AN: I just can't get over 4x01. It was so freaking good! I'm short-circuiting with excitement every few hours in anticipation for the next one! Is it just me, or has this week been absurdly long?
Also, you know what I worked out? Merlin saved Arthur's life a minimum of 19 times in the first three seasons, and Arthur only knows about one of those times. It's rather sad, I think. EDIT: Thank you to Whirlwind421 and Hopeful Puppy for pointing out that Arthur is also very aware of the time Merlin drank poison for him in 1x04. I forgot that one while I was writing my mental list of known vs unknown rescues.
Spoilers: Significant spoilers for 4x01 'The Darkest Hour: Part One,' and also significant references to 1x01, 'The Dragon's Call.'
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Déjà Vu
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Déjà vu: the experience of feeling sure that one has already witnessed or experienced a current situation.
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They've been here before, the two of them. Standing on Death's threshold, about to knock on the door.
A banquet, to celebrate 20 years of a magic-free kingdom. High stone walls reflecting the candlelight. Laughter; warmth; good cheer.
There are no candles this time – no fire at all (and isn't that half the problem) – but the walls are pretty much the same. Great big slabs of stone with aging mortar peeking out through the cracks, reaching high to the roof. There is laughter too, but it's brief and strained and mostly an attempt by both of them to calm the fear they know the other is feeling.
They're both there. Arthur, in his tall-backed chair at the main table, leaning across his father to share a joke with Morgana. Merlin, slightly in awe of the huge celebration, meandering around and filling up any empty glasses he sees and handing out smiles with cheerful abandon. They're both actively ignoring each other's existence.
They've come so far since that night of the banquet. Practically inseparable now, going everywhere together and facing countless fears. Always together. Like now, huddled together against a wall in some gutted out old fortress, relying on the other's presence to keep their composure in tact as they quite literally stare Death in the face.
A sudden hush. The night's entertainment is here. She is going to sing for them.
A sudden hush. The creatures are out there, searching. Merlin calls them dorocha. Arthur doesn't care what they're called, just that they stay the hell away.
The song starts.
The screeching starts, not far away now. They say the darkest hour is just before the dawn. Surely dawn can't be far away now.
A scream. A falling chandelier, breaking the spell. A grieving mother. A dagger, hurtling through the air, heading straight for him.
A scream. Tortured souls, roaming the earth they no longer belong in and taking victims wherever they go. A blast of cold air and a nightmarish face, swooping down on them with delighted rage.
A hand, warm and solid and surprisingly strong. Gripping him by the shoulder and yanking him urgently out of harm's way.
A hand, warm and solid and surprisingly strong. Gripping him by the shoulder and yanking him urgently out of harm's way.
Someone shouts. He's not sure who – all he's aware of is the warm pressure of the hand still gripping his shoulder and the way the world is tumbling all around him as he falls.
Someone shouts. It's him, he realises distantly, shouting out a command and a denial all in the same breath – in the same word.
He lands sprawled on the ground, the smart-mouthed upstart of a peasant right behind him, hand still warm on his shoulder.
He lands sprawled on the ground but scrambles up to his knees again as fast as he can, eyes wide with horror as he sees the thing swoop down on Merlin – the smart-mouthed upstart of a peasant who somehow managed to worm his way under all Arthur's barriers and become the person he cares for most in the world.
There's a loud thud as the spinning dagger slams into Arthur's chair, hitting with enough force that the tip of it breaks through the other side of the wood.
There's a loud thud as Merlin slams into the wall, thrown weightlessly through the air by the strength of the dorocha's attack and hitting with enough force that something must have broken.
There's a shocked silence. The prince and the loudmouthed peasant lie in a slightly stunned state on the cold stone floor, staring up at the still-quivering dagger that would have been the death of the King's only son.
There's a shocked silence. Merlin lies crumpled at the base of a wall, facing away from Arthur, still. So, so still. Arthur can't tear his gaze away, even as the misty spirit flips in the air and makes a beeline for him.
They scramble to their feet, breathing hard, and stand side-by-side as they watch the witch breathe her last breath.
The knights' arrival is heralded by a loud crash and a war cry, and Arthur's gaze is torn from Merlin's still – too still – form as the spirit shrieks and changes course, and then disappears in a swirl of mist as Lancelot lashes out with the torch. Merlin doesn't move.
They share a disgusted look as Uther announces that the reward for saving the King's son is an appointment as the Prince's manservant. Stuck together every morning and afternoon and evening and training session and hunting trip and scouting mission. Brilliant. Just brilliant.
Merlin doesn't move. Arthur and Lancelot dash over to him. Roll him over. Take in the frozen touch of his skin, the frost clinging to his eyelashes and misting over his open eyes. No. This isn't how it happened last time. This isn't how it's supposed to go.
They grow on each other, despite their best efforts. They tease and taunt; come to trust one another. Come to call the other 'friend.' They risk their lives for the other on more than one occasion, to the King's great disapproval. They stick together, rely on each other. Nearly die, miraculously live, and go out to do it all again the next day. They promise to defeat the darkness together.
Together. They were supposed to do this together. They're supposed to save Camelot together.
But Arthur can still feel the phantom pressure on his shoulder from where a jumped-up, loud-mouthed peasant boy yanked him fearlessly out of harms way – both tonight and all those years ago.
Both times Merlin fell.
But this time, he doesn't get up.
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AN: Tomorrow, people! Tomorrow! Zomgosh, I cannot wait.
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Bundi