Courage:
Merlin is old.
Arthur knew that already, of course, he's been fighting the man for years, but it didn't really hit him until just now. Merlin is far older than him, and the way he coughs and strains for breath after hammers the blow in even harder.
It's only Arthur's third life. He's barely accepted that he's not crazy. He can't accept that this time he might outlive Merlin.
"You don't look well," he manages. Merlin looks like a starving bear not yet incapable of lashing out.
"You look the same as ever. And that's not a compliment."
Long practice keeps the relief off his face, but it's a near thing.
Still his Merlin. Whatever else has changed, that hasn't.
Arthur hopes it never will.
Strength:
Gawain doesn't talk about the dreams. They're confused things that contradict each other anyway, but they disrupt his sleep until it's all he can do to get through a day.
They're just dreams, he tells himself firmly, just a souvenir from the Dust Wars.
Then they arrest a crazy alchemist whose rants match his dreams point for point.
Gawain makes his way to the holding cell, a grate covered hole in the wall in a room honeycombed with them. He has to use the sliding ladder to reach Merlin Emrys' cell, but the moans of the other prisoners mask the screech.
"Twenty-four meals to make up for this recycled garbage, a place to stay if my apartment's been rented out, a set of earplugs, three full nights of sleep . . . " Merlin is curled up in a corner and still reciting the list he began upon being arrested. The monotonous ramble blocks out the worst of the other noises.
His eyes fly open. "Sir Gawain."
"Detective," he corrects, except -
Except for the dreams. So he adds, "Unless you want me to start calling you Lord Alchemist again.."
"You remember," Merlin breathes.
"Some." He hesitates. Part of him wants to get Merlin out of here and run. Part of him just wants to get out of here. "If I wanted to remember more, what would I do?"
Merlin grins. "You'd mix up the recipe I'm about to give you. And once you're sure it's safe, you'd also slip some to the prat."
Vengeance:
He isn't Merlin when he comes to the prison he's created for her. He's magic itself, and that lends weight to this tale of Destiny and shards he spins.
"We were allies once, Morgana," he tells her. "Destiny fears what we could accomplish together, so she's played us against each other."
She still wants justice for all that's been done to her people, but perhaps - Perhaps -
"If my true form is broken, can you fuse me back together?"
"It will hurt," he warns.
She stares at him in disbelief for a long moment, thinking of everything she's paid without a moment's hesitation. She can't help it. She laughs.
Merlin laughs with her, somewhat hysterically, until neither can breathe. "More than usual," he corrects himself. "More than anything."
Not more, Morgana thought, than what Destiny would feel.
Death:
"Last time we fought, we splintered the universe," Death reminded Magic. "What do you think will happen this time?"
He looked out at the glittering arm of reforged shards. "Even more multiverses?" he suggested. "Cheer up. Whatever happens, I'm sure you'll still be needed."
Death smacked him.
