"Do you have a death wish?"
Merlin lost count of the times that he'd heard that phrase. From Gaius, mainly, said in exasperation after yet another stunt or slightly too obvious piece of magic. From his mother, although not in those exact words, when he was younger.
From Arthur, after the little incident with the poisoned chalice, the banquet, and the two kings that didn't like him very much.
So he hadn't thought it all the way through. You make one little mistake and almost die, and you never hear the end of it. And Arthur said he was a girl. Honestly . . . !
From Gwen, when her eyes had asked it after Arthur had -
Well. After Arthur.
And now, two hundred years later, Niniane, sweet, beautiful Niniane, who had made him laugh for the first time in decades had him pinned to the ground with a dagger at his throat and a spell locking him in place, and was asking him, with mocking laughter, if he was ready to die.
"You almost want to, don't you?" She toyed with the dagger, letting it creep across his throat just hard enough to draw a bead of blood. "All that pain in those pretty eyes. You finally realized he isn't coming back, didn't you? And you've been oh, so tempted to escape this stupid little country and go somewhere where you'll never have to deal with anyone else's problems ever again."
A lot of people had asked him that question. He'd never really understood it.
Camelot needs me, he whispered into her mind since he couldn't say the words.
They never seemed to get that. He wasn't sure why.
He also wasn't sure why Niniane had betrayed him, or how a woman who had known him for five years could forget he didn't need to move to dispose of an attacker, but maybe he was just getting out of touch with the younger generation. Will probably would have said that he'd never been in touch, seeing as he'd never been exactly normal, but that was beside the point.
When he could move again, he crawled over to her body and closed her eyes. It didn't make her look like she was asleep. It was hard to look peaceful with a tree root erupting through your chest.
He didn't know why everyone thought he was so eager to die. Dying was painful.
And surprisingly impermanent in his case, but that was beside the point.
Some people seemed to take it for granted that he would be ready to pass on. Immortality must wear on you, they'd say . . . and they were right of course, only . . .
Only Camelot was beautiful in the mornings, truly beautiful, and no matter how many people betrayed him, he could never quite stop smiling at a pretty new girl in the bakery or resist the urge to talk to all the fascinating new people that made their way into the city. Only there was a bakery that made truly excellent cakes, and he liked the way the children's eyes lit up when he made the frosted figures come to life and dance. He loved the magic in general, actually, even after all this time, and he still didn't know why Arthur hadn't liked acrobats, because honestly, they just kept getting more and more fantastic.
True, things got bad sometimes.
Nightmares nine nights out of ten and insomnia the tenth night, but that was alright, he'd just go walk, or read - it was amazing how cheap books were now, really.
But there were some advantages of immortality. He liked being able to surround himself with books. He liked reading them out loud as he walked, doing the voices, and making up tunes to any songs that were included.
All his friends were dead at the moment, and he was still smarting enough from a recent betrayal to be hesitant to make new ones quite yet, so he had no one to go with, but he headed out to the newfangled movie theater anyway. He loved it, every bit of it, and he started going every night he could after that. When the war came and he marched off, it was the movies he missed, the hushed crowd of people and the sweet salty snacks and the late night stories that faded into dreams in his exhausted mind. Then there were colors and explosions and a rush of noise that swept him away in a butter induced coma, and he loved every moment of it. He bought huge piles of food and plopped down at every midnight showing he could find. He didn't care what the film was, he just liked sharing the food with the costumed people and making friends that would last for at least two hours and the previews.
He missed things, yes, but there was so much to see and do.
It had been years since Kilgharrah had taken him one last flight before succumbing to his age, but this airplane was incredible. It jolted and shook like it was about to fall apart, and "a wing and a prayer" really wasn't much of an exaggeration. It was dangerous and perfect, and he swooped through the sky and whooped like he hadn't in years. He'd followed the stories of attempted flight in fascination, and now this one was all his.
It was lonely, yes, and hard, but what no one seemed to get was that he was still needed.
A war, a plague, a bad king, a famine, children crawling around in machines that could all too easily crush their fragile bones -
And of course, Arthur was coming. He'd need to be ready for him. He had a room ready for him that he kept perfectly dusted, complete with a closet with clothes he washed every Friday, to keep them fresh.
And whenever he could afford it, he always bought two tickets to whatever showing he was going to.
Just in case.
