What happens next isn't pretty.

I'm not gonna drag it out- I'm not proud of it. Just imagine the most powerful warlock in the world, with the power of the gods at his fingertips, throwing a tantrum. Then forget that, because you cannot imagine the hell I unleashed.

Arthur reassures me afterwards that nobody had actually died- a lot of injuries I managed to heal, the odd concussion, and lot in shock, but no fatalities, which is a miracle all and of itself. There is that to be thankful for.

I lean back against the wall, noting the carvings digging into my back, noting the fresh breeze against my cheek, and feeling them as bitter poison against my flesh. It's happened before, of course. When I've lost control, when my magic is no longer subordinate. Instead of a limb I can bend and stretch as I wish, it is a wild beast, separate and untamable. I close my eyes tight as I recall the storm that thrashed and howled around me, that monster pulled straight from my own nightmares. My demons, in physical forms.

There was the occasional glimpse of red eyes, torn black cloaks as a tornado ripped apart the council room, spinning around, tossed as limply as a rag doll, a million tortured voices screaming in my ears, claws tearing at my skin... I kept Arthur safe though. Even subconsciously, I threw a protection bubble around him, leaving him sheltered from the wraiths and monsters that were me. This was my soul, laid bare in all its darkness, in all its twisted glory. Once, the world would have sung. Now it screamed and cowered, shrinking away from my grotesque power.

So long I have tried to banish the darkness- I have fought trading companies and kings, illness and injustice. Yet there is something I have learnt, something branded into my soul. You cannot fight monsters without becoming one. I am a monster. Where there used to be flesh; blood; skin; a beating heart, there is only them. I am a patchwork of the people around me, stitched together by their ability to see past my darkness, and not be afraid of what their eyes are greeted by.

For so long, Arthur was what the wool was borne of, the substance behind every movement. He still is, he always will be, but Alaric was the thread that span between the days, binding them, made them worth living. I still have my base, my home in Arthur, but the gap between those last days and these is too much. Alaric, the thread that wound the days between this and that, has gone, and I am falling apart at the seams.

I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, trying so hard not to remember Jonathan's words. There is no Alaric Tsayrael. There never was. There is no Alaric Tsayrael. There never was thereneverwasthereneverwas-

"You want some coffee? I tried some and its actually quite nice. Why didn't we have this at Camelot again?"

I open my eyes. Quickly wipe the tears from my cheek. Scramble for a response.

"Maybe-" something catches in my throat, so I cough and try again. "Maybe its to do with the fact that it wasn't discovered until the sixteen hundreds?"

"Ah, I knew it would be something like that." Arthur slides down the wall to sit next to me, and offers the steaming polystyrene cup. I take it with a murmured thanks, wrapping both hands around the plastic , and feeling the warmth seep into my skin. It is the first sensation that doesn't sting or burn.

We sit in silence, as I take a few scalding sips.

"I'm... sorry." I mumble. The words seem ridiculously puny, so I repeat them, but it has no effect. It is merely a whisper in a room of screams. He doesn't reply, and I dare a glance from the corner of my eye. He looks completely revolted, as if I had just vomited on his shirt. I bite back my hurt. Do I really disgust him that much?

"Merlin... you are without a doubt the stupidest idiot in all the five kingdoms."

Well. Okay, then. "But... you saw what happened. What I did. I'm a monster." I barely breathe the words, hating the feel of them in my mouth.

"Merlin, do you remember when we first met Morgause?"

I cast my mind back, and unwillingly smile as the memories rush back.

"Sure. You got beaten by a girl." The punch ploughs into my arm even before the words are fully out.

"Of all the things to remember!" Arthur says indignantly. "Why don't you remember me bravely putting my head in a chopping block, or me valiantly allowing her to pick up her sword?"

"Because they're boring!" I respond without thinking. "You see that all the time. But Arthur Pendragon, bested by a girl? Not so much."

"Merlin." Arthur says dangerously.

"Yeah?"

"Shut. Up."

I smile, and take another sip of coffee. "Was there a point to this?"

"Oh yeah." Arthur remembers. He steals the cup from my hand and takes a slurp. "Merlin- when I found out why my mother died- I couldn't think, let alone control my actions."

"It wasn't your fault." I comfort immediately.

He waves away my concern. "The thing is though- I held a blade to my father's throat. Would have finished him, too, if you hadn't barged in."

"I don't think-"

"Shut up Merlin. I would have done it, and we both know it." I sigh and nod, conceding that.

"What's the point in going over-"

"The point is-" Arthur interrupts, looking oddly tired. "The point is that I know darkness, Merlin. And I would never judge you for having some of your own."

I sit in silence for a moment, letting his words sink in. "Thank you." I murmer into the stillness.

"So c'mon then." Arthur says with renewed vigour, and getting to his feet. "Things to do, evil beasts to vanquish." He holds out a hand for me to grab, but staggers suddenly and throws out a hand to support himself.

"Woah, what the hell!" I manage a nod through the wooziness in my own head and guide Arthur back to the floor beside me. I've had this before, and I brace myself for the images to rush through my head. Arthur hasn't had the pleasure yet though, so I force an explanation through gritted teeth.

"When Alaric's soul was taken-" The words are mechanical- now is not the time to feel the emotion behind them. "It didn't just take who he is. It took who he ever could be, who he ever was. To the entire world, save me and you, he never existed."

"Then what-" Arthur lets out a grunt, and shakes his head, as if to shuck off the conflicting memories.

"It won't be too bad." I say. "You only knew him for a day or two." An onslaught of images tears a cry from my mouth without permission, and Arthur's hand flashes out to grab mine.

"Merlin-"

"It's ok. S'not so bad. What happened will still have happened- these new memories will fade. What we're seeing- it's like an alternative universe- this is what would have have happened if Alaric hadn't existed. The two... versions of reality are completely conflicting. They're not meant to exist. This is only happening because we were there when it happened-"

~~~~~

I'm meeting Alaric for the first time, in the 16th century, in a bar in Bulgaria. We are both far, far too drunk, and get into an argument over booze. He challenges me to duel to the death at dawn, and in my drunken daze, I agree. The next morning, we are both too hungover to remember making the agreement, and meet in the lobby as strangers. We become fast friends- especially when I realize what he is- and do not recall our first encounter until many hours later.

~~~~~~

I am drinking alone in a bar in Paris. I do not count each glass of liquor as I toss it past my lips, and do not care for the bill either. The next morning, I trudge to the carriages, and continue on alone to the homeless shelter.

~~~~~~

I am torn from my memories by a hand clutching at mine- Arthur's face is only a few inches from mine, and he is calling my name.

"Merlin? Merlin!"

I swat at him, pushing him away so I can breathe.

"What- how long?"

"I don't know- I'm fine now. You've got 400 years worth though!" I clench my teeth against the buzzing within my skull, but it is no use fighting these memories. They're there, whether I like it or not, and it's easier to let them in now, when they can't hurt me.

"Look, it's just so many images- like a backlog on a computer. I'll clear the backlog, and we'll both be fine."

"...Right."

I give an attempt at a smile, then close my eyes and concentrate fiercely. Right now, we have bigger problems than two coinciding realities. This should only take a few minutes, but will feel a lot longer. I focus on Arthur's slightly sweaty palm held tight between my fingers, and the pulse I can vaguely feel, humming against my skin. I am in the Wolf House, Great Britain. I think. I am with Arthur, in the 21st century, at the Wolf House. But with a snap, I am yanked away from the here and now, and I am mid battle, with Alaric, fighting for our lives.

~~~~~~

We are in a small cavern, lit only by small torches, and the spells I am throwing in all directions. Alaric fights in wolf form- he comes up to no higher than my hip, but he bites and tears and rips with fierce intensity. Alaric dispatches the last attacker, then morphs into human form.

"Think we got them all- Em watch out!" He lunges forward, and shoves me, hard, just as a crossbow bolt snaps between us. I literally feel the air ripple against my cheekbone. Me and Alaric breath simultaneous sighs of relief as the bolt connects with the far wall and the shaft snaps harmlessly in two.

~~~~~~

I am in a small cavern, fighting for my life. I send desperate stunning spells in all directions, but there are just too many of them. There is a snap of a crossbow, and a sudden burst of pain just below my collarbone. I look down to see the bolt, embedded in my chest. I struggle to keep my feet, to finish what I started, but without a word I sway, then topple into blackness.

~~~~~~

"Who is she?" I ask Alaric.

"Names Annette. You'll like her, I think."

She pushes in through the shop door then, impatient and annoyed. Glossy brown hair, eyes the oddest shade of violet, with thin framed glasses perched on a button nose. She grins as she sees Alaric, and I feel a completely irrational surge of jealousy as they hug.
She holds out a hand for me to shake. "I'm Annette."

For the first time in a very long time, I find myself speechless. "Hi." I get out. "I'm Emrys."

~~~~~~

Another day, another place. I've made it my business to see the world, in a last ditch attempt to save my sense of wonder. Yet as I look upon the Eiffel tower for the first time, trying to force myself to feel something, anything- all I can feel is numb.

~~~~~~~

In one hand I clutch the engagement ring I gave to her when I first proposed, the single diamond cutting into my flesh. The pain hammers through me, especially when I allow myself to look at the cloak I hold in my other hand, but all I can thinkis Annette Annette Annette. I want to yell, want to shout, until the whole world can hear me. I want destiny to hear my call. Haven't I done enough? I want to scream. Haven't I lost enough?

I place the dagger in front of me. A short, lethal blade, begotten in a dragons breath. It could kill even me. I pick it up. Place the tip against my heart. Close my eyes. I can't stand to watch it go in. I inhale my last breath of oxygen in this planet and allow my thoughts to go to Arthur, Annette, Robin. I'll see you soon. I think. I prepare to shove the blade in, but my entire body is thrown backwards by a wolf, landing hard on my chest. The creature is oaken brown, growing fiercely, and also my best friend.

Satisfied I won't find a way to die in the next five seconds, he transforms back into a human. The next thing I know, a fist lands hard on my jaw. I sprawl backwards on the floor, my head hitting the stone hard. I welcome the pain.

To be honest, I don't know how anyone can shout that loud for that long. How could I try and throw my life away, how dare I disrespect what God has given me, how could I be such a coward. It is in that moment I start to cry.

"I'm not scared." I whisper. "I'm tired. God, Alaric, I'm so tired."

Alaric's voice is softer then, and he tells me all the reasons why I shouldn't give up- more than that, why I can't. Slowly, through my alcohol hazed brain, reason slowly returns. I thought I was dying to join Arthur- yet has it not been prophetized that he will join me? I imagine being Arthur- waking up after so long, only to discover the only person that could have guided him was dead- dead of his own cowardice. Self hatred rises within me, and in one vicious gesture, I incinerate the blade.

Alaric's slow smile says it all.

~~~~~~

The sobs tear themselves from my chests in great uneven bursts. I have just enough presence of mind to hold onto the mostly empty whiskey bottle in one hand, as I slump to the floor. The open wounds across my thighs have nothing to do with it, really. It wasn't meant to be like this. I think to myself. Me and Arthur. Side by side, forever. But over time, I have come to realize that there is no me and Arthur. Not any more. He's gone, he's gone, and he's not coming back, and I am truly alone in this world. Hating myself for my cowardice, I crawl on my hands and knees to the cupboard, dragging myself to my doom.

Funny, I think. I'd always thought it would be witches or cults that would finally do it. Instead, it's me, covered in blood, one and half bottles of whiskey and a self inflicted wound, alone in my pathetic shack. But I'm not really dying. I reason. My soul has been dead for a very, very long time now. My body is just joining it.

I regret it even before the knife goes in. I sob, curling my body around the blade, screaming as the puncture in my stomach burns, filled with regret and self hatred, anguish and self-contempt. How could I? I wonder, in my last tangible thought.

And then I die. Curled, with tears not yet dry on my cheeks, filled with all the maybe's; all the what ifs; all the should have beens and never weres. The name on my lips though, is Arthur. Isn't it always?

~~~~~~

There is more. Much more, but I cannot bear to describe it. So many days that man had saved me, so many ways. A dozen deaths without him beside me. A hundred. And I live them all.

With a gasp I come to, already feeling the wetness on my cheeks, and the desperate tightness in my chest. I don't know who to think of first. Annette? Oh, my beautiful, sweet Annette who drifted from old age nearly 60 years ago. The only girl, besides Freya, I ever allowed myself to love. I learnt my lesson there. Or Alaric, my brother. My universal truth- the only constant I could bare to gift myself with. I thought he would live forever- I thought by letting one, just one who shared my longevity in, I wouldn't hurt anymore. How wrong I was. And of course Arthur, my home, returned to where he belongs.

Gradually, the sound of distant voices reach me- primarily Arthur's, sounding actually worried for once. I force my eyelids open, to see him, crouched next to me, quickly constructed nonchalance on his face.

"Not dead then?"

"You worried?" I clear my throat, but make no attempt to clear the tears from my cheeks.

"Of course, because you're my only friend in the whole world and I couldn't bear it if you left me." He overstresses each word, and fakes a girly pout at the end, in a clear attempt to bolster my spirits. I smile reluctantly.

"I am in this world."

"Bloody hell, don't remind me." His voice drops into a lower octave as he sits beside me, trying to ignore the tears I brush away. "Seriously though- you okay?"

"Yep." I lie. "Tip-top. Hunkydory. Top of world. Fantastic." Okay Merlin. I think. Stop talking now.

I ignore the odd look Arthur throws in my direction, and surreptitiously lift the corner of my shirt, just to check, and expecting nothing at all. But instead, I am just in time to watch a livid red scar branding the flat expanse of my stomach fade into nothing. Panic flaring, I run my fingers frantically over the flesh. Not even a scratch. I quickly roll up my sleeve, and watch the lash marks I received at the hands of Isis terrorists vanish. The second time around, there had been no Alaric to rescue me.

I swallow back my fear, and push the fabric back down. They aren't actually hurting me- it is only an echo. No harm done. But I am fever hot, and cannot help but think of a supernova- a star explodes into fragments, yet people on earth do not see it for hundreds of years. By the time it reaches their eyes, a new star is already forming somewhere else. Perhaps the damage has been done- we just can't see it yet.

Shaking my head to rid myself of these disturbing thoughts, I smile and nod to whatever Arthur is saying, though my thoughts are a million miles away. A dozen lifetimes. Whatever- whoever I am without Alaric, it's not someone I want to meet. I proved that today in the council room. Which, coincidentally, no longer exists. In so many ways, I have died, yet somehow they never happened at all. So great is the difference though between the first and the last time he saved me- and I cannot help but feel every second in between is burning.

I died. A hundred days, a hundred ways, and yet I am alive, and my whole existence is on fire. I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy. Except I'm old and I'm bitter and hell yes I would, but still. Instead of crumpling to the ground as my body begs me to though, I force a smile, and drag Arthur to his feet.

"Come on." I say with the brightest, most realistic smile I can dredge up, and filled with the need to do something normal. "It's time I introduced you to a shower."

~~~~~~

I absolutely hate this chapter, but I have rewritten and rewritten it, and it's just not getting any better.

Oh, btw, I couldn't resist a little DW quote in there. sorry about the copyright.