Chapter Text
Awakening
One thing Bradley knew for certain, even before he opened his eyes, was that he felt really truly awful. And he had no idea why.
Forcing his heavy lids to open, he stared up at the ceiling and tried to take in the situation. His body felt strangely sore, a dull ache all over, like an unpleasant mixture between severe exhaustion, a fresh hangover and remaining sleep. His head was probably off worst, throbbing in an irregular rhythm that had white and red stars dancing behind his pupils.
When he attempted to look around, the muscles in his neck seemed too weak to obey so his head lolled to the side, making him blink in confusion as he recognized his surroundings. He was inside of the trailer that was used as the film sets mini-hospital for the times anyone needed some medical treatment. Bradley had been here often enough, usually for small ailments like a cut on his finger or a bleeding nose, accidents that happened when he got sloppy during a fight scene.
He had never, though, woken up in here because that implied that he had lost consciousness. And seriously, what could knock him out like that? Probably something embarrassing like tripping over his own feet and splitting his skull open on a pebble. Oh God, the others would never let him live that down.
What confused him, however, was the fact that no one had taken him to a real hospital. He didn't feel terribly bad but whatever had happened had taken him down for quite a while. Wouldn't anyone have assumed that he had suffered a concussion? Wasn't anybody worried about him? He could think of a few individuals who would make mean jokes along the lines of 'You were already brain-dead before, so no harm done'. But it really did seem somewhat unusual. Not that passing out while shooting a scene was anything usual at all.
"Aren't you going to ask some questions?" a wry voice inquired and Bradley carefully managed to sit up in the narrow bed. At the other end of the trailer stood a small table along with two hideous, green plastic chairs. One of them was being occupied by Colin who had his elbows propped up on the tabletop, chin resting on his hands in a contemplative manner, watching Bradley studiously.
With a slight groan Bradley moved the muscles around his shoulder blades, hoping to get rid of the stiff, heavy feeling in his limbs.
"How long have I been out?" he asked, noting that the golden light which streamed through the window did not really give any indication about what time it was, but Colin had changed out of his costume and into a dark blue
t-shirt and cargo shorts.
"A while," Colin answered vaguely and Bradley gave him a look.
"How long is 'a while'?"
"One hour and twelve minutes."
Bradley stared. "Oh," he said simply, hunching forward so that his back was slumped, every fiber of his being protesting against the movement, "What happened, then?"
"You fainted," Colin told him flatly and Bradley couldn't help but splutter.
"I did not!" he objected, attempting something like a glare, but failingmiserably.
"Yes, you did," Colin leaned back in his chair, still looking at him, strangely intent, strangely alert, the expected grin absent.
It occurred to Bradley that Colin had not greeted him with 'Good morning, sunshine!' or 'Wakey, wakey, Sleeping Beauty!' or something similarly inane, but that he seemed very focused and serious.
Maybe, thought Bradley, maybe his accident had been more severe that he had assumed. Maybe Colin was just worried.
"Tell me what happened," he demanded with a slight frown but Colin shook his head, "Tell me what you remember."
"We were shooting the fight scene?" he said slowly, the memories unfolding in his mind, bright and powerful, though fuzzy round the edges.
They had been out in the open, a grassy hillside, lustrous green, smudged clouds adorning the sky, the guard lowered, and then there had been an ambush and suddenly they were surrounded and he had pulled forth his sword and fought, Sir Kay and Sir Lancelot by his side, Merlin somewhere behind him, surely fighting as well fierce and fiery like always.
Whoa. Bradley startled eyes wide. Non-sense, he chided himself. Kay and Lancelot hadn't been in this scene, in this episode at all. Lancelot wasn't even a knight yet. He had been with Geraint and Leon instead, of course. How could he have messed that up? So, he had grabbed Excalibur- , no his normal sword, Arthur didn't have Excalibur, and then-
They had fought. A fight scene like any other, carefully choreographed, without the stunt doubles stepping in. They had taken down the attackers. Fight scene over. So, he had not gotten someone's ax smashed against the back of his skull. Shit. Did that mean he had really tripped? It had been raining beforehand, so the grass had been slightly damp; he must've slipped during the next take when he had turned around to find Merlin passed out cold, a graceless heap in the dirt, a trickle of blood on his chin-
Bradley gasped as pain exploded inside of his skull, an invisible pull behind his eyeballs, annoying and distracting, as he tried to concentrate.
"Tell me what you remember!" Colin repeated his demand from what felt like centuries ago and when Bradley managed to focus on that voice, on that face he noticed that his friend had leant forward, something between hope and anxiety displayed on his features.
"I, uh," Bradley stuttered, scratching his temple as if that would help him ignore the pain, "I was- I don't know. I turned around and saw you, ran over and then- I felt strange. Like a circulatory collapse. Or a déjà vu. And then- then I passed out, I think."
Yes, that sounded about right, didn't it? Maybe the break after the fight scene hadn't been long enough. Maybe he had just been dizzy and moving too quickly.
"What kind of déjà vu?" Colin wanted to know, "What did you see? What did you feel?"
For someone who should be more concerned about Bradley's health he sure asked a lot of questions.
"I, uh, I was concentrating on my role, of course," he recalled, thinking of his lines, of his stage directions.
The script said that when Arthur sees Merlin lying on the ground, bloody and motionless, he is supposed to feel fury and disbelief. But Bradley did not. Bradley saw Merlin, bloody and motionless, and remembered.
"Devastation," he breathed, staring down at the white-knuckled grip his hands had on the thin blanket, "Fear, loss. I… I didn't understand how they managed to take you down. You could've just-"
He broke off, feeling bewildered.
"Bullocks," he said, laughing weakly, "I don't- I mean, Arthur doesn't know about Merlin's magic. We-"
He stopped again, looking at Colin, hoping for reassurance although he wasn't quite sure what he needed to be assured of. Maybe of his own sanity.
But Colin only returned that imploring look in silence as if he, too, was waiting to hear something else, some kind of revelation.
"God," in a vain attempt to regain his posture Bradley rubbed the heels of his hands over his eyes. He wanted to lie down again but felt that it would only make things worse and remind him of his own vulnerability. Moving around a bit and drinking some water would surely help.
Slowly, as not to trigger another wave of nausea, he flipped the blanket back and placed his feet on the floor to push himself up. Colin didn't tell him to stay put, so Bradley slouched over and slumped down on the other chair before he straightened up and placed his palms flat on the surface of the table, forcing all of his muscles to tense and then relax, tense and relax. He still felt exhausted and uncomfortable in his own skin, but it was good to know that he had full control of his body.
"I'm fine," he told Colin who was eyeing him critically.
"Really?"
"Yeah," Bradley nodded and then winced, "Well, mostly. My head hurts."
"Hm," Colin only grunted, a sound that could've meant anything, but then he reached out his left hand and placed two fingertips on the center of Bradley's forehead, rubbing slow circles, once, twice, a strangely soothing sensation, and involuntarily Bradley's eyes fluttered shut.
When he opened them again a few moments later Colin's hand was gone. As was the headache.
"Whoa," Bradley said in a lack of anything smarter to say, "That is- Was that a pressure point of something? I didn't know you could do that."
Colin smiled mysteriously, "Maybe I'm magic."
"Yeah, right," Bradley laughed, a liberating feeling as the tight knot in his chest dissolved and he could breathe freely again, rejuvenated like never before.
"Seriously, though," he said, sobering a little, "This is one crazy day."
And again Colin just looked at him. It was getting really unnerving. Like Colin was gazing directly into his very core, making his skin crawl.
"So, I assume the shoot has been canceled for today?" Bradley asked, hoping to change the subject. Or rather: the atmosphere.
For a moment it was Colin who looked surprised, but then he blinked the confusion away and nodded.
"Yea," he replied, averting his gaze before it flickered back, "I told them you had been feeling slightly under the weather since you got up this morning and assured them that it was nothing serious. So they shouldn't be overly worried."
"Huh?" Bradley cocked his head to the side, "But I was just fine. Splendid actually. That was, until-"
"Until what?" Colin cut in, leaning forward, staring again, "Until what?"
Bradley laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head in a nervous manner, "Colin, sorry if my passing out scared you or something, but right now you're scaring me, so…"
He trailed off as Colin only closed his eyes with a long, tired sigh. And just like that he looked very, very old as if all the fight had been drained out of him after the recent complications.
What fight, Bradley wondered helplessly. What complications?
"Colin?" he asked carefully, unsure of what to do, how to behave around this unusually serious version of his friend.
But Colin just shrugged his thin shoulders and ran long, pale fingers through his hair. The dark strands were sticking up in every which direction, indicating that he had been tugging at them while Bradley had been unconscious.
"It's okay," Colin said, more to himself than anything else, a forced mantra, a repetitious prayer, "It's okay."
"Colin?" Bradley asked once more, feeling left out of the loop, "Are you- Can I- What the hell is wrong with you?"
The smile that spread over Colin's face was so defeated, so devastating that Bradley felt his chest constrict.
"It's okay," Colin echoed his poor excuse for an explanation, his eyes clenched shut in that tight, fake smile, making a move to stand up, "You should probably lie down again and get some more rest. I'll just-"
"Whoa, wait a sec!" blindly Bradley reached out and seized Colin's wrist, "This is not fair! I pass out and when I wake up again you act all weird and dodgy. What's the matter? Was it you who knocked me out? Did I almost bite the dust or what?"
Colin's lips pursed and he turned away his gaze, making Bradley wonder whether the words he had meant more or less jokingly had come close to the truth. Obviously, he mused, he hadn't come close to death or he would have been shipped off straight to a hospital. So did that mean the accident had really involved Colin in some sort of way?
"Hey," Bradley tugged at his friend's arm to make him sit down again, "I'm fine. I feel great. You even got rid of that headache, so… that's good, right?"
He didn't want Colin to go blame himself. Especially if there was nothing to be blamed for. Accidents happened. And Bradley was pretty sure that Colin hadn't done anything to endanger him, he had been unconscious after all, badly wounded, and Arthur had dropped to his knees with an anguished cry, torn between wanting to shake him awake and hold him close or to search for a pulse without aggravating the injuries, the gashing cut on his side, deep and heavily bleeding-
With a half-hearted groan Bradley buried his face in his palms, trying to escape the onslaught of emotions but his hands smelled of leather and fresh blood and they were shaking uncontrollably, sights and sounds whizzing through his hazy mind, the dead men on the ground, Lancelot asking urgent questions, Merlin's prone body in front of him, pale, so pale and-
Bradley gasped and reeled back, his jaw dropping and then snapping shut as he realized where he was, namely in the medical trailer, with Colin across the table, Colin, not Merlin, wide awake and safe, because it was just fiction, just an adventurous tale, there had been no fight and he was not King Arthur.
"Alright," he chuckled or sobbed, he wasn't sure, "I must've bashed my head in real bad because I seem to be losing my mind."
He glanced up at Colin, expecting to see amusement or worry or both, but his friend only regarded him with something like silent understanding, and for some reason that was all the more unsettling.
"You said," Colin began, reaching for the small notebook that lay on the table, opening it at a random blank page before grabbing the plastic ballpen that was attached to it, "You said that when you fainted it felt like a déjà vu. Why?"
Bradley took a deep, though not overly calming breath, contemplating whether it was wise to confide in Colin and tell him that he had momentarily lost his grip on reality and was plagued by a severe case of identity confusion.
"It was- it was stupid," he admitted, his voice shaking, "I… You should know that I'm a damn good actor, so… while we were filming, I got so worked up, I dunno…"
Colin had started doodling into the notebook, ballpen scratching against the paper, so he barely even glanced up, "And then? The emotional scenes are always somewhat draining. No reason to faint like a girl."
Usually Colin would've said something like that in a teasing tone and Bradley's wouldn't have been offended, but there was a sharp edge in his voice, so unfamiliar and provoking, and considering the gravity of the situation-
"I don't know, okay!" Bradley hissed, barely registering that he was acting out of character himself, "I hadn't expected the ambush, I was caught off guard! And then you fool are not even capable of defending yourself! You could've just thrown fire at them and got it over with, but instead I turn around to see- Bloody hell, I thought I had lost you, Merlin!"
By the time he realized what he had just said Bradley was breathing hard and he wanted to bite his tongue off. But was Colin gazing at him with a completely calm expression as if mental breakdowns weren't anything out of the ordinary for Bradley. Instead he seemed almost… relieved. Happy even.
"Dammit," Bradley slumped forward, his forehead pressed against the edge of the tabletop, his fingernails painfully digging into his scalp as he clenched his hands.
"Bradley," Colin said quietly as if he were talking to a frightened child and not to a totally crazed nutjob, "Look at me."
Sucking in a shuddering breath Bradley forced himself to listen to reason (aka Colin) and sat up straight. Looking Colin in the eye, though, was definitely harder than expected.
"I'm sorry, mate," Bradley feebly tried to laugh it off, shifting uncomfortably in his chair, "I'm just… you know, kinda out of it. Must be the heat. Or something."
"Or something," Colin agreed and then pushed the notebook towards him, "Do you recognize this?"
"Of course," Bradley answered automatically, glancing down at the elaborate drawing Colin had scribbled down with anthracite-colored ink, "It's my crest. I mean, the Pendragon crest. Well, sorta."
Because it wasn't, not really. A crest depicting a dragon, but not the one that had been designed for the series. But it was still familiar. Too familiar.
"Hm," Colin said once more, but finally there was a silent smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, a single dimple already forming.
"What's going on?" Bradley demanded because he really, really needed an answer, "I feel like I'm missing something vital despite the fact that it's directly in front of me. Do you think I'm going crazy?"
Colin shook his head, "Not necessarily."
And then he neatly tore the page out of the notebook, ripping it into tiny pieces, bit by bit. It would've seemed like a nervous habit hadn't he appeared to be perfectly calm and at ease around his suddenly-gone-mad best mate.
"Bradley," he said with strange intensity in his narrowed eyes, "Please don't faint again."
"I didn't faint!" Bradley huffed despite this whole bizarre situation and watched as Colin held a hand above the small, miserable heap of confetti. Neither said anything but in front of their eyes the shreds of paper began moving as if by unseen currents of wind, a miniature tornado, before they aligned themselves in a square form, fusing back together. And then the page was whole again, not a single dog's ear, not one rip, the dragon majestic and intimidating, forming the Pendragon crest under which Arthur had been born more than fifteen centuries ago.
And then Bradley fainted.
~o0o~
When Bradley woke for the third time that day in total and for the second time feeling like a bloody train had run him over, he decided to officially dub this 'The day on which all went downhill'. The unofficial title would be something along the lines of 'The day on which I realized that I was absolutely nutters and had developed a split personality which believed itself to be the King of Albion'.
Actually that sounded like a damn good subtitle for his early autobiography. Bradley James – two sides of a coin – all by himself!
Yup, he would have to talk to his manager about that splendid idea. After all he would probably have a lot of time to kill once he had been admitted to the lunatic asylum. Bradley James – The man from the loony bin. That would be the poorly produced documentation which would be aired after his untimely death at the hands of- of what exactly? Was he going to believe that someone was trying to attack him and then get himself killed in a stupid act of self-defense? Death by idiocy. Sadly, that didn't seem all that far-fetched.
"I know that you're awake."
And that was when Bradley was reminded of the fact that he wasn't the only witness to his first bouts of insanity, but that Colin had most likely already called someone who would bring a pretty, white, Bradley-sized straitjacket.
"Please tell me that everything was just a dream and that I knocked myself out and that this is the first time I have woken up," he pleaded, clenching his eyes shut in deep concentration as if that would make his desperate wish come true.
"Sorry, can't do that," Colin didn't laugh but the sounds of light, easy steps indicated that he was moving through the trailer and then a weight settled on the mattress so Bradley peered up through half-lidded eyes.
Colin still looked oddly calm, even as he pressed his fingertips to Bradley's forehead again and simply rubbed the reawakened headache away, just like he had done before.
For a few silent seconds Bradley mulled that thought over in his now thankfully lucid - well, at least less befuddled – brain.
"I didn't dream, did I?" he asked hesitantly and Colin smiled softly, unnervingly, all-knowingly.
"Is this payback for all the pranks I pulled?" Bradley tried instead, "And this is everyone's collective revenge? So, great, you got me. Everyone but me had a laugh. Can we please stop now?"
But Colin just lifted a hand, the page with the Pendragon crest pinched between pointer finger and thumb. Bradley knew that although he refused to look at it.
"Colin, seriously," he said, short-tempered, pushing himself up and closer to the wall, tugging his knees up to his chest in an instinctual self-protective motion.
"I mean it," he added when his vengeful friend kept presenting the paper, "This stopped being funny before it even began."
And just like that the paper burst into flames, the dragon being devoured by fire, alive and crackling, dancing in Colin's palm.
Merlin did that from time to time, after Colin murmured incoherent words with his fake English accent and still stood empty-handed, after a bunch of special effects designers edited the scene, after the sound supervisors added the peculiar hiss of sizzling hot air, and even then it never seemed so real.
Bradley stared. Colin inclined his head slightly, gaze never leaving Bradley, and blew out a mouthful of breath, blew a kiss, only that the kiss was the flame that gracefully leapt from his grasp and sailed through thin air.
"You can touch it if you want to," Colin offered without any sort of explanation and Bradley should've been frightened out of his wits – and maybe he was – but in that moment he could not resist the temptation, fascinated by this beautiful impossibility.
Not even thinking about what he was doing, he lifted his hand towards the tiny fire, careful as if he were trying to gain the trust of a stray dog that might bite him. The flames, however, happily licked his fingers, hot but not burning, easing into his hold as though they belonged to him.
"You always liked playing with fire," Colin said wistfully, a melancholic glint in his eyes.
"That's not true," Bradley replied, not quite sure why and to what exactly he was objecting.
"Most of the time, at least," Colin insisted, "Asked for my council and yet rarely ever followed my advice. Quite maddening, I assure you."
"Non-sense," Bradley frowned, both at Colin's accusations and at how easily the words dripped from his own tongue, "I always trusted your guidance and relied on you. Tell me one time-"
"Mordred," his friend cut him off, his smile wavering but not fading, "The Battle at Camlann. I told you, twice you had fought bravely, but not a third time, it would be your death. And it was."
Bradley opened and closed his mouth, at a loss at how to react to that bullshit.
"I could not let him succeed," Arthur answered fervently, "Should I have left my kingdom under his reign? Morgana had sown foul thoughts in his heart and with those he intended to enthrall those who I had sworn to serve. Albion was mine to fight for and to protect."
"And you were mine, my King," Merlin spoke dutifully, his eyes downcast, his voice a mere whisper.
"What the heck?" Bradley yelped and snapped back to reality. Or whatever qualified as reality. He wasn't so sure anymore. Noting that the strange fire was still in his hand, he quickly shook free of it as if he had been burned after all and it dissolved without a trace, no soot on his skin, no smoke in his mouth.
At that Colin actually sighed heavily and rolled his eyes in exasperation, but the slump of his shoulders betrayed that he didn't find any of this amusing either.
"How could I have believed that this was going to be easy once I had found you?" he muttered, shaking his head, "With you it always has to be difficult. Even after all these years."
He fell silent for a moment, seemed to decide on something, nodded and then pinned Bradley with a piercing stare.
"Listen, Arthur," he said slowly, "We have to sort this out before you actually snap."
"Oh, I think I already did," Bradley squeaked, pressing back against the wall, "Or you did. Or both of us. Maybe it's catching. Maybe it's eating our brains!"
Colin faltered slightly, a breath escaping him without the words he surely intended to speak.
"Ah," he caught himself again, "Then I doubt there's much to be found in your head."
"Well, you're one to talk," Bradley really tried to get his voice back under control but it was actually damn difficult, "You just called me Arthur. While we are neither filming nor running lines. You never slipped like that."
"That's because I didn't slip," Colin pointed out, "I did it on purpose. Because that's your name."
"No, it's not," Bradley wondered why it tasted like a lie on his tongue, why he was trying harder to convince himself than to convince Colin, Colin who was an actor but who could rarely ever keep a straight face when they were pulling a prank together – why would that have changed now?
"My name is Bradley James," he said with emphasis, dimly aware of the fact that it made him sound like a madman, "I am an actor. I am not truly King Arthur."
There was a flicker of something akin to pity on Colin's face, "Then why do you doubt it yourself?"
"I- I don't," Bradley stuttered, his brow furrowing, "I'm just… confused. Hit my head and all that."
"You know that you didn't hit your head," Colin reminded him, "You said it was a déjà vu, triggered by the sight of my lifeless body and thinking me dead. Do you remember?"
"I don't remember anything," Bradley insisted though it was just another lie for there were wisps of- of something fluttering through his subconscious, barely under the surface, only he didn't dare reach out and touch them, afraid that they were real, that they were memories, that that was his life, had been his life, that he was-
"King Arthur," Colin spoke softly, yet with conviction, "Son of Uther Pendragon. Ruler of all Albion. My liege. My friend. And you say that you forgot?"
"Uh, Colin, you-" Bradley was still trying to work out what was happening to him. This couldn't be a joke. No one would ever pull such an elaborate prank, not if Bradley was so obviously lost and confused, none of his costars would dare do that, not his friends, especially not-
"Merlin," Arthur sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, "You have to keep in mind how much time has passed. I suspected that you were hoping to change something by taking me to Avalon, but I still do not understand all of it."
"I brought you there to save you," Merlin replied, suddenly somewhat meek, "I couldn't just let you die. I could not prevent it, but I had to try and do something. Avalon has always welcomed me. I knew she would welcome you, too."
"But I died," Arthur prodded, "I remember dying. I don't remember being born again, but I remember growing up once more, protected by my family. I remember teachers and friends and lovers, happiness and grief, success and disappointment. I am proud of who I am. But I don't know who that man is and what his life is doing inside of me."
"You are him", Merlin explained gently, in the same soothing voice he had used when Arthur had been dying, sucking in shallow breaths, the enraged storms of Avalon failing to fill his lungs, "And he is you. I struck a bargain with the Old Ones and they granted me my request. You were reborn, though it took many years."
"Hold on a second," Bradley gaped at him, "You are telling me that I am the rebirth of effing King Arthur?"
Merlin sighed. Colin face-palmed. Or maybe both did.
"This would be much easier if you didn't keep switching," he noted.
"Switching?" Bradley parroted, "There is an alter ego inside of me and you expect me to just let it do whatever it wants?"
"It's not an alter ego," Colin told him, "It's you. It's always been you. But you only remembered today. The déjà vu tore down the barriers that prevented you from remembering all at once. The onslaught of memories was too much, though, that's why you passed out."
Bradley couldn't quite believe that they were having this conservation. And that he was not as freaked out as he ought to be.
"So," a nervous little laugh escaped him, "I'm really Arthur. And you're really Merlin."
"Hm," Colin made an ambiguous noise, "Right now I am more Merlin than you are Arthur, because you're still caught up in your Bradley-ness while I can be myself."
Bradley blinked, wondering why Bradley-ness kinda sounded like an insult, "And why is that? I mean, why can you… you know?"
"You are currently going through the very difficult phase of letting both of your lives adept to each other," Colin elaborated, "All of your memories, all your experiences are being compared and sorted out. It's like a computer overload because of too much data. Not to mention that I imagine it to be quite a shock to find out that you have lived before."
"Wait," Bradley held up his hand, "You imagine it to be a shock? Haven't you gone through the same?"
"Nope," Colin shook his head, "I was never reborn. I've always been Merlin. For one-thousand-six-hundred years. Considering my age, I still look damn good, don't you think?"
Bradley gaped but then Colin's suggestive eyebrow wiggle was enough to pull a chuckle from his throat.
"But," he faltered, a terrible idea occurring to, "Then… Colin doesn't even exist? Arthur gets his friend back while I lose mine? That's… that's not fair."
"No, I am Colin!" Colin added hastily, "I've spend the past years with this life. I am Colin and I am your friend. That won't ever change. Just… think of it like… we have always been friends, both in the past and now. That's got to count for something, right?"
"But when Merlin- when you," Bradley was annoyed with himself as he fumbled at how to formulate the question, "Arthur was reborn as Bradley, I get that now. One and a half millennia passed – while you twiddled your thumbs and picked your nose?"
Colin pulled a disgusted face, "I don't pick my nose."
"Then what were you doing?"
"Waiting," Colin said and then he grew silent and old and tired, like another layer placed over his eyes, his face, and he was Merlin once more.
"For such a long time I waited," he recalled, folding his hands that held such power, "I laid you to rest on Avalon and sealed your grave. Then I returned to the mortal realm and to your kingdom. Mordred was dead. Camelot had been freed. I hunted down Morgana. When I found her she was but a mere shadow of herself. The shock of losing her son had devastated her. I let her live, out of pity, out of spite, out of my own weakness. She died a few years later, though, lonely and scornful, much like she had lived. I wished it could have been different."
Bradley could feel Arthur trying to resurface but he pushed him down on purpose, wanting to really understand this. His knowledge of the Arthurian Legend was getting mixed up with the plotline for BBC's Merlin, so he hurried to work it out, to come to terms with it.
Morgana had probably really been Arthur's sister, and if she was Mordred's mother then Arthur had been ruthlessly killed by his own nephew. That was what raised the tension of the series: Morgana's ascension into darkness and insanity, Arthur's blindness his and belief of whatever good remained inside of her, Uther's hypocrisy and desperation.
Bradley was well aware of the fact that the BBC adaption was based very loosely on the different versions of the legend, but to actually think that some of it had actually happened to him, that all that loss and pain was not part of his acting but somehow the truth, a part of his past.
He had died. He had died.
Whatever control Arthur's consciousness held over him send wisps of memories into his brain. A hill. Once green and vivid, but turned into a battlefield, soaked with blood and dead bodies strewn all over. The cried and moans of the poor souls that still clung on to life. The sky a threatening grey, overcast with towers of clouds like walls of solid stone. The scent of storm heavy in the air, but tainted by the stench of blood all around. Sweat clinging to his battered body. Exhaustion. Breathlessness. A dry mouth. Mordred, waiting for him.
Bradley closed his eyes against it, though it made no difference. The threats, the insults, the accusations. Circling round each other. Drawing their swords. The actual fight. But no fear, no, Arthur did not have much left to lose anymore. It was all or nothing. Camelot or death. He'd never surrender.
"He was dying," he whispered, his eyes still shut, "I had him slain. It was over. I thought it was over."
But he had knelt down by his nephew's side, had looked into his eyes and hoped to find something redeemable there, wanted to find it in himself to forgive, to accept. And Mordred, the coward, the traitor, the thief had pulled a dagger from beneath his cloak and plunged it into Arthur's side.
Bradley winched, feeling his gut clench as if there was real pain radiating from the sliced flesh and the hot blood oozing out of the wound. The blow was fatal, Arthur knew that, knew that even before Mordred wretched the blade free with one last defiant grin. The grin that Arthur had grown up with, so used to seeing it on Morgana's face. Why had his family been torn apart like this?
Bradley's fingers itched to reach for his side, to assure himself that there was no lingering injury, not even scarred skin to remind him of it, and that all that was left was the painful memory of something that had not happened in this life. It still hurt faintly, though the emotional impact was stronger than the physical one.
All or nothing. Camelot or death. That was how fate ridiculed him? He won back his throne but was still denied to claim it once more? He won but still died? That was what he had been working towards to his entire life, what he had believed in when Merlin promised him destiny?
Maybe Merlin had seen the expression on his face, maybe he could read thoughts (Bradley wouldn't be really surprised anymore), but he seemed to know what was going on in his friend's head (or, Bradley amended, maybe it was just that and they were friends and supposed to know such things).
"Life always ends in death, Bradley, you have to understand that," he told him gently, touching cool fingertips to a nervously twitching hand, "No one can escape it. It is the final step and the inevitable conclusion. Do not bemourn your own death after you accomplished what you wanted in life. That was your destiny and I am sorry that I could not have changed it to a gentler end. But grieving is for those that stay behind. You died readily and without regret. Few achieve such peace of mind; you did, however, and thus eased our grief."
Bradley took a deep, steadying breath through his nose and slowly exhaled it again. At the same time he could feel Arthur pushing upwards again; in dire need for a short break, he let him succeed.
"I know," Arthur replied calmly, "And yet there are so many things I do not understand, so many questions I want to ask."
"Then ask," Merlin smiled openly, "Ask and I shall answer like I have always done."
"You say all life ends in death," the king spoke slowly, "And yet you stand before me, many centuries past, and claim that you are still the same. One of those two must be a lie or at least inaccurate."
"Ah," Merlin nodded, "I would never tell you lies, my lord, so my wording is, indeed, inaccurate. All life eventually ends in death. Mine will, too, one day. I do not know when exactly, but I feel that it must happen. Until then I have some time left."
At that Arthur felt slightly pacified; it wouldn't do to be reborn only to lose Merlin shortly after.
"But I have interrupted your tale," he noticed, "You had just begun to speak about your long wait. So you let Morgana live. And then?"
"I made my way back to Camelot," Merlin continued, "To find that most of those who had fled had already returned as well. Change is a fickle thing. Little of Mordred's rule remained inside the city's walls. Life resumes, even without its kings. Even without us."
And Arthur knew what was to come, had suspected it ever since he had woken up again.
"Sir Lancelot asked for my permission to wed Guinevere," Merlin confessed in a soft voice, "I gave them my blessing. She needed someone to take care of her and I knew that you would trust no one but him. They missed you dearly and there was often a shadow upon them, but I believe that they were happy."
Arthur nodded gravely. Lancelot, his most trusted and faithful knight, had loved Guinevere deeply, though always from a respectful distance. It was good like this. It felt right. He wouldn't have wanted either of them to drown his sorrow upon his death. They had continued to live. That was what he had wished for.
A silently inquiring look was enough to show Merlin that he wanted to know about his other love, the one that was not only in his heart but in his blood as well.
"Camelot prevailed," Merlin told him, "Guinevere returned to the throne. Lancelot refused to be crowned king, though he served as her most important advisor and proudly stood by her side. She was a capable queen, tender yet strong. The people loved her."
Arthur smiled. He had seen those qualities when he had fallen in love with her. If nothing else she would have led him to greatness.
"They had a three sons," Merlin added, carefully watching Arthur as if ready to soothe any pain, "They grew up beautifully and ruled liked their mother. I left it all in their hands."
At this Merlin faltered suddenly, his gaze dropping.
"I…" he began, his tone uncertain, "I couldn't stay. I couldn't watch as they divided your kingdom, however well the governed it. I had to leave. My powers and my voice and my trust were meant for you. It felt wrong to remain without you."
Arthur looked at him imploringly, "Then… what did you do?"
To hear all those stories, all those days he had missed, all those developments that had happened because he was no longer there… it was disconcerting to hear. But to see Merlin like this was worse still.
His shoulders were hunched forward and he seemed small, so small, fragile even, and that should just not be.
Arthur and Merlin had always been strong. Even as silver streaked their hair, rich and beautiful like Arthur's golden crown. Even as lines and creases wrinkled their faces, a map of the path that was their life. Even as old and new scars marred their bodies, reminders of what they had survived. They had always been strong, always remained side by side.
"I waited," Merlin's voice was trembling in fear, in grief, in exhaustion, "One-thousand-five-hundred years I waited. Traveled the world for a while. Came across strange lands and even stranger people. They taught me a lot; I learned a lot. Then I returned to Avalon to guard your grave. Time passes differently there. When I returned to the mortal realm, Camelot had ceased to exist. Please to not scorn me for not standing by her, but I understand this now: few kingdoms and even fewer kings may come to greatness – but all of them must fall one day. You cannot prevent this. Times change and Time changes. That is the only thing that will never change."
Arthur gave him a slightly exasperated looked. The only other thing that never changed was Merlin's passion for grand speeches and riddles. If nothing else he could have made a fortune with writing romance novels.
"It's alright," he replied and found that it was the truth, "It'd be foolish to expect everything to be like I left it behind. Too much time has passed. Not to mention that the knowledge of my current life is seeping into me. I know that to most we are nothing more than a myth. I know that for claiming to have magic you are no longer sentenced to death nowadays but viewed as insane. This world is not quite my home but I believe I will be able to live in it."
Merlin's face lit up in a lopsided smile, "Well, I'm afraid you don't have much of a choice either way."
The age and gravity of the wizard was slowly melting away, leaving Colin fresh and raw like a patch of grass after winter's snow melted away.
For a moment they sat like this, each lost in their own thoughts, sorting themselves out and setting everything straight. Bradley decided to come forth again and noticed that it was getting easier, that it was becoming a conscious decision. Possibly because he was adapting to the whole concept, possibly because his own existence was steadily blendingwith that of Arthur. Once they had become one there would be no more switching, no more surrendering to the presence of a stranger. It was a crazy thought, but strangely comforting.
"How did you find me?" Bradley asked suddenly. It seemed like a ridiculous question compared to how easily he accepted the concept of Colin being magic and himself being reborn, but it still buggered him.
He gave Colin a long, hard stare, "It's no coincidence that we happen to be Merlin and Arthur in a TV show, is it?"
Colin gave a little, startled laugh. "No, it's not," he admitted with a fond smile, "When I found you again I wanted to cry and hug you and say your name and tell you everything that had happened. But I knew that I couldn't. Your mind had to work through the process of rebirth on its own. Otherwise I would have had to fear for your sanity. So I waited again. I've gotten quite good at that, you know. Though being patient was definitely more difficult when I knew where you lived, that you lived at all. But I managed."
He fell silent for a moment, before continuing in an excited tone as if to distract from the distress he must have been in, "When I realized that you wanted to be an actor, I knew what I had to do. So I set everything up accordingly. Not everything I did was strictly… legal, but I promise that I did no one any harm and did not interfere too much in other people's lives."
Bradley cocked an eyebrow as understanding settled in.
"Are you telling me," he began haltingly, "That it was you who came up with a Merlin BBC production? And that you wrote the script? And that you casted me as Arthur and yourself as Merlin?"
Colin's smile looked slightly strained but managed to stay in place, "Pretty much?"
"Oh, that's just rich," Bradley snorted, "Leave it to you to name the show after yourself. And to humiliate your king in every which way possible. Really, I'm flattered."
Colin ducked his head, but now that he heard the amusement in Bradley's voice his grin seemed more assured.
"I'll have you know that most of the ridiculous stuff stems purely from the warped sense of humor that the writers come up with," he piqued up, "Or do I have to remind you of the fact that most of the really awful stuff usually happens to me?"
Bradley laughed, "I guess that's true."
"See," Colin sniffed, "So yes, I was involved with the initial steps, getting the approval for the production, working out the basic set-up. The passing of time has done funny things to our own history. I mean, seriously, how did they come up with the idea of my being an ancient, bearded hermit with a pointy hat?"
Bradley's shoulders were rather shaking with mirth when he tried to shrug, "Stereo types."
"Obviously," Colin rolled his eyes, "Anyway, so it seems that the original version hasn't lost any of its charm considering our vast fan community."
Bradley only continued to laugh, "To think that you were really my servant. Still are, actually. Oh, that's brilliant. You could-"
"I will neither perform magic tricks for you nor fetch your clothes and obey your every whim," Colin replied sourly, "I'm not your dog, Bradley. Not to mention what everyone else would say if you suddenly started to treat me like a slave. I wasn't a meek bootlicker back then and I sure as hell won't be one now."
Bradley gave him a full-fledged grin, "And that's why I named you my royal advisor. And my best friend."
That confession turned Colin all humble again as if he hadn't known that before, "So you forgive me? For all the lies and the pretense and the scheming and all that shite?"
With a sigh Bradley nudged his shoulder, "I'd be a downright ass if I refused to acknowledge all you have done for me. There's nothing to forgive. I understand why you had to stay low. Though I'd like to mention that even if you had not saved my life on numerous occasions and enabled my rebirth, even if you were not Merlin but only Colin – you'd still be my best friend. And even time won't change that."
Ah, sap speech. Merlin was rubbing off on him. But it was worth to see such devotion and dedication glistening in Colin's eyes.
"But tell me," he asked, purposefully tugging at Arthur's memories, learning how to control them without completely switching back, "Why did you keep some things like they really happened and changed others? For the series, I mean."
"Yeah, well," Colin said, "That's stupidly obvious actually. I couldn't change too much, afraid that you wouldn't remember if it were too different. Then again I had to make certain that the show would run for a while. For that I needed an interesting plotline with problems that differentiated us from other adaptions of the legends. So while I was really your servant and hid my secret from you, magic was frowned upon but not outlawed. That conflict between Arthur und Merlin and the fear of being caught is what drives the plot. At the same time I knew that the fans would need romance, so I had to turn Lady Guinevere into a serving girl, even though you only met years later at her father's mansion. Same goes for pretty much everything else. A dash of truth and a heap of imagination. I barely interfered with the writers' ideas after the beginning."
"You should have kept closer to the truth," Bradley groaned, "Look at how long it took for the déjà vu to strike. It must've been terrible to always wait and see whether this scene or the next triggered a reaction."
"It was," Colin conceded, "But it was worth it. And this déjà vu was only the catalyst for the final phase. Ever since you were reborn there have been tiny things that reminded you of your old life, from seeing a horse to first hearing about the Arthurian Legend. Having you play Prince Arthur in the show was meant to push you towards those memories, to rub them in. When you identified with your role you grew more comfortable in it. The adaption is meant to be unnoticeable or else it could get dangerous. And even after all that the déjà vu today knocked you out. Can you imagine what would have happened had I directly confronted you with the facts? It's quite possible that you really would have snapped."
Bradley swallowed. Yes, that actually sounded very likely. He actually had thought that he had snapped. Rebirth was obviously a creepy, tedious thing.
But there was still more, still something that he needed to know, something that Merlin had kept from him. Like drawing a silk curtain Bradley let Arthur pass.
Arthur looked a Colin, long and searchingly, as if he could find the answers written on pale skin. Colin shifted uncomfortably, straightened again and then Merlin looked his king in the eye.
"You said you struck a bargain with the Old Ones," Arthur pointed out what had not been explained yet, "But they are wicked and selfish. It must have come to a price."
Merlin stayed silent.
"Merlin," Arthur frowned at him, his voice sharp, "What did you pay? What did my life cost you?"
"It wasn't much of a deal," Merlin claimed, though he looked somewhat chastised, "I kind of… tricked them."
"You tricked the Old Ones?" Arthur gave him a look, "I doubt that's even possible."
"Well, they more or less tricked me in return, so..."
A heavy sigh escaped Arthur as he pinched the bridge of his nose, "Merlin. How many times do I have to remind you of the simple fact that one does not interfere with the dealings of ancient magic? You of all people should know that."
"I had no choice!" Merlin insisted stubbornly, "You were dying and I was a crying mess. I had to act quickly or the essence of your soul would have just evaporated. I had to ask the Old Ones to catch and keep it, otherwise a rebirth would have been impossible. There was no time to waste."
Arthur glared even harder; he was worried about Merlin's stupidity during urgent situations, "So what did you do?"
"I told them that I wanted them to save your life," Merlin told him, "They refused to do so because it went against the laws. I told them that I wanted you to be reborn. That they could do in exchange for what they wanted. Namely potential destiny."
"What does that mean?"
"It means that this life is not meant to be a repetition of your old one," the sorcerer explained hastily, "To me you are still my king but are not allowed to become him. I may not lead you towards your fate like I did before because there is no more grandeur, not in the same manner as in the olden days."
"So," Arthur frowned, wrapping his mind around the matter, "You sold my destiny. But that does not make sense. If I had not been reborn at all, there wouldn't have been any fate."
"That is not how it works, though," Merlin replied and he was staring as his feet as if in shame, "When you were reborn you had the chance to become King Arthur in this world once more. I destroyed that chance. You will forever remain Bradley James, a common man without any grand deeds, without a specific path to follow. A life without definite destiny but… in freedom. I felt that I owed you at least this much. I apologize if I was wrong and have offended your wishes, sire."
It took Arthur a moment to realize why his trusted was behaving so strangely.
"Merlin," he said, laying a reassuring hand on his shoulder, "Without you I would have never become great. And without you I do not wish to become great once more. You granted me a life that I may live only for my own sake, without any rules or obligations. And I am truly grateful for that."
Merlin's smile was white and honest and so much more than Arthur felt he deserved.
Then he remembered something and sobered a little, "You mentioned that the Old Ones tricked you in return though. What did they do?"
Merlin sighed quietly, "They had me wait for fifteen centuries. Fifteen. Can you imagine that? No, you can't, because you were dead. The first hundred years weren't so bad, but after that it just got boring and then I figured out that they would have me squirm a bit and have their fun."
Yes, Arthur could imagine that. Both because the Old Ones were really that twisted and because it was extremely fun to watch Merlin squirm.
But it seemed there was more to it for Merlin continued with his illustration, "I realized, though, that they had valid reasons to postpone your rebirth again and again, saying 'It's not yet time'. Magic is almost extinct in this world, Arthur. It's dying all around us, every single day and I can hear it crying out to me. The Old Ones needed me here. They cannot leave Avalon to cure the earth, to cleanse the water, to purify the air. The balance has been lost. There is so much destruction and little creation. It is painful to watch."
"What does that have to do with you?" Arthur asked, "Is your own magic limited or weakened because of the general lack? Are you endangered?"
"God no," Merlin quickly shook his head, "I'm fine. I'm… possibly stronger than ever before, though I usually don't get the chance to test it around here. I… Arthur, I spend a lot of time on Avalon. A lot of time. The unadulterated magic, the energy, the force, the chakra or whatever you want to call it surged right through me and-"
Bradley burst out laughing, so suddenly and heavily that he had to hold his stomach.
"So what are you trying to tell me, Luke?" he hiccupped between giggles, "That the Force is strong with you?"
"Haha," it was Colin again and he pouted, "If anything you'd be Luke Skywalker."
"Then you are Obi-Wan. And back to being a hermit again."
"Still not funny," Colin pointed out, "May I finish my story now?"
"Your tale finish you now may," Bradley permitted graciously in an awful Yoda-imitation which had Colin stare at him even more funnily.
"Anyway," the younger man said and seemed to concentrate again, "Avalon. Strong magic. Me in the middle of it. I sucked it all up. Or no, that sounds like there is nothing left on Avalon now. It multiplied through my touch and I collected and accumulated in all. It's all inside of me, around me. Sorta. I can't really explain."
He thought for a moment and then nodded to himself, "I believe that is what the Old Ones wanted. I am to serve as some sort of anchor in this world. Magic comes to life wherever I am. It is still alive, Bradley, though few practice it anymore. At least that's what I believe. It's so weak that it's almost impossible to use it. I doubt anyone could really use it without specific knowledge and even then it would be nothing big. So that's what I'm here for. My presence activates the subliminal magic."
Bradley blinked, "So what are you hoping for? Breed an army of mini Harry Potters and prance around on a unicorn? Which you should not do. We have enough fangirls waiting for gay signals."
"Says the one who killed a unicorn," Colin huffed, "Now that's homophobic."
Bradley laughed and cuffed him about the head, "Seriously, though. Why are you doing this?"
"Bradley," Colin looked truly miserable and tortured, "You don't quite understand how it is. There is no one like me. There has never been anyone like me, but back then other magic users where close enough. I was a rarity, but I was not the only one. Now, though, now I am the last of my kind."
Bradley wanted to remain serious, he really wanted to, especially which how wrecked Colin seemed upon that explanation. But Bradley couldn't help it. He started laughing again.
"You are the last one," he chuckled, "The last unicorn. And you've been turned into a beautiful princess who-"
"Falls in love with the dashing prince?" Colin gave him a look and then made a big show of scooting away from him, "What did you say about the gay vibes?"
"Oh, come here, you bloody queer," Bradley teased, threw an arm around Colin's shoulders and pulled him closer again, "You waited hundreds of years. You did all this. Only for me."
He gave a theatrical sob and stared up at the ceiling as if the blink away the non-existent tears, "If anyone ever finds out about this, we'll never be able to lose the gay label. Or the straitjacket and the funnily colored pills we'll be forced to swallow. The joy of incredible curricula vitae. I won't even be able to mention this in my biography. A pity really, but sacrifices have to be made."
At this Colin chuckled, "Glad that we agree on that."
"So you're really gonna do this?" Bradley wanted to know, "You're gonna start something like the renaissance of magic? What if something goes wrong? What if strange beasts show up and attack? What if someone is cursed? What if magic is really outlawed like it was in the middle ages and sorcerers are getting executed. What if you get executed?"
Colin squirmed around uncomfortable, "I know there are so many possibilities this could go wrong. I know that I can barely foresee what might happen once the ball is rolling. Actually I'm pretty sure that someone will get hurt one way or the other. People always get hurt, but not because of being difference but because of other people's intolerance. There's racism and homophobia, animosity because of religions and politics and different genres of music, for Christ's sake. Magic is a minority but it still deserves a chance."
Bradley only grunted in response as h mulled the words over in his head.
"You're going to run for president now or what?" he asked half-jokingly. Colin was not meant for politics, but considering that he had seen the better (or worse) half of civilization it wasn't such a strange idea. No stranger than imagining him taming dragons in the mountains or working as the headmaster of Hogwarts. Which Bradley didn't do. Because he was no geek. … Yeah, okay, he was one, but even frigging King Arthur needed hobbies. Tournaments were very rarely held nowadays.
Colin only shrugged and scratched the back of his head, "No, not president. Prime minister if anything. And that sounds boring. Rather something that allows me to travel wherever I want to go like I've done before when I was waiting for your rebirth. I want to go to Australia and Africa. I believe magic is more vivid there; it's in the earth and in the stars. The stones, at least, must remember something."
Bradley nodded as if he understood, but he could see where Colin's idea was coming from. Ayer's Rock and dreamtime and shamans – why not? Why the hell not? It seemed everything was possible when you had an age-old wizard sitting next to you.
"You'll work something out," he told Colin and Merlin and himself, "You always do."
"Of course I do," Colin replied haughtily, "I sold your destiny, not mine."
But he still looked relieved and reassured and very happy.
"Whatever you do, I'll be with you," Bradley promised him somberly and then amended, "Except when you plan to follow the fangirls' wishes and make me kiss you for the show. There have to be boundaries, mate."
Colin was snickering into his fist and glanced at Bradley through slit eyes, "You are aware of the fact that I am the most powerful sorcerer in the world?"
"That doesn't mean much if you are the only sorcerer in the world," Bradley reminded him.
"I could still force you to do whatever I wish," Colin pointed out and raised a hand to wiggle his fingers in a ridiculous imitation of an evil witch, "So you better be careful before I turn you into a toad. Or even better yet: into my very own man servant. I feel like we ought to reverse roles in this life, Bradley, don't you think?"
Bradley only gave an exaggerated squeak, jumped up from the bed and bolted straight for the door to leave the trailer, knowing that Colin would follow him.
He didn't get far, though, before he came across an obstacle, namely Katie and Angel who were looking at him with wide eyes.
"Aren't you supposed to be dying or something?" Katie asked with a frown and eyed him suspiciously.
It was that moment Colin chose to crash straight into Bradley's back, sending him toppling forward. He flailed his arms and tried to hold on to the girls who only stepped aside in opposite directions so that he landed on the ground with Colin comfortably sitting on top of him.
"Whoops," was Colin's only comment as he straightened himself but didn't even offer Bradley a hand up from where he lay sprawled in the grass.
Arthur turned onto his back and glared up at him, "May I remind you of the fact that you swore an oath to protect you king? Worthless peasant?"
Blue eyes merrily twinkled back, "Whenever was that, my king?"
"Fifteen minutes ago," he reminded him, "Fifteen centuries ago."
"Must have forgotten that," Merlin mused, "Getting rather senile on my old days."
The girls' giggles suddenly pulled them back into the present and Bradley felt somewhat startled, chiding himself for being so careless and letting those words slip. Katie and Angel might take it for a joke and laugh about their antics; heck, Katie and Angel might even believe them the whole rebirth story (after Colin demonstrated some real magic, because after all those pranks no one trusted Bradley, for some strange reason), but he couldn't afford to lose control like this.
Merely a few hours after his big déjà vu he was already accustomed to the thought, the feeling of partly being Arthur, but he had to be careful in front of other people. After all Merlin had never slipped, or at least Bradley had never noticed. He had to learn to be just as inconspicuous.
He scrambled back onto his feet again and dusted his breeches off. He was still wearing his costume, he noticed. Which explained Katie's question from before. No one had seen him since he had passed out. They must've been worried after all and Angel and Kathy had wanted to visit him. How sweet. Considering that he was well again, though, he would only get nasty comments about how he had fainted like a girl and that they had it all on camera. Wonderful. He loved his friends. At least Katie was still nicer than the real Morgana. Sometimes.
"So you're all right again?" Angel asked with a bright smile. Sometimes Angel tried to be nicer than Morgana, too. She rarely succeeded.
"I'm all right," Bradley answered truthfully. He still was a bit shaky on his legs, especially after that ungraceful tumble just now, but other than that he felt healthy and alive and surprisingly sane. He was King Arthur after all.
He exchanged a quick, but meaningful glance with Colin who grinned back at him, and the grin was Merlin and the dimples were Merlin and the eyes were Merlin as well, but he was still Colin somehow, just like he was Arthur and it was good like that.
"In fact," he added, placing his hands on his hips and squaring his shoulders in a kingly fashion, "I've never felt better."
For all he cared destiny could go to hell.
~o0o~