[Fanfic] the embers, they scatter
We are but the mosaic of all we have ever come across-a web of coloured threads that grows with every second that passes.
❦
Merlin wakes with a gasp. The images continue to flicker beneath his eyelids as he stumbles out of the cottage, thinking wood, wood, I'm enclosed by wood. Only after he's settled on the cool grass outside, counting the stars above him, does he calm. His hands do not stop trembling for a long time yet.
When King Richard II is deposed, nearly all of Albion-no, England-is in uproar. Merlin slips into town occasionally for supplies, still hears whispers of the ostracism the former king's closest allies face, and cannot bring himself to care. "This is all," he tells the vendor firmly as soon as she adopts the shifty-eyed look that Merlin's come to associate with gossip. He pays for his fare and blocks out the woman's chatter as he leaves.
No, it does not matter if Richard or Henry is on the throne; England's throne is not Camelot's throne. Only one man will ever be his king and he's already long gone.
That night, Merlin dreams and
stands before what was once his home. I failed, I failed, I failed, he cries before
he wakes alone.
*
He misses Gaius' gruff words of comfort. He misses his mother's gentle reassurances. He misses Gwen's kind smile. He misses Lancelot. He misses Gwaine. He misses Morgana, though that particular ache is from an old wound kept open by the endless string of "what ifs".
He misses... Arthur.
*
Clang. The noise makes Merlin grit his teeth. Staring up at the cathedral's clock, he pushes away the thought that he had once been accustomed to seeing clocks much more advanced in Johto.
"Damn it all," he whispers, throat constricting painfully. His fists clench and his eyes flare gold, but the clock's single dial only continues inching forward at the same, steady pace. Never does it move backward.
*
It takes a long while before Merlin stops trying. His magic still surges forth whenever he catches sight of the clock, but it no longer has a direction. He no longer has a direction.
Yet, as his anguish simmers, he cannot help but grasp onto the fading memories of another group of close-knit friends. "I am from the far past." Merlin echoes the words he'd often said to the new trainers. The words "and you are from the future" go unspoken, but they take seed in his thoughts and unfurl their leaves with time.
*
1793 is the year that loneliness finally takes Merlin in its vice-grip, pulling him out of the haze of magic and back into the world around him. He arrives in Paris drained and uneasy. Though the journey takes no effort as a falcon, the doubt that fills him does little to quell the lingering grief. Merlin knows it isn't Francis' time yet, but the need to see a familiar face has grown oppressing enough to tip the scale.
Whatever impression he still has of France from the Nation's descriptions, it quickly flees as soon as he steps onto the streets. Tension thickens the air as people scramble everywhere, and before Merlin can feel alarm at their grim expressions, he's being pulled into the chaos. When all his frantic struggling earns him are sharp jabs and hisses of disapproval, Merlin falls silent.
The wave of nausea hits him as soon as they reach their destination. Though a strange instrument takes the ax's place at the center of the raised platform, the set-up is more than familiar to the sorcerer. He doesn't want to see this, but he's frozen in place as the crowd jeers at the white-clad woman being lead onto the scaffold. Her whispered words reach him despite the sudden roaring in his ears.
Monsieur, je vous demande pardon. Je ne l'ai pas fait exprès.
Merlin looks away as the blade falls. He stills when he sees Francis.
"Francis," he says when he finally reaches the Nation. Francis turns toward him and sees straight through him. There's not a trace of recognition in his eyes to be found, Merlin realises with a sinking feeling. It isn't time yet. "I'm sorry," Merlin says as the Nation's attention returns to the scaffold. The repeated words fall on deaf ears and Merlin forces himself to walk away.
He doesn't look back when the crowd behind him cheers.
*
Merlin wanders. And waits. Then, the novelty of flitting from one place to another quickly fades, leaving behind the unrelenting ache for home. I have none, is his silent reminder to himself before he continues on. Eventually, however, he finds himself on English soil again, unable to ignore his instincts for long.
One day, a flash of blonde hair catches his attention. He's moving before he can stop himself, hand reaching out toward the familiar silhouette-but the face that greets him is not the one he expects to see. Dropping his hand from the man's shoulder, Merlin smiles. It feels hollow.
"Sorry. Wrong person." The stranger glares and waves him off distractedly. Merlin watches him go, shaken.
After that, it's difficult to settle into any semblance of a routine, but Merlin stubbornly continues his attempts to reinsert himself into English society. He's taken by surprise when it isn't the odd, stuffy clothing that finally has him throwing in the towel.
Even with all he's had to acquaint himself with in England, Merlin realises that some things simply never change. The rumour mill is one of them, Merlin thinks with exasperation. And intolerance is another. What had started off as a private affair had, naturally, reached every dark corner of England and any ear willing to listen. Then again, gossip is hardly needed when the papers themselves are screaming the news: What is the love that dare not speak its name?
As he twirls his top hat in his fingers, his anger slowly builds, as does his weariness. I believe, Merlin pens under the headlines later that night, with the ridiculous flourish expected of that time. You already have your answer. Love is love. And you're all mad, he can't help but add in.
When he's finished, he enlarges the font and plasters the paper onto the news stand with his magic out of spite. Suddenly, he cannot wait to leave England.
*
In retrospect, visiting Lovino really should have occurred to him earlier. Considering the difficulties he's encountered with Italian so far, Merlin wishes he'd learnt the language before making his merry way over. He's even comes to think of the extra time it takes to track down the Nation as a blessing in disguise; he's by no means fluent, but he can understand now, and that's what's important.
"Lovino!" Merlin calls out to his friend upon seeing him. So many years have passed, Merlin feels foolish thinking the Nation's appearance wouldn't have changed. But it has. Lovino has grown; no longer is he the child that had once demanded sweets from him and Francis. Fondness works its way into his smile when Lovino turns grumpily toward his voice and promptly jerks in shock and recognition.
"Dammit, dammit" are the first words out of Lovino's mouth once he's recovered. The Nation's face scrunches, rearranging the unfamiliar lines until Merlin can see the child for a short moment. "What took you so long, you bastard?"
For a long moment, Merlin can only give into the laughter that bubbles out of him. "You know what? I've missed you, too, Lovino," he says, and something in him finally shifts into place.
Then, Merlin ruffles Lovino's hair just to see his face scrunch up again. Because he can.
*
Merlin allows himself to settle in Italy for some time, wheedling his friend into giving him tours whenever he can, plying him with gelato and chocolate. It's a strange feeling, he muses later, to feel as if time has sped up somehow. No longer does it crawl forward at the unbearable snail's pace from before.
As his thoughts wander to the slip of paper on his desk, covered with names and locations in his messy scrawl-Paris, California, Iwatodai, Inaba-Merlin thinks he can stand to wait just a little longer.
Things still aren't perfect, and he suspects they never will be, but it's enough for him.
Fin
Historical Notes:
1400 - Henry IV replaces Richard II on the English throne
1793 - Marie-Antoinette's execution during the Reign of Terror
1895 - Oscar Wilde's trial
It's a fanfic with a fusion of history, Merlin canon/Arthurian legends, and Route on-goings, essentially. Thanks to of_france and piccolo_tomate for double-checking some things for me ♥