Is and Was and Will Be
Arthur hadn’t always been Merlin’s destiny. For everyone who could see such things, see what was fated to happen, it looked for all the world like it had always been that way, but it hadn’t. For the first eight years of his life, things had been quite different.
Not, of course, that he’d been aware of this; Merlin, aged seven years and three hundred and sixty-four days, couldn’t even tell you what ‘destiny’ meant. He had yet to question why he could use magic and no-one else could; just accepted that he was ‘special’, needing no other explanation. And he was blissfully, blissfully happy.
Then he turned eight.
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On the night of Merlin’s eighth birthday, while his mother was asleep, he heard a noise outside the house. And having been told (jokingly, but things like that tended to go over his head) not two hours ago by one of the men in the village that he was ‘the man of the house now he was such a big boy’, he felt it was his duty to investigate.
He fetched the stick he’d brought home from the woods from where he’d left it beside the door, and ventured out into the darkness, barefoot and shivering slightly in the autumn chill.
Outside, everything was dark and silent, no signs of any intruders… it wasn’t until he turned to go back inside that he heard another sound.
Several sounds - the swish of a cloak, footsteps as something stepped out from the deeper shadows behind the hencoop, someone clearing their throat.
He turned around.
And dropped his stick.
The figure in front of him was tall (a giant to his eight-year-old eyes), and covered completely by a dark, hooded cloak. He couldn’t see a thing beneath its folds, not even a face.
“Please don’t hurt me!” he blurted out as soon as it moved. It paused for a second, then lifted its arms, shook the folds of the cloak away to reveal long, pale hands, and lowered its hood.
“Now why would I want to do that?” said the man beneath, who was pale-skinned and dark-haired, not unlike Merlin himself. He took a step forward - he moved oddly, like he was walking on tip-toes - and crouched down in front of him. “Hello, Merlin.”
“Hello?” said Merlin, trying to keep the quiver out of his voice, and stop his knees from shaking. “Who are you?” he said.
“Oh, now,” he said. “Don’t tell me you didn’t think I’d come. It’s your birthday, after all.” His eyes, now he was closer, were gold, and glowed slightly in the darkness. Merlin frowned.
“It was, but it’s not any more,” he said. “It’s night-time now.”
The man smiled, and it was a surprisingly friendly smile. “It’s only just beginning, then,” he said. “Night is our realm, you and I.” His voice was smooth and even and slightly musical (and there was something faintly artificial about it).
“Who are you?” said Merlin again.
The man leaned back slightly, like he was sitting back on his heels, but Merlin couldn’t be sure - his cloak still covered him completely from the waist down. “I’m your father,” he said, matter-of-factly, as if it was something Merlin should already know.
“My-what-but-” he gulped. “Mum says I don’t have a father.”
“Does she now?” said his father, raising an eyebrow. “Well, well. I may have to have a word with her about that.”
“I’m sure she didn’t mean…” Merlin trailed off, and shifted uncomfortably. “You’re really my father?”
“Yes, of course,” said his father. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be here until now. I live a very long way away. But you’re old enough to come and visit me now. Would you like that?”
“I don’t know,” said Merlin. “Yes. No. Maybe.”
“I even brought you a present,” said his father. “Look.” He held out a hand, and little coloured lights appeared, spiralling around his fingers. “Do you like it?” he said. “Here.” The lights drifted across to swirl around Merlin’s head, and he couldn’t help laughing in delight.
His father let his hand drop, and the lights faded. “You get that from me, you know,” he said. “Not your mother.” There was contempt in his voice, but Merlin hardly noticed. “Did she tell you that?” he said.
“No,” said Merlin. “She- she told me to hide it.”
“Of course she did,” said his father. “But you don’t want to keep it hidden, do you?” Merlin shook his head. “Come on. Show me some magic.”
Merlin obeyed without hesitation, sent the autumn leaves on the ground dancing around them in the air with no effort at all, and beamed. His father smiled back.
“Come,” he said, standing up (again with that strange quality to his movement). “There’s some friends of mine I’d like you to meet.” He held out a hand. Merlin slipped his own hands behind his back.
“I don’t know,” he said.
“We have something planned,” he said. “To celebrate your birthday. They’re all dying to meet you.” His voice was so smooth and gentle that Merlin couldn’t help but bring his hands out.
“Shouldn’t I tell my mum where I’m going?” he said, hesitating.
“There’s no need,” said his father. “You’ll be back so soon she won’t even notice.”
“But can’t I fetch my shoes?” he said.
“You won’t need them where you’re going,” said his father. He twitched his fingers, gesturing for Merlin to take his hand.
Merlin hesitated a moment longer, but then his father smiled again, and he couldn’t help but smile back, and slip his small hand into his father’s.
“Where do you live?” he said as he was led away. “Will it take long to get there?”
“Not long,” said his father.
“But you said it was far away,” said Merlin.
“Yes, but we can get there by magic, sometimes,” he said. “On special nights like tonight.”
“But-” said Merlin.
“No buts,” said his father. “Now, tell me what you did for your birthday. Anything nice?”
--------------
They came to a halt after about five minutes walk, out in the woods, in a spot no different from any other. Merlin knew it quite well, even in the dark - over there was the hollow tree that he’d squeezed inside once during a game of hide and seek, and hadn’t been able to get out of without three other children pulling, and even then it had left bruises all over him.
“Stop there,” said his father. Merlin stopped. “Good,” he said, and reached down to lift a large stick off the ground from near his feet.
Except once he was holding it Merlin realised it wasn’t just a stick. It was a staff, and it was even bigger than he’d thought, almost as tall as his father. He used it to brush some twigs and dead moss away from Merlin’s feet, then drew a careful circle around them in the dirt.
“What’s that for?” said Merlin.
“Magic,” said his father simply. “Now hush.” He took hold off his staff in both hands, and brought the end down on the ground once, with a thud that seemed to reverberate around the countryside.
As he did so, the circle around Merlin’s feet lit up, glowing orange like the embers of a fire. He opened his mouth to ask another question, but his father shook his head sharply, and brought the staff down again.
And this time, the whole world burst into flames.
--------------
For a long, horrible moment, everything outside the circle was burning, blazing, and all he could hear was crackling and sizzling, and, to his horror, people screaming, somewhere nearby, and then, and then-
And then the thud of the staff hitting the ground a third time echoed around him, and the fire went out.
The ground beneath his feet was unfamiliar and ugly, sand and dust and ashes, and the air tasted of smoke and blood. He looked up to find that the glowing edges of the circle were so much further away now, leaving him standing alone in a huge space.
And just beyond the glowing edges were shadowy figures. All he could make out was that they were all quite strangely shaped - too tall or too small or much too thin. A few were whispering to each other, a horrible sound, like snakes hissing. He found that he was trembling.
“Father?” he said, but it came out so quietly that he could barely hear it, let alone the people outside the circle. He swallowed, and tried again. “Father?”
“I’m right here,” said a voice from the figure directly in front of him. “Don’t be afraid.”
Then he heard the sound of the staff hitting the ground again, and the edges of the circle went from glowing to blazing, flames leaping up towards the heavens, and illuminating the figures around him at last.
Merlin screamed. He screamed until he had no breath left to scream with, then he gasped and sucked in more air and screamed again.
By the time he was finished, the people, the, the- things outside the circle were mostly laughing, laughing at him, and he sobbed, holding back tears.
“Silence!” barked his father, his voice harsher now, no longer gentle or musical- and it was his real voice, he realised, he wasn’t trying to fool anyone any more- but he still looked like a man in a cloak. Merlin desperately hoped that was what he really looked like.
“Where am I?” he said. “Please, I want to go home.”
“You are home,” said his father, his voice taking on that gentle quality again. “Look around. Don’t you feel at home here?”
Merlin forced himself to look around, at the flames (which had died down, burning close to the ground now, but still lighting up the whole circle) and the ring of monsters around him, and at the blackened sky. He shook his head.
His father’s face darkened. “Well, well,” he said. “You soon will. Don’t worry.”
“Where am I?” said Merlin. “Why did you bring me here?”
“I told you,” said his father. “We’re going to celebrate your birthday. You’re a big boy, now. Old enough to come here. Old enough to learn who you are.”
“I know who I am,” said Merlin.
“Do you?” said his father. He threw back his cloak. Merlin’s eyes widened.
He was only a man from the waist up- below that- his-
His legs ended in hooves. Merlin supposed that was why he’d walked so strangely. He took in a few deep breaths, tried to stop himself from crying like a baby (he was eight now, too old for that).
Then he began to sob.
He was dimly aware, as he rubbed away tears, that the things outside the circle had begun to murmur again, soft, hissing voices, talking about him.
“My Lord, this is ridiculous,” said a voice to his left. “He’s a human child, nothing more. This was a waste of time, just as I said. Just kill him and have done with it.”
Merlin wailed, and the voices around him grew louder, agreeing with the speaker.
“Please don’t,” he said, but they were didn’t seem to hear him. “Please, please- just let me go- please- don’t-” He dropped to his knees.
“Silence!” roared his father. His slammed his staff down on the ground again, and the flames burned higher and faster, so hot that Merlin could feel the heat pressing down on him. The things shouted and leapt back, and when the flames died down again one of the smaller ones was on fire, leaping and yelling and beating at itself. Merlin forced himself to look away. “He doesn’t understand,” said his father. “Don’t you see? He’s spent so long amongst them that he doesn’t understand.” A smile spread across his face. “And I will make him understand.”
“Understand what?” said Merlin.
“Who you are,” said his father. “That this is were you belong.”
“I’m not one of you,” he said. “I’m not, I-”
“No,” said his father. “You’re not.” Relief flooded through Merlin’s veins. “You’re so much more of that.”
Merlin looked up sharply, just in time to see the staff hit the ground again, and a wind sprang up, howling around him.
“I am not the ruler here, Merlin,” shouted his father over the din. “I merely rule in your places, until you are ready.”
“No-” Merlin choked out, but the wind swept his words away.
“You are our king, Merlin,” said his father. “And you will lead us to reclaim the mortal realm.” He raised his staff again. Merlin shook his head desperately. “And we will make it burn.
--------------
The staff hit the ground, and cracked it open. It splintered and shook around him. “No-” Merlin said again, but before he could go on, his father brought the staff down again, and all the ground inside the circle but the tiny patch beneath Merlin fell away into the darkness.
And there, beneath Merlin, was the whole world, spinning green and blue in the void. “Do you see it?” said his father. “All of it was ours once, until we were banished here by men - those pitiful creatures-”
And Merlin sees it, sees the men rising up to send the monsters, the demons, away, forcing them into this realm, outside of time - it’s happening right now, and it happened in the past, and it will happen - everything is happening, right now, in the world he left.
“You will be our king,” said his father. “And we will take back what was stolen from us.”
He sees it happen, sees fires burning all across the earth, sees the oceans boil away, shadows spreading across places that were light- he sees it all happening, sees every person who he’ll kill- he’s doing it right now- it’s happening- the village is burning, his friends and the children who bullied him, all the people who’d wished him a happy birthday, his mother, oh God, his mother-
He sees city after city fall, sinking into blackened ruins, demons infesting the rubble and feeding on corpses, and thinks I did that.
“Do you see it, Merlin?” said his father. “Do you see what you are, what you’ll feel, what you did?”
Merlin tears his gaze away from the world beneath him, and finds his father staring at him, the demons silent now, watching him. “Yes,” he says. “Yes, I can see.” The tears in his eyes fall, sliding down his face, and turn to steam in the heat from the fires with little hisses.
“Let me show you more,” his father said. “Let me show you how it ends. Your victory.”
And then Merlin is there, living it- he’s lived it before, he already knows how it’ll go- but this is still the first time, and he’s terrified, and he sees, he sees-
--------------
He finds himself standing on a top of a mountain (a mountain, he remembers, that hadn’t been there before, that he had pulled out of the ground and shaped with his own power), staring at the blackened remains of the world, stretching out into the distance around him, with a smile on his face and joy in his heart.
And then he hears a soft sound behind him, a little crunch, and he turns to see a lone figure pulling himself onto the summit.
It’s a man, a man in scorched armour, with clothes underneath that might at one point have been red and gold, and hair that looked like it could be blond, under the dirt, and he’s surprised that anyone’s survived this long, even though he knows what’s coming (because this is the first time that he’s done this, and the last time, and all the times in between).
“You,” the man croaks out. “You. I found you.”
“Who are you?” said Merlin. He stretched out a hand towards the man - he could burn him to a cinder with a thought, but he’ll wait, let him speak. It’ll be worse that way.
The man draws his sword. “King Arthur of Camelot,” he says.
“The King of Camelot is dead,” said Merlin. He’d killed him himself, burned him to ashes before his throne, then brought his palace down on top of his remains.
“No,” says the man. “My father is dead. I’m still alive.”
And then Merlin realised, as he knew he would, that this man is the King’s son. He’s been king for all of a day, and his hands are shaking as he grips his sword.
“Come to avenge your father?” he said, his hand still stretched out and ready. “How noble.”
“My father,” says the King. “My kingdom. My people. You- you destroyed it all.”
“So what are you king of, then?” said Merlin. “The ruins of a city? A few blackened bones?”
“I could say the same to you,” says the King. He lifts his sword.
“You can’t kill me,” said Merlin.
“I can try,” says the King. He takes a step forward.
Merlin flexed his fingers and smiled.
Then something changed. He felt something break, something shatter, inside him, and, and-
His mind was open and raging, broadcasting his hate and disgust across the whole world, and now something slipped out that shouldn’t have, that never had before and wasn’t going to until that moment.
The mortal King in front of him meets his eyes, and sees them flicker briefly to blue, and then sees things he never should have seen.
--------------
Arthur finds himself standing at the edge of a ring of low-burning flames, staring out at a small child crouched in the centre of the circle, rocking back and forth and letting out soft whimpers. And he knows what just happened- that the child in front of him just saw himself burn the world to ashes, and is terrified, of himself, of what he is, what he was, what he’s going to be-
He sees one of the demons - the boy’s father, the Lord of this realm for such a brief time, a few scant moments before and after their high King takes over - step forward into the circle.
“Do you see?” the demon says, his voice sharp and cold. “Do you see what you are? Do you see that you can never go back now?”
The boy raises his head slightly, and nods.
“That is your destiny, Merlin,” the demon says. “It’s what your powers are for. The only thing you’re good for. Do you see?”
The boy nods again, and lets out another little whimper. Arthur feels everything he’s feeling, the fear and self-loathing and utter, utter misery, and decides that an eight-year-old should never, never have to feel anything like that.
“Your human mother was just a vessel,” says the demon. “Everything of her will he purged from you. You’ll become one of us.” He holds out a hand. “You know there’s nothing else you can do. This is what your powers are for. What you’re supposed to do.”
The boy looks up at him, the demon looks back, and Arthur watches them both in horror. “Give me your hand.”
The boy reaches out, and slips his tiny hand into his father’s. The demon smiles, and tightens his grip.
In the silence, the sound of tiny bones breaking is deafening, and the boy’s scream seems to echo around them.
It goes on and on, and he can almost see the fire blazing inside him, burning away some deep, precious part of the boy they have no right to touch, and then, a few seconds into it, it hits him like a wave, and he feels it too, feels that agony, and he opens his mouth to scream, but no sound comes out, but he’s not really here, he’s standing on top of a mountain that didn’t used to be there, and then, and then-
He sees the demon let go of the boy’s hand. The child slumps down to the ground, letting out little gasps, still shaking in pain. The demon rubs his hands over each other as if dusting something away, murmurs ‘disgusting’, and then steps back.
The last thing Arthur sees before the fires die down is a smile spreading across the child’s face.
--------------
And then he’s standing on the mountain again, sword held in shaking hands, looking at that same child, and it’s as if he always knew, like he’d always seen it, because it happened so long ago, and it’s still happening, and it has yet to happen.
He stares at Merlin, and Merlin stares back, eyes wide and suddenly not so certain.
“Oh,” Arthur gasps out. “Oh, oh God- oh God, they- they did this to you-”
“Shut up,” says Merlin.
Arthur’s grip on his sword falters, and his hand drops back to his side. The tip of his sword touches the ground, and he sees Merlin’s arm starting to slacken.
“They did this to you,” he says again. “They made you into this-”
“I wanted this!” says Merlin.
“No,” says Arthur, taking a step forward. He drops his sword.
“I wanted it-” says Merlin. “They- they purged me of your filth!” he shouts.
“No,” says Arthur. “No, that’s not true- oh God, you were so scared-”
“I don’t get scared,” says Merlin, but his arm is starting to slip down a little, fingers curling rather than straight. He’s not so certain now. Not at all.
“It’s alright,” says Arthur. “It’s alright. You can stop now.” He reaches out, and his finger’s brush Merlin’s.
“No,” says Merlin. “No, this is what I want- this I what I am-”
“It doesn’t have to be,” says Arthur. His fingers curl around Merlin’s, and he gives his hand a little squeeze. It’s cold, but he can feel it starting to warm up slightly, and Merlin’s eyes flicker blue again.
“No,” he says. “No, this is what I am.”
“It’s not gone,” says Arthur. “You still- oh God, you’re still- you still remember, don’t you? You still remember what it was like to be- to be human.”
“No!” Merlin shouts.
And then the power bursts out of him at last, white-hot and blazing, and Arthur doesn’t even have time to scream. Merlin feels the hand in his turn to ashes and crumble away, feels armour melt and bones blacken and fluids evaporate-
And then there’s nothing left in front of him but a scorched part of ground, a patch of molten metal, hissing slightly, dust and sand and ashes- he falls to his knees and stares down at it-
A pair of hooves appears in front of him.
--------------
Merlin looked up, and found himself eight years old, sitting in the centre of the circle that he’d never really left, with his father standing over him.
He’d seen this before. It had happened before.
“Do you see?” said his father his voice sharp and cold. “Do you see what you are? Do you see that you can never go back now?”
Merlin looked up at him, and nodded.
“That is your destiny, Merlin,” his father said. “It’s what your powers are for. The only thing you’re good for. Do you see?”
Merlin nods again, because he knows that, while he never questioned it before, he would have done.
“Your human mother was just a vessel,” his father said. “Everything of her will he purged from you. You’ll become one of us.” He held out his hand. “You know there’s nothing else you can do. This is what your powers are for. What you’re supposed to do.”
Merlin stares up at him, and realises that something had changed, just now, and things could change again.
“Give me your hand,” said his father.
Merlin balls his hands into fists at his side, and shakes his head. “No,” he whispers.
“No?” his father frowned. “Merlin, you must accept that-”
“No,” says Merlin. “No. They’re my powers. I decide what I use them for.”
He stands up, draws himself up to his full height (which isn’t very tall, considering he’s only eight years old).
“But this is-” said his father. “You’re one of us. You belong to us.”
Merlin glares up at him. His eyes blaze gold. “No!”
And then the flames burst out of him, just as they’d done so many times before (but it was also the first time).
His father screeched as he burned, a high-pitched, bestial scream, cut off after only a few seconds… the fires went out, and there was nothing left but dust and fragments of dark cloth and his staff, hitting the ground one last time.
There’s a roar from the demons around him, but he turns to look at them, gaze hot and golden, and more powerful than all of them put together, and they fall silent.
“But this is your destiny!” said the bravest of them.
“Not any more,” says Merlin softly. “It’s up to me now.”
He looks out into the distance, through the gap in the circle where his father once stood, and he sees everything, all of it happening right now- not just the future he was shown, but a thousand others, all of them new and different, and he’s lived them all, in a way.
He sees Arthur, King of Camelot, sees him die a thousand times while still a prince, and stretches out a hand.
“No,” he says. “Not any more.”
And then he binds his own destiny to Arthur’s, bringing them so close together that no-one who could see such things would ever guess they’d ever been so different. He sees their lives together, sees this new future he’s made, and smiles.
He lets his hand drop back to his side. The circle of fire around him burns lower and lower until it’s just a glowing line of embers again.
“You can’t-” said one of the demons.
“I did,” he said, says, will say.
He turns to look at them all one last time, in a slow circle, and they each shrink back from him in turn, fleeing into the darkness where they’ll stay forever now.
Everything’s different now, and no-one will ever know.
When the last demon is gone, and the fire is out completely, he falls to his knees, them slumps down to the side, and smiles as the darkness takes him.
--------------
Merlin woke up before dawn the day after his eighth birthday, shaking- he’d had a horrible nightmare, demons and monsters and hellish fires, but the details fade quickly, leaving him with that vague feeling of irrational unease he tended to get after bad dreams.
He got up, walked across the room, and slipped under the blankets next to his mother. She woke up a little, opened her eyes and looked at him.
“I had a nightmare,” he said, curling up next to her. “Can I sleep here?”
“Of course, love,” she said, pulling him closer to her before falling asleep again.
Merlin cuddles up next to her, and wakes up a few hours later, nightmare forgotten, and was blissfully, blissfully happy until another boy pushed him over into a mud puddle. He heard nothing of destiny until he was nineteen, and in a cave under Camelot talking to a dragon who had no idea that the words he spoke hadn’t always been the truth.
(And on the very day that Camelot should have burned, and Arthur would have died, Merlin saved his life from a vengeful witch with a knife, and set his new destiny in motion.)