Coming Home

Chapter 3

TW for self harm. Section will be bolded

I arrived back at the house to find Arthur in the kitchen.

"Where were you?" he asked.

"I had to go grab a few things. Here. I saved these." I handed him the cloak and ring. The cloak was faded and dusty but it was clear that it was once a thing of beauty.

"Thank you!" he said as his eyes grew wide.

"No problem."

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There was something wrong with Merlin. Ever since Arthur had come back from the dead, Merlin had seemed off. Subdued almost. 

Merlin had left the house for a while, he had said he needed to pick up some things, giving Arthur enough time to look around and familiarize himself with the new location. 

As he wandered around the house, he came across another bedroom. It was probably Merlin's. He walked inside and looked around, surprised at the lack of belongings. An old wooden dragon figurine lay on the nightstand. He pulled open the drawer and stared at the objects within. There was a half a vial of aconite, a folded black and white photo of a group of men in helmets and uniforms, a chain with a rectangular tag hanging off of it with Merlin's name and a series of numbers engraved in it, and a scrap of old fabric that looked very similar to his neckerchief. He carefully moved the objects aside and found a familiar dagger. Arthur knew this dagger. It had originally been for Morgana but Arthur had bought a different one for her. He had given it to Merlin so he could defend himself. It was obvious that Merlin had taken excellent care of it. The blade was still balanced and sharp and it looked as if the wood had been restored if not replaced. 

He placed the dagger back into the draw, shutting it once everything had been as it was before Arthur did his snooping, before exiting Merlin's room and closing the door behind him. He grabbed one of his many books that they had bought and went to the kitchen looking for something to eat. Once he was satisfied, he sat down and began to read, eyes glossing over as he became lost in thought.

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I woke up at four in the morning, heart racing. I tried desperately to slow my breathing before getting out of bed. It's not like I'm going to be getting any more sleep. I might as well start preparing to teach Arthur. He's got a lot to learn.

I showered and dressed before heading to the kitchen despite my lack of hunger.

I sat down at the table and stared at the darkness surrounding me. As much as I hated it, there was a level of comfort that I found in the darkness. Whether or not this was a reflection of my own psyche, I honestly didn't give a damn. But I refused to go to bed after that dream. I shuddered at the thought of it. It was too early to head to work, and I was loath to leave Arthur alone to go to my apartment even if he had been fine the day before. There was no telling what I would come home to if I left Arthur alone, unable to work any of the household appliances.

My heart was still racing. I had tried my best to calm myself down but it wasn't successful. I knew only one other option but knew that I shouldn't. Gods above, I hadn't seen a therapist in ages. How would I explain to them that I had lived through both world wars, the crusades, and when I still looked like the twenty year old I had been in Camelot?

Groaning to myself, I walked back to my room and grabbed the pocket knife, flipping the knife out. As I rolled up my sleeves, I stared, disgusted with myself at what I had done to myself throughout the thousands of years. Almost all of my skin was scarred. But when I had no one to go to - after all, everyone I had ever cared about was dead - the only option was to cause more pain to myself. I deserved it though. I was utterly useless, watching as those around me died. I grabbed my knife and pressed into the skin of my wrist. The sharp blade split the skin easily and I watched the blood bubble up slowly.

I wiped the blood away and pressed the blade into the cut, wincing at the pain. Already, I began to feel the effects of my actions. My heart rate slowed but I desperately dragged the blade across my skin several more times, getting deeper with each cut. 'I'm in control of this,'  I thought to myself. When I was satisfied with what I had done, gods that sounded so awful, I cleaned the blade, bandaged my arm, and continued to wander around the house.

Memories continued to attack me, however, and I gave in. There was no point in resisting. I knew the consequences if I tried to resist.

The sound of rifles echoed around me as I fought, dressed in my red uniform. I didn't know why we had to fight. The stupid colonies were just trouble. I felt a bullet tear through my leg and I fell to the ground. 'NO! I can't. I need to help! There are others around me that need more help than I do.' I struggled to stand, only to fall again. I watched, unable to help as my brothers fell around me. My heart ached, every death stealing just a little bit more of my humanity.

Guilt tugged at my heart as the painful memory ended. Damn it. And I had no clue what else was in store for me. I shouldn't be alive. I should've died with my brothers in that battle.

I sat in the trenches wearing my helmet and uniform. It was hot and humid and muddy. We were all miserable. But I understood the reason why they fought. It was the same reason Camelot fought Morgana for so long; for the freedom of their beliefs; so that they could live in a world that was ideal to them. I had lost my drive for an ideal world long ago. Now, with every battle I fought, I became more and more reckless. I didn't want to live. I wanted to join my loved ones. I watched as the gas began to pour into our trench. Rushing to grab our gas masks, I watched in horror as several soldiers fell to the ground, coughing up blood. They hadn't gotten to their masks in time. Damn it. I was so useless. I was such a coward. Why didn't I give up my mask for someone who needed it more? Tears stung my eyes but I forced them back as we continued fighting.

I shook myself out of the memories, shaking as I stood up from where I had slid down the wall.. It was six. I began to make breakfast and called in sick to the bookstore. Cynthia knew I was troubled to say the least, but she didn't know just how much. If I was honest, she reminded me of Gwen.

Arthur came in a few minutes later, still dressed in his night clothes and rubbing his eyes. 

"Merlin. What are you doing?" he asked.

"Making breakfast," I replied. "I'll show you how to work the appliances later."

"Alright." He was probably more hungry than curious about the kitchen's machinery.

He wolfed down his meal and studied me carefully as I slowly ate mine. I guess it was more pushing the food around than eating it. After the hectic morning I had, I wasn't exactly hungry.

"Arthur, while I'm sure it's fascinating to watch me eat, maybe you could go and get changed at least before I show you how to work basic appliances." He snorted in response before heading to his room to change.

I sighed and began to clean the dishes. 

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Morgana smirked as she looked in her basin of water. Merlin would be an easy thing to break. Finally, revenge for abandoning her when she needed guidance most and for killing her. Arthur was easy. He was like a newborn babe in this world. She knew what to do. However, she did wish Aithusa was here. The sweet dragon held one of the highest spots in her heart.