i'm on the right side (with you)

Chapter 1

The lake looms over him, even though the lake ripples below. The lake taunts and teases him; it screams and screeches and smirks. The reflection of the setting sun smiles with sorrow, hostage to the cycle of light and dark. The water is cold, but Merlin's heart is colder, Arthur's absence thawed deep inside his chest. The fault of the sun is mirrored in the water. The lake is a reminder that Merlin had failed.

The water leaps and clings to Merlin, dragging him down and his knees buckle. Even the soil doesn't let him cling on to land. Merlin's hands grope and grasp, tearing the grass as his body begins to submerge into the lake. His shouts are muted, the sound not even ringing in his own ears. Water that should've been oxygen floods his lungs, and his hands claw at air around his throat, before Merlin's head is pulled under.

That was when he should've woken up, Merlin thinks when his eyes snap open, and he finds himself with his bed covers thrown on the floor, and his loose t-shirt and shorts damp on his body. That is how the nightmare should've stopped.

However, Merlin does not wake at the phantom feeling of falling under the lake's surface. He continues to sink down, down into the darkness of the water. A too familiar touch whispers over his skin and electricity sparks in the fibres of his flesh. Many years ago, Merlin's heart would've skipped a beat, with words catching in his throat. But a thousand and a half years does not care for the heart. Now, it doesn't beat at all. Merlin's throat cries until it is hoarse, until the light from the shallows of the lake becomes dark. Until all Merlin can hear, above the vibrating pressure in his ears, is the voice, repeating again and again in the same tone that it was first uttered: "I always thought you were the bravest man I ever met. Guess I was wrong".

A skeletal hand of rotting bone wraps around his wrist, and Merlin yells and writhes, with eyes snapping open wide. His breaths come jagged and quick, and the ghost of the nightmare hovers. Only when it has dissipated does Merlin realise that he is awake. His eyes look to his arm, but the decaying hand is not there. Merlin wipes at his face, trying not think about whose hand it may have been. All he can do is remind himself that it was not real, as he places his feet on the floor and stands up, legs still shaking slightly. He throws his sheets back onto the bed, busying himself with flattening out the creases. It surprises Merlin by how much peace doing his old manservant duties gives him. It is the only thing that remains from his life with Arthur.

Merlin washes and changes and stands next to the door that leads to Arthur's chambers. Merlin takes a step back. Thinking about Arthur hurts too much.

Every day is the same to Merlin. He has a routine and he keeps to it. Sometimes he would drift away from it all. He would have periods of his life where he would let himself be happy, but he can't stop the days and weeks in which he would fall into grief. The years that Merlin felt in control of himself were his most treasured. The days that Merlin were in now were content. Not every minute that passed may have been so, but the hours were mostly at peace. He turned on the kettle and poured cereal into a bowl. A wet nose brushed against his hand.

"Hey, Archie." Merlin crouches, and scratches the dog's ears. His therapist had suggested that he got a pet, because Merlin had admitted that he hated living on his own. He'd decided to get a rescue dog; a four year old greyhound that had retired from racing. Archie is a bandage amongst many plasters. Merlin doesn't feel so alone anymore.

"You want breakfast?" If the question went unanswered, Merlin can't bring himself to care. Archie has never spoken a word in his life, and that is probably because Archie is a dog, but Merlin can speak to Archie all day and still feel as if he's having a conversation. Sometimes he wonders whether the greyhound understands him: he is always there whenever Merlin becomes consumed in grief, gently resting his head on Merlin's lap. Everything is better with Archie, and life seems more bearable. Merlin prepares Archie's breakfast, and then sets it down on the floor. He watches fondly as he himself eats his own breakfast.