Merlin is and has always been an early riser.
He breathed again, not because he had to but because he wanted to. Like a fountain of water, his lungs contracted and the water surged out from his throat, dribbling steadily down his cheeks and neck. Air filled his lungs once more.
He stood up and brushed away whatever stone or plant had tried to attach themselves to him. Merlin walked back towards the castle, Poppy was probably looking for him by now.
Every year it is the same, why would this year be any different.
As time grows, Merlin grows with his grief, it doesn’t lessen, it’s always the same, he has just learnt how to cope with it.
Standing at the base of the steps into Hogwarts, Merlin has one last fleeting thought before going inside.
How long will he have to cope?