A/N: And yet another Merlin fanfiction. I'm really starting to enjoy them

Warnings: mental illness, language, modern fic, OOCness and I'm just guessing at Merlin's age. Don't hold it against me. I also don't know how old Arthur is when he's killed, but I'm going with 25. And, though she's barely mentioned, Freya was like a sister to Merlin, not a girlfriend.

Pairings: Arthur/Gwen, one-sided (on Merlin's part) Merlin/Arthur

Disclaimer: Merlin is not mine, and the lyrics are from Cough Syrup. I don't know who originally sings it, though, because I only listen to the Glee version. The title is from the lyrics of Glitter in the Air by Pink.

Edit: I have just been informed that Cough Syrup is by Young the Giant. Thank you, anonymous reviewer. I'm sorry a little piece of you died when you saw I only know the Glee version. I'm not sorry for listening to it, though. Darren Criss did a damn fine job.

Summary: How could this have happened? Arthur wasn't supposed to die. He wasn't allowed to die…. He isn't allowed to die. It was that thought that began Merlin's decent into madness.

thoughts/writing

'mind talk'

"talking"

Life's too short to even care at all, oh whoa-oh,

I'm losin' my mind, losin' my mind, losin' control

This is insane; completely and utterly insane. Except, perhaps, "insane" isn't the right word to use; of course it's insane, it's a nut house. Ridiculous, perhaps? Yes, that fits better, this is ridiculous. I don't belong here. I'm not crazy.

He heard his companion snort. He shot him a brief glare.

Ok, fine, I am crazy, but I know that I'm crazy, I accept that I'm crazy, and since I'm aware that my companion is just an insignificant figment of my imagination—

"Hey! Who are you calling 'insignificant'?"

"Shut up, I'm trying to write, you clot pole!"

"I'm not stopping you."

"And quit reading over my shoulder!"

"Like that would stop me from knowing what you're writing."

—an insignificant and annoying—

"Hey!"

"I said shut up!"

—figment of my imagination, I shouldn't have to be here. I'm not a danger to myself or others, I'm not going to go on a murderous rampage and claim the prat inside my head made me do it—

"You're not going to roll your shit into little balls and eat crayons."

"You should never have watched that Ron White special."

"Nothing else was on. Maybe if you would spring for the deluxe package—"

"I'm not paying extra for Showtime and you can't make me!"

—I have a job and a flat, I pay my bills on time, I do my taxes, I volunteer at the soup kitchen. I am a perfectly functioning member of society. I don't need to be here. This is ridiculous.

"That's not going to convince your doctors, Merlin," Arthur drawled, arms crossed as he leaned against the door of Merlin's room.

"I know, you great prat, but I had to get it out of my system. That's the whole point of these stupid journals they gave us, remember?" Merlin shot back as he stretched out on his bed. He gave no reaction as the door Arthur had been leaning on swung through him to admit an overly-peppy orderly named David.

"Time for your pills, Mr. Emrys," David said happily. Like Merlin was taking those damn pills, anyway.

"And seriously, Emrys? Out of all the family names in all the world, you go with Emrys," Arthur taunted. "Aren't you supposed to be hiding that identity, Merlin?"

Merlin kept quiet, as Arthur knew he must. He needed the doctors to think his pills were working so he could get back to his life. But Merlin wasn't used to not talking to Arthur. This was the first time in centuries he'd not been allowed to. It was odd, not being able to voice a retort when he wanted; odd being denied the banter he'd engaged in since he was 19 years old. He'd have escaped already if there wasn't a camera in his room that would witness him disappear into thin air. Damn technology.

Merlin popped the pills and spelled them away, pulling a face as an excuse to close his eyes and hide the flash of gold. Merlin opened his mouth and wiggled his tongue so the orderly could see that the pills were gone.

"God, Merlin, brush your teeth." Arthur waved his hand in front of his nose and pulled the same sour face Merlin had a moment before. 'Oh, like you can smell,' Merlin thought at him, satisfied that Arthur had got the message when he stuck his tongue out at him.

"I'll be back at lunchtime, Mr. Emrys," David told him. It was unnecessary; not only was Merlin not taking his pills, but the orderly had told him the same thing every morning for the past three days, almost always followed by, "Now go interact with your fellow patients. You're not allowed to stay in your room between breakfast and dinner, remember?"

Of course I remember, you chipper freak, Merlin thought spitefully. It's written on the wall.

"Isn't that written on the wall?" Arthur asked the orderly as he wheeled his pill cart out of the room, the cheerful call of "Have a nice day, Mr. Emrys!" floating behind him. "He just ignored me! Rude."

Merlin ignored Arthur's attempt at levity. "How can I have a nice day?" Merlin raged instead. "I'm in a nut house!"

"Well, you're nutzo," Arthur replied simply. "Now, go mingle with your people!"

Merlin glared. "You're lucky you're dead."

"I know, right?"

These fishes in the sea, they're staring at me,

Whoa-oh, whoa-oh oh oh,

It had begun centuries ago, in a land time hadn't forgotten, but rather, convinced was a legend. King Arthur had been slain in the battle, and Merlin's magic had destroyed every enemy around him in grief, including Morgana and Mordred, but it wasn't enough. His king was dead—his friend, his brother, his love (though Arthur had never known), was dead. He had failed his destiny, he had failed Albion, he had failed Arthur. What more was there to do?

Arthur's funeral had been torture. The sun dipped low, painting the horizon a mocking shade of deep red. There was no wind, no bird song. The world was still, as if it had realized the true magnitude of the soul lost.

Not a single citizen of Camelot had failed to attend, not a single person wasn't crying. To his left, Merlin saw the knights laying down their swords in respect; to his right, Gwen had tears running down her face, trying desperately to remain strong for her people, still beautiful in anguish. All around him was a sea of light, each villager—from the oldest man to the youngest child—carrying a single candlestick in remembrance of their fallen king.

How could this have happened? Arthur wasn't supposed to die. He wasn't allowed to die.

…He isn't allowed to die.

It was that thought that began Merlin's decent into madness.

A wet world aches for a beat of a drum,

Whoa-oh, whoa-oh

Sharing circle. It was the most obnoxious thing known to man. Except perhaps David. David was pretty up there on the list of "most obnoxious".

Merlin listened to an anorexic complain that she was fat for about the thousandth time. She had actually gotten control of her anorexia two days ago, she was just fishing for compliments that everyone around her was oh-too happy to give.

She started to claim she had a gut and Merlin got fed up. "I know, right?" he said innocently, ignoring the doctor glaring at him. "You totally look pregnant."

The girl burst into tears and ran out of the room. Merlin was sent to the quiet corner like a child in kindergarten. He assumed.

Merlin didn't care. He liked the quiet corner; no one tried to talk to him. No one except—

"Well, that wasn't very nice," Arthur said as he sat down on the floor next to Merlin. "You could've driven her back to her eating disorder."

'Then she should've left when she was allowed to two days ago,' Merlin informed him.

"How do you know she was allowed to leave?"

'Her doctor has a loud mouth and a crush on me. She'll tell me anything.'

"A crush? On you? Oh, that is hilarious!" Arthur began to laugh. "You gonna sleep with her?" he asked after he had calmed down. Merlin glared at him, wondering why he even felt the need to ask.

"Oh yeah, her woman parts turn your gay dick right off." Arthur nodded in realization. Merlin sometimes appreciated the way Arthur would tease him by pretending to have forgotten details Merlin had never told Arthur in life. Now was not one of those times. On the other hand, he acted as if Merlin being gay wasn't an issue. Merlin wasn't sure the real Arthur would've ever shrugged it off the way this Arthur did. Especially if he'd known…. Did this Arthur know? Or rather, was he going to admit to knowing? "Yes, I know you love my gorgeous self. Well, my other gorgeous self. It's fine, I'm totally lovable."

'Your new vocabulary is upbeat and annoying,' Merlin told him petulantly.

"Fine," Arthur said before clearing his throat and calling out dramatically, "Yes, good sir! I am aware of your love for my gorgeous self that is not myself but my real self, for I am but a figment of your grief-stricken mind!"

'Nice. That's nice,' Merlin said sarcastically. 'It's so great that you mock my mental issues.'

"Isn't it, though?" Arthur smiled that winning smile that always made Merlin's heart skip a beat. He'd never tell him, but he didn't really care that Arthur mocked him. He'd always mocked him; for that to change would be true madness, and he wouldn't be able to function under it.

If I could find a way to see this straight

I'd run away

To some fortune that I should have found by now

Everyone had begged him to stop—Gaius, Leon, Gwaine, Elyan, Gwen, Percival—everyone whose opinion could possibly matter to him had begged him to quit, to accept what had happened, to give up his dangerous quest, but Merlin had refused.

Didn't they realize? Didn't they care? Arthur was destined to unite the kingdoms, he was written to become High King of Albion. That he had died before that was truly accomplished…. He wasn't meant to die, so surely he was not really dead. Surely, he could be brought back.

Merlin knew he could do it. He had gained powers over the veil by killing the Questing Beast and Nimhue and gaining possession of the Cup of Life. He could bring back his king as long as he was willing to pay the price. But what was the price of a soul? Of a king's soul? Of a destined soul? What must be done to bring back a life? For a life to be given, one must be taken, but life wasn't being given, was it? It was being returned to the world it had left too soon.

Merlin had considered Necromancy. Morgana had used it for Lancelot, why could he not use it for Arthur? Because it wouldn't really be Arthur, he had answered himself. It would be a shade, without the memories or beliefs or morals of Arthur Pendragon; it would have only what Merlin told it Arthur possessed, and while there was none better to teach everything about the king, it wouldn't be the same. This Arthur would do as Merlin commanded, it would check with Merlin over every little thing before it acted, it would fake emotions it would never really have. So Necromancy was out.

What could Merlin do? Nothing he found would truly bring back his friend, nothing would set Fate right, and it was eating away at him, but he wouldn't stop, couldn't stop. He had failed to protect Arthur, he would not fail in this.

I'm waiting for this cough syrup to come down, come down

Merlin brought his knees to his chest and turned to Arthur, who had done the same from the other side of the couch. Merlin was supposed to be having his one-on-one therapy with a Dr. Grobings, but Merlin had decided that his time would be better spent talking to Arthur while Grobings slumbered away in his chair.

Merlin pulled out the good doctor's bottle of scotch and poured himself a glass. Having long since gotten control of his delusions, he was able to create a glass for Arthur as well.

"So, what's new?" Arthur asked cheerfully, taking a large gulp of the spicy liquid.

"That's a bit pointless to ask, isn't it?" Merlin stated wirily.

"Well, excuse me for trying to make conversation," Arthur huffed. "This sucks. There's nothing in this hell hole to talk about." Arthur glared at their surroundings. "On the plus side, there's no one for you to fuck, so I don't have to witness that uncomfortable spectacle again."

"No one ever told you to stay," Merlin pointed out indignantly. "You were the pervert watching his best friend fuck a guy from a bar."

"Um, hello? Figment of your imagination?" Arthur waved to his general self. "Wherever you go, I go, and that includes to bar guy's place."

"You manage to disappear whenever you please, don't you try to pin this on me," Merlin shot back. That wasn't fair, Merlin knew. Arthur had a lot of freedom because Merlin wished him to, but if there was any part of Merlin that had wanted Arthur around—even while he bedded some random guy—Arthur would be forced to remain. Merlin didn't think he wanted Arthur to witness him being taken by some guy he'd just met who was too drunk to know that the name the sorcerer called out wasn't his, but his subconscious must've wanted Arthur to see him abusing the loose morals of this new world. Why else would Arthur stay?

"True. I suppose I'll just disappear now, then," Arthur said arrogantly, and he vanished from his seat.

"Arthur," Merlin called to the empty air. "Arthur?" He sighed, feeling very put-upon. "I'm sorry. Please come back." There was no enthusiasm in his tone, but Arthur's voice spoke from behind him;

"As if I have a choice," he muttered as he walked around the couch and returned to his seat.

"Thank you, Arthur." Merlin smiled ridiculously at him and Arthur made a mocking face as he flopped back onto the couch.

"Yeah, yeah." He stared at the ceiling for a moment, seemingly searching for something to talk about. "So," he said finally, "Mila Kunis or whoever plays Mozzie on White Collar?"

"Oh, Mila Kunis," Merlin answered immediately. He may be gay, but Mila Kunis didn't count.

Life's too short to even care at all, oh whoa-oh

I'm coming up now, coming up now, out of the blue oh-oh, oh-o-oh

It is years later—when Gwen and the Knights of the Round Table has taken to ruling the people of Camelot with power divided between them and the tale of Arthur is nothing more than a beloved bedtime story to the children of the land—that Merlin makes his greatest mistake.

Camelot had learned long ago to leave the distraught warlock alone to his experiments. Few had ever seen him, Merlin having sequestered himself in his tower, leaving only to attend the funeral of Gaius, who had passed on peacefully of old age. Even fewer knew that Merlin was working to resurrect the fallen king.

Merlin had found a ritual—and ancient, long-forgotten ritual composed by an outcast sidhe in an attempt to regain Avalon. Merlin had edited the ritual, rewriting it to bring someone from Avalon rather than allowing someone access to Avalon.

Had Merlin done more research, he would have discovered that the sidhe dislike people attempting to upset the balance they maintained between the living and the dead. He would have discovered that the sidhe cursed such people with their deepest fear in retribution. He would have discovered that he was frozen forever—never aging, never changing, never resting—at age 28, four years after the fall of his king.

These zombies in the park, they're looking for my heart,

Whoa-oh, whoa-oh oh oh

There was exactly one TV at Troubled Waters Mental Hospital, and it had exactly one channel. The workers had to pick the channel carefully, so as not to hinder anyone's progress. It couldn't be the news, since horrible things were always reported at great length in the news and that could lead to depression. It couldn't be any crime shows, because several of the PTSD patients were former cops or soldiers who had seen too much. It couldn't be any soap operas or daytime dramas, because they're always dealing with mental disorders—amnesia, psycopathy, and bulimia, mostly. It couldn't be any kids' shows, as the patients might just revolt if they were forced to interact with faux-peppy orderlies and then could only tell Dora that Swiper was right be-fucking-hind her. It couldn't be any doctor shows, because then patients would expect to be able to have a say in their treatment, and of course doctor shows also have a lot of drama in them.

There were many things needed to be kept away from the invalids of Troubled Waters, leaving only one channel that could be safely viewed by all patients; the home shopping network. This channel was fine because there was absolutely no way it could set off any existing conditions, as long as the obnoxiously smiling blonde woman didn't try to sell anything concerning fire or blades.

Merlin had been quietly reading a Harry Potter book, snickering each time one of the characters swore by him, when the blonde shopping woman brought out her next novelty item; a child's magic kit.

"Hey," Arthur said, nudging Merlin's shoulder. Merlin had often wondered how Arthur was able to affect the things around him, but he'd assumed his magic was simply moving things the way they would be if Arthur was real. "Hey." Arthur nudged Merlin again. Merlin pointedly stared at his book, wondering what the hell horcruxes were. "You should totally get the magic kit."

'You're an arse.'

"But a sexy one," Arthur shot back with a rakish grin. "Seriously, do a magic trick. I'm bored."

'Go read something, then,' Merlin suggested, still staring at the pages of the Harry Potter novel. Holy fuck-balls! He split his soul? No wonder he's psychotic.

"Like that's supposed to make me less bored." Arthur pouted and plopped onto the floor. "Merlin, entertain me!" he ordered imperiously.

'Arthur, stop whinging.'

"I am not whinging," Arthur stated firmly before whinging, "Merliiiiin…"

Merlin huffed and Arthur smiled, knowing he'd won. The warlock's eyes glowed gold and a sudden gust of wind blasted one of the windows open, blowing leaves and dirt and papers everywhere as one of the patients began screaming that "they'd found him, oh god!" or some such gibberish.

Arthur laughed as two of the orderlies ran into each other when they both attempted to calm the patient down. Behind his book, Merlin smiled.

A dark world aches for a splash of the sun

Whoa-oh, whoa-oh

The world changed—Gwen and the knights passed on, Camelot turned to legend, and magic became a fairytale—but Merlin stayed the same. He mourned his friends, he mourned his mother, he mourned the life he could have had, but he never stopped trying to resurrect Arthur. Even though the kingdom was gone, even though everyone else had died, even though there was no destiny for Arthur to fulfil anymore, Merlin didn't stop. He couldn't stop. To bring Arthur back would be the only way Merlin could see him again, hold him, speak to him, beg forgiveness for failing to protect him as Merlin had sworn he always would.

He shrouded the inner city in shadows, leaving himself the only one who would ever be able to find it, he cast maintenance spells so the castle and the town would remain intact, he freed all the horses and the dogs and every other animal within the walls, but he didn't see the fruits of his labour, because Merlin remained in his tower, ignoring everything around him as the world adapted and grew. He lived through some of the most glorious discoveries of the world, the most important moments in history, the most wretched practices of man, and he missed them all.

What did they matter? How could they even happen? How could life continue without Arthur? Did no one care about the courageous, honourable king who'd been betrayed over and over, but still never lost sight of his people? Did no one care that this incredible man had been ruthlessly murdered by his own sister? Did no one care that Merlin would never stop grieving the cherished life lost?

The world changed. Merlin didn't.

If I could find a way to see this straight

I'd run away

To some fortune that I should have found by now

Merlin lay in his bed; the mattress too hard, the pillow too thin, and the sheets too coarse. Arthur was propped in the window sill, the moonlight casting a halo around him as he watched the night guards scurry about in the courtyard below.

"They're so unorganized," Arthur moaned. "They have a shitty leader. I can see so many openings. It's pathetic."

"Well, Arthur, unless I can get to one of those openings, I don't care," Merlin said, turning his back to his king and casting a few weak spells on his bedding. It didn't help much, but it was something.

"No," Arthur replied, turning to the warlock. "There are cameras all over the hallways and in the room. Someone would notice. Unless you can manipulate technology with your magic now?"

"Nope." Merlin yawned and attempted to get comfortable. Hospital-issued blankets suck. You would think they'd spring for some fabric softener.

"Then you're stuck here." Arthur looked out the window again. "One of the guards just tripped over the fence for the flowerbed. This is so sad to watch."

"Arthur, I'm trying to sleep," Merlin complained.

"Merlin, you can't sleep," Arthur pointed out.

"I would still like to lie here and think of nothing, which is proving difficult with all your criticisms of the guards."

"Well maybe if they weren't so horrible." Arthur shrugged helplessly. "And since when can you not think of nothing?"

"Shut up."

"That's not an answer."

Merlin resisted the urge to throw something at his friend, knowing it would do nothing but get the doctors a tape of him tossing objects at thin air.

"Fine, fine." Arthur sighed.

Merlin relaxed, muttering a spell and sinking into the much softer mattress. Out of all the things he'd never be able to do—age, cry, reproduce (even if he had liked women)—he missed sleeping the most. Those peaceful hours of oblivion broken only by the odd dream of the past, waking up ready to conquer the day, losing that nagging feeling of exhaustion that he kept pushing to the back of his mind as he forced himself to carry on with his life. Merlin would give anything to be able to sleep for a thousand years and get rid of that thrice-damned tiredness that ached in his bones, but all he could do was lie still and try to empty his head of all thought, forever aware that he could close his eyes, but he couldn't slip away into his mind.

"BBC is making a series about us. Isn't that weird?" Especially if his mind insisted on talking.

And so I run now to the things they said could restore me,

Restore life the way it should be.

It was years later, he didn't know how many—maybe decades, maybe centuries, maybe millennia—but something happened. Merlin had been reading through the journal of a long-past, extremely powerful Necromancer and cross-referencing it with all he knew of the Cup of Life when a voice had spoken from behind him;

"Good God, you can read!"

Merlin started, having not heard a voice that wasn't his own for so long, but turned immediately, his eyes burning bright and a curse upon his lips. He wasn't sure what he expected to see, but it certainly wasn't Arthur, completely unchanged and wearing his usual red tunic, red jacket, brown trousers, brown boots, and sword.

"Arthur," he had whispered, his voice reverent and disbelieving, the word barely a breath, as if he was afraid the other man would fade away if he spoke any louder.

"That's right, Merlin," Arthur had said condescendingly before a concerned look overtook his features. "You look like hell." Merlin had known it was true. He hadn't shaved or bathed in weeks. "On the other hand, you can, in fact, grow a beard. Good thing I'm dead, or I'd have to pay Gwaine's bar tabs…. Well, if he weren't also dead."

Merlin had wanted to laugh, he wanted to joke that there wasn't enough money in the world to pay off Gwaine's tabs, he wanted to run up and hug his returned friend, but even if the shock had worn off, something still reverberated through his skull; "Good thing I'm dead…"

No; no, he wasn't dead. He was standing right in front of him! He was alive! Alive!

"No, Merlin." Arthur stated, making Merlin wonder if he had spoken aloud or if his friend simply knew him that well. The blond shook his head sadly. "Not alive."

"B… but…" Merlin had sputtered before trailing off at the look on Arthur's face.

"It's a long story."

I'm waiting for this cough syrup to come down

It's on his fifth day in that Merlin is allowed visitors. Only one person showed, and it was the last person he wanted to see.

Nicole was a sweet girl. She reminded him of Gwen with her dark skin and dark hair and kind eyes, though admittedly a much younger Gwen, with her shy demeanour and her crush on him and her tendency to ramble. Despite the similarities, Merlin could not bring himself to be happy to see her. She was the one who'd seen him talking to Arthur—or nothing, from her point of view—and had gotten him locked up in the first place.

Betrayal was apparently another trait the woman shared with the late queen.

"What is she doing here?" Arthur demanded as the young woman sat down. "Does she honestly think you'd want to see her?"

"Hello, Adrian," Nicole greeted with a wide smile and wary expression. 'Adrian'; Merlin hated that name, but he needed to go by something. 'Merlin' wasn't exactly used anymore.

"Hello, Nicole." She winced slightly at the name. Merlin had always called her 'Nikki' before.

Deciding to push past it, she wittered about things in the outside world, listing everything she could think of from the latest Doctor Who to how Merlin's pet rabbit, Heather, was doing at Nicole's house. It's as visiting hours are coming to an end that she decides to breach the subject of where they are.

"Your doctors say you're doing very well," she informed him, her voice cautious yet optimistic. "You should be let out soon."

"Goodie," Arthur muttered rather sarcastically.

"Well, that'll be great," Merlin said, watching her smile become less chary. "Then I can get a new job because the last one fired me—though that shouldn't be too hard, what with my credentials and the psych ward stay on my records—and of course find a new flat because there's no way I'll be able to pay my back utility bills with no job, let alone rent, but I'm sure everything'll be fine. I'll just be homeless for a while."

Nicole smiled hesitantly. "You can stay with me."

"Please," Arthur scoffed as Merlin stared at the woman coldly.

A tear slipped down Nicole's cheek. "I'm sorry," she whispered, "but you needed help."

"I'm sorry," Merlin said, "but I don't ever want to see you again."

Nicole rushed out in tears as Arthur applauded and yelled rude things at her back. "Glad that's over with," the blond said as an orderly escorted Merlin out of the visitors' room.

Despite Arthur insulting her, he was sure she reminded the king of his late wife. Merlin was also sure she would be back.

Life's too short to even care at all, oh whoa-oh

I'm losin' my mind, losin' my mind, losin' control

Merlin isn't sure what to think in the beginning. He isn't sure how to react to his new companion. Sometimes, he is upset; he feels his mind is tormenting him, taunting him with the visage of his fallen friend, reminding him that his king is still beyond the veil in Avalon and there was nothing he could do about it no matter how hard he tried. Other times, he is thankful; it is nice to have someone who remembers the old life, even if he only remembers it because Merlin does, even if he is not actually someone, rather, something.

Merlin continues to try and resurrect his king for many years after his mind had snapped until eventually, the shadow of Arthur—who had apparently, somehow, obtained some common sense—was able to convince Merlin that to bring Arthur back into a world so different from the one he'd known, a world without his kingdom or his family or his love, would be selfish and cruel. The Arthur-shade forces Merlin to accept the death of the other side of his coin, and Merlin thinks the shade should have disappeared when he finally admits defeat and recognizes that he shall never see Arthur again, but the shade remains.

Eventually, the not-Arthur convinces Merlin to venture out into the world, to see what mankind had accomplished in the centuries Merlin had been locked away. Merlin is wary of the changes, deciding to hover cautiously on the edge of civilization until he feels he knows enough about the time period to live within it.

At one point, Merlin stops referring to his delusion as the shade-Arthur or the not-Arthur or Arthur's shadow. Merlin knows it makes his unhealthy situation even more so, but he refers to the apparition as simply "Arthur".

Merlin slowly begins to change with the world he would never be allowed to depart, learning of new technologies and languages and skills, but still, Arthur remains. Merlin is not sure whether that's a good thing or not, but he is happy for it.

If I could find a way to see this straight

I'd run away

To some fortune that I should have found by now

"Do you know what today is?" Arthur asks one morning as Merlin climbs out of bed.

"The beginning of week two of my imprisonment?" Merlin suggests.

"Well, yes," Arthur says, "but it's also been one thousand years to this day since I first appeared. Happy anniversary!"

Merlin laughs. "Happy anniversary," he returns, changing out of his hospital-issued pyjamas and into his hospital-issued clothes.

"I got you a present," Arthur told him as the sorcerer opened his Harry Potter book.

"Really?" Merlin asked, wondering what a mirage of his broken mind could possibly have gotten him.

"Yes," Arthur insisted. Merlin raised an eyebrow and waited patiently. "I found the cable box. And the emergency generator. And they should be fucking up right about… now."

The lights flickered and died and Merlin grinned. No more cameras.

"You're awesome," Merlin informed Arthur as he heard nurses rushing about, attempting to maintain order as some of the residents began panicking. "Let's grab my files and get the hell out of here." Merlin turned his bed sheets into a satchel and put his journal in it before disappearing to his doctor's office.

"Make it fast, Merlin," Arthur urged him as the warlock began digging through a filing cabinet. "Before they think to check on you."

"Just give me a minute," Merlin told the blond. "Durson, Eizel, Ecker, Elliot, Emrys! Got it!" Merlin shoved the file into his satchel and added Dr. Grobings's last bottle of scotch "Where to?" he asked his companion.

"Hmmm…" Arthur thinks for a moment. "The lake of Avalon," he decides. Merlin nods before muttering a spell under his breath. His eyes glowed and a wind swept through the office. By the time the power was fixed, there was no evidence of an Adrian Emrys having ever been at Troubled Waters.

So I run now to the things they said could restore me,

Restore life the way it should be.

It's been centuries since Camelot fell, and almost one year since I decided that I can live amongst people rather than on the fringes of modern society. Things are… odd. The world is different. The monarchy is a "tourist trap", no one writes letters anymore, people can trade organs, and I'm a legend… a bedtime story. There's books about me in the stores, depicting me as an old man with a walking stick and a wise, regal air about him.

Arthur won't stop laughing. That damn Dragoon came back to haunt me. He's stopped mocking me so much since I found out that it's commonly accepted that Gwen willingly left him for Lancelot and that Arthur slept with Morgana, creating Mordred.

It's a good thing he's not real. I really wouldn't fancy cleaning vomit from my kitchen floor.

Oh! And there's a room for everything. There's a room for sleeping in and a room for eating in and a room for bathing in and a room simply for living in. It's actually called the "living room" and it usually has this thing called a television, which has plays—or "television shows"—and news and music on it. Arthur wastes away in front of it for hours at a time. He's gotten hooked on Scooby-Doo. It's about some talking dog and his friends that solve crimes. I think Arthur just likes unravelling the mysteries before the cartoon people can.

It's weird, being unable to use my own name without someone going "Were your parents high?" ("high" apparently means "on hallucinogens") It's weird, knowing there's taverns for people like me, and that I am apparently quite the catch. It's weird, having lived through all this history and knowing none of it.

I've been thrust into a whole new world that I just barely understand. It's times like these that I'm glad not-Arthur convinced me to give up on resurrecting Arthur. The prat never really had the capacity to adapt. He'd never figure things out, and he'd never forgive me for putting him in such a position.

I still want to see him. More than anything, I want to see him, not an imitation conjured by my own mind, but I must accept that I never will. We are on separate sides of the veil and there's no way for either of us to cross.

I will always love him—I will never stop—and I will never be as happy as I was when he lived, but I want to be able to let go. I want to live my life. I want to find a place in this new world that I can be content with so that one day, I can smile without that bitter feeling echoing inside me.

-December, 1976

"Merlin," Arthur called from the living room. "That stupid reindeer movie you love is on."

"Coming," Merlin shouted back. He turned to the paper and lit it on fire, placing it on a crystal ashtray and watching it curl in on itself as he thought about his new goal. Others might find it weird, but it was all he wanted; to really smile.

I'm waiting for this cough syrup to come down

The two reappear on the shore of the lake of Avalon. Merlin pulls out his file and scotch and begins to drink as he reads through the doctor's notes. Arthur falls to the ground next to Merlin, reading over the sorcerer's shoulder.

"Possible schizophrenic, possible Disassociative Identity Disorder, possible brain damage."

"Ooh! That one!" Arthur points at brain damage and pokes Merlin's shoulder. "See? Grobings agrees with me."

"Please, Grobings never spoke to me," Merlin retorted, taking a swig of liquor. "He had no idea what the hell is wrong with me." He conjured a glass for Arthur as well. "Thanks for the save, by the way."

"Anytime," Arthur replied graciously before promptly ruining the moment. "Actually, no. You're on your own next time. I'll disappear to Paris until you manage to escape if you ever get locked up in bedlam again."

"Prat."

"Idiot."

Merlin sets the file aside and they sit in silence for a moment, staring out at the still water. Merlin wondered if Freya's spirit ever found peace. He wondered if the sidhe would ever forgive him for trying to play god. He wondered what Arthur was wondering.

"Do you know the ritual Sophia used when she tried to sacrifice me?" Arthur finally asked.

"Yeah. I learned it when I thought that maybe I could trade someone for you," Merlin replied, not looking away from the sun's reflection on the lake.

"Come on." Arthur stood up and held out his hand. Merlin stared at it blankly. "Come on," Arthur repeated, grabbing onto Merlin's arms and hauling him up. He led Merlin into the water, ignoring the warlock's indignant complaints about his wet clothes. "Oh, shut up, Merlin," Arthur ordered, stopping once he is waist deep and standing Merlin across from him. "You were going to set those clothes on fire as soon as you could, anyway." Merlin shrugged helplessly and Arthur flicked some water at him.

"Not fair! I can't splash you back!" Merlin protested.

"First, I didn't splash you, I flicked a few droplets at you, and second, I told you to shut up," Arthur said haughtily. "Now, how did that ritual go?"

Merlin was silent.

"Merlin." The sorcerer still didn't speak. Arthur threw his hands up as he caught on to why Merlin had turned mute. "Oh! Now you listen to me. Well, you may speak. And show me how that ritual goes."

Merlin shakes his head, exasperated. He doesn't know why Arthur is suddenly interested in this particular near-death experience, but he is long used to the other man finding fascination in the most random of topics and grabs the other's hands as he begins to recite the spell.

"Eipert dhot enuhs khoton…" Merlin feels his magic swirling around him and leeching into Arthur. This was not supposed to happen. Arthur wasn't affected by magic. The spell shouldn't be working.

"Keep going," Arthur urges. "Trust me."

Even if Merlin didn't, he wouldn't be able to stop. The spell is an ancient one and demands to be finished, even if there would be no result. "Gahriole donchae-ar shu-ah…" Merlin's eyes are wide, his expression frantic as he tries to figure out what is taking place.

"It's a long story," Arthur says over the sound of Merlin's chanting. "But it begins when Gaius passes and tells me how horribly you're doing and I decide I need to escape Avalon to help you."

"Ikbehs donchae-nuh tohnbion…"

"You know how the sidhe get when someone tries to upset the balance," Arthur continues, staring into Merlin's shell-shocked eyes. "I was cursed to be tied to you, forced to lie about my sudden reappearance, for a thousand years."

"Ohn-khan advin ssuhtoe…"

"I spent all that time trying to figure out a way to get us both our happy endings." Arthur smiles and Merlin thinks he smiles back. "If you sacrifice a royal's soul to Avalon, you are given entrance."

"Ghondiae ghondwion horrp onguhn…"

Arthur hugs him and places his lips by the warlock's ear. "I'll meet you there."

"Ahnvin ssuhtoe ghondiae ghont onhi-ahn Arthur Pendragon!"

And Arthur fell back.

One more spoon of cough syrup now, oh whoa-oh

"Is he…"

"…moving!…"

"When will…"

"…awake…"

The voices sound so familiar and so very far away, like a long forgotten dream. Perhaps he is dreaming? But no… he can't dream. He can't sleep.

"Look!…"

"…quiet. God…"

The final voice is one he recognizes and it brings his last memories to the forefront of his mind. Or what he thinks are his memories. They couldn't have really happened, though… could they? He would sooner believe it was a dream. Maybe everything was a dream. Maybe he'll open his eyes to find Gaius telling him he's late for work.

The voices around him become clearer.

"God, Merlin, I know you haven't slept in thousands of years, but you need to wake up now." His eyelids fluttered. "Come on. That's it. Wakey wakey." He registers a bright light before quickly closing his eyes again. "Not so fast." Something hovers over his face. "Ok, try again." He takes a peek and notes that it is much darker before fully opening his eyes. He sees a cloak being held above him, blocking out the light. His eyes adjust and he looks at the smiling crowd around him.

Two dark-haired men—one roguishly handsome, the other classically handsome—one well-muscled giant, one bearded blond, one dark-skinned beauty, one shy young woman, one wise old man, one crying older woman, and one smug-looking prat holding a cloak.

The prat smiled and swept the cloak aside, revealing the most gorgeous landscape Merlin had ever seen. "Welcome," said Arthur, "to Avalon."

One more spoon of cough syrup now, whoa-oh oh oh

A/N: Well, this was a total bitch to write. It took months. Months. There were so many moments when I almost gave up, but I always ended up thinking Oh, hell no. I really like this fucking story and I will share it with the fucking world if it's the last thing I fucking do, now write, bitch! and then I was somehow able to squeeze out another section.

So yes, this story tortured me, but I soldiered on because this was the one story I immediately knew I needed to share with Merlin fans everywhere. So, please review, because it always astounds me to see physical evidence that someone, somewhere, read and maybe even enjoyed my works.

The people in the second-to-last paragraph are, in order; Gwaine, Lancelot, Percival, Leon, Gwen, Freya, Gaius, Hunith, and Arthur.

P.S. The spell is done by ear, and thus in no way accurate.

P.P.S. I was not alive in 1976. I just randomly picked the year. My only knowledge of the 70's is through That 70's Show.