Chapter Text
Arthur
I’m dead. I’m gone. Forever. It had to be said Arthur, because I know you, and I know you are in denial right now. I am never coming back. In a perfect world, one we once knew but now I’m not so sure, I would never leave you, you would never have to face the world alone, and now you’re going to have to go on without me. You may have this piece of paper, my words, etched here forever (unless you lose it or use it as a shopping list, which could happen), but you won’t see me again, and I won’t be seeing you. BUT -now listen closely - you can NEVER use that as an excuse not to live, you will use it as an excuse TO live. You have to keep moving forward, moving on up.
This letter is one of 10 envelopes I have left for you. Don’t go looking for them; the next envelope will contain the remaining ones and I am trusting you not to just read them all at once. Each one has a set of instructions. You must promise to follow EVERY SINGLE ONE and only open the next letter when you have done them. Understand? Comprendo? Good. Because I have an army of willing spies, ready to force you into doing them :P actually it’s not so much of an army, more just Morgana but she is one scary woman when she wants to be.
Now, your first set of instructions (you know how much I love my lists) :
- Get out of the house. Go running, meet up with Morgana, go to the pub with the guys, I don’t care! Just for heaven sake, get out of the house!
- Take my shopping list off the fridge and throw it away, it is NOT a keep sake. You can buy whatever the hell you like now. I know that you secretly hated all of the things that I have on it anyway, especially the vegetarian stuff!
- Buy something new for the house. It can be anything you like, absolutely anything. A goldfish bowl (you could even get a goldfish, shock horror!), a new cushion, a statement of modern art or whatever the hell those framed squiggly lines are supposed to be; just make the house your own.
Off you go, my love. And good luck :)
M x
Arthur let out a huff of breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. The tears were streaming down his face, his hands shaking. Merlin was gone forever. His Merlin. Over five months he had watched Merlin wither and fade before his eyes. He’d held Merlin in those final moments; held him as his last breath shuddered through his wrecked frame; held him as he lay lifeless; held him tight in his arms, never wanting to let go.
The last five days had been pure hell. Every time a door had opened, his head would snap up, his heart desperately hoping it had all been a bad dream, that it was Merlin walking through the door. Arthur hadn’t eaten, he’d barely slept, barely drank, barely moved off their sofa (but it wasn’t theirs anymore, was it? Arthur thought to himself bitterly, nothing would ever be ‘theirs’ again). There was a gaping hole in his heart. Like he was missing a limb. He couldn’t move.
Five months previously, Merlin had started complaining that his chest was tight. He hadn’t done anything about it – he was always too busy to find time to go to the doctors, he never stood still, surely it must just be a common cold or something, yeah? Four months ago, Merlin had collapsed, unable to breathe and had been rushed into hospital. Then, on an awful day 82 days ago that would never leave Arthur’s mind, the doctor had told them in a quiet voice that Merlin had lung cancer. 81 days, Merlin had been admitted to hospital and started treatment. It wouldn’t last. 59 days and they’d been told it was too late. The lung cancer was too advanced. Merlin was going to die.
Those words screamed in his head again and again no matter how much time passed. The doctor’s patient voice was a dagger, stabbing him repeatedly in his broken heart. 20 days ago and Merlin was only just able to breathe on his own. 15 days ago, Merlin had to wear an oxygen mask at all times, his lungs shrinking with every moment. 5 days, Merlin had stated falling asleep after just 5 minutes, the physical activity too much.
4. 3. 2. 1. Time was up. Merlin was dead.
Arthur read the letter again, his eyes skimming the words over and over until they ingrained into his memory forever. And it hurt. The letter was so… Merlin. So full of fun and life. So happy and excited; ready to tackle whatever the world threw at him. He could almost see Merlin writing the letter, a flitting image of Merlin painstakingly deliberating over the words, smiling and crying together as he remembered why the letter had to be written at all. It hurt to think of Merlin. To see him so near, yet know he was so far away. Merlin was his life, his salvation, and as cheesy at it seemed, Merlin was his one and only. No one would ever compare to him. The thoughts made his whole body ache, his brain thumping against his skull and it hurt. It hurt so much.
But Merlin was right, as usual. Arthur did need to get out of the house, staying inside was doing him no good at all.
A cold shower and a piece of toast later, and Arthur was pounding the streets, music blaring in his ears. It almost felt amazing to be out of his own head for a while, focusing on the music, on the drum beat of his feet against the pavement. But there was nothing, nothing that could block out the ache in his chest. Visions of Merlin ghosted round his mind. On every corner, Merlin was there. He saw the dorky grin, the almost elfin ears and the mop of hair disappearing round the bend, but when he called out, Merlin wasn’t there. It was just a memory.
Their house was cold when he returned. Pushing open the door was like opening the doors to hell, only it wasn’t a searing heat that greeted him, it was freezing iciness that struck his heart. There was no smell of Merlin’s cooking wafting from the kitchen and filling the house; no music blaring from the radio, no Merlin joining in; no laughter. The pure empty desolation was overwhelming. He was completely alone. No one to care. The tears came from nowhere, cascading down his face in a waterfall of despair. His legs gave way beneath him, making him collapse against the door, screaming a strangled cry of silent desperation. He screamed and screamed and screamed, the silent pain wracking through his body and making every nerve burn. It was all he could do. Merlin was gone. Merlin was lost. He’d never see Merlin again.
He pulled the letter from the counter. There’d been a moment when he’d been tempted to take it with him on the run. But no matter how much he wanted to cling to the lifeline, he knew he couldn’t ruin it. If the letter had lied, if it was the last one, then he had to keep it safe. It was all he had. But he’d done it. One task was down, there were two left. And he had to do them. It was like Merlin was there. The letter made him laugh through the tears, the way Merlin always made him laugh no matter what. He had Merlin there to guide him, so it was time he followed.
He heaved himself up from his heap on the floor. It felt like the weight of the world was on his shoulders, each step a mile he had to walk. He couldn’t change the house, he didn’t want to. If he started to mover Merlin’s things, take down his lists, change the furniture… nothing would ever be the same. Without Merlin’s quirky things, without Merlin’s choice in picking the sofa or the dining table, the house would never be theirs again. Merlin’s shopping list was a connection. A shopping list needed to be taken somewhere, Merlin would need to come back for it at some point. There was a fleeting memory of the time Merlin had gone shopping without his list. He’d returned half an hour later, flushed all over, with no shopping. The list was everything.
The kitchen had always been Merlin’s haven. It was where he kept everything he needed. Arthur stood in the kitchen, taking everything in. The barren cupboards, the spotless work surfaces, the utensils exactly where they were supposed to be; it wasn’t right. It was too cold, too quiet, the ticking of the clock eerily loud. Before it had always been so warm, so welcoming. It had been Merlin in a room, his area. Arthur wasn’t a bad cook; he just hadn’t needed to do anything with Merlin around. Morgana had once joked that cooking was Merlin’s mistress – Arthur had always seen why, Merlin’s food was porn with cream on top.
They had a plain white fridge/freezer that had cost the Earth. At least, it was supposed to be plain. Merlin’s lists and love for all things magnetic covered the fridge in a whirlwind of colour; words were spelt out in silly letters, photos of them and all their friends on every other available space. A small, sad smile played at Arthur’s lips as he looked at the mess. Arthur’s life had always been so structured. Everything had a time and a day; everything had a place or a box or little cupboard with little white sticky labels. Then Merlin appeared in his life. He’d been like a tornado of madness. He never put things away and his favourite activity was mocking Arthur about the labels (“Who the hell has labels for everything, Arthur? I don’t even think the Queen has sticky labels in her wardrobe!”). Merlin had relaxed him, released the tension from his shoulders and allowed him the freedom his father never had.
The list Merlin had wrote about stood out like a sore thumb on the door. It was the very last list Merlin had added. He’d been planning to go shopping the afternoon he had been admitted to hospital, now the list had long been forgotten. Until now. Gingerly, he walked towards the fridge. His heart was pounding and he could hear his blood rushing through his ears. It was such a simple task, one of those mundane things that everyone else would find ridiculously easy. But not Arthur. Not someone whose whole world had just fallen out from under them. Not someone who was more lost and confused than he had ever felt before. His hand curled around the crinkled paper, and for a moment he closed his eyes and allowed himself to just feel. He could see Merlin’s panicked face as he hurried to scribble down last minute items before his mind wondered and he forgot something important. He could see the glint in Merlin’s eye when he added strawberries and cream, planning their meal for that evening. Could see the cheeky grin he wore as he placed the letter ‘L’ (“For ‘list’ obviously, Arthur!”) over it to hold it in place. Seeing Merlin so clearly in his mind’s eye made his heart warm.
Breathing deeply he pulled the list down and held it tightly in his shaking hands. Come on, Arthur. Do it. It’s not difficult! He clicked the bin lid open, gripping the list close to his chest one more time. Then he let go… The list floated down and landed softly on top of the pile of rubbish. The bin lid clicked shut. The list was gone.
Stumbling back through to the living room, Arthur plonked himself down on the sofa again. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, not thinking, not feeling, but it was dark when the phone rang.
“Hey Arthur,” a soft female voice came through the phone.
“Hey, ‘Gana,” he replied quietly, his almost whisper sounding like a scream. This was the first sort of interaction he had had since Merlin had died; it was strange hearing another person’s voice.
“Do you fancy coming over to my place? Me and Gwaine are going to have dinner and then…”
“’Gana,” he choked, “I’m not… I’m not ready yet.”
“Arthur…” she whispered, “Do you want me to come over?”
“Maybe… maybe tomorrow?”
“Okay… I love you, Arthur. Remember that. I’m always here for you, you’re not alone in this.”
“Thanks.” He replied brokenly, silent tears rolling down his cheeks.
“Bye, Arthur.”
Arthur hung up. He couldn’t face another goodbye. Goodbyes were permanent. He never wanted to say goodbye to anyone ever again; that would mean losing them forever, losing them the way he had lost Merlin.
He awoke the next morning with a crook in his neck and drool running down his chin. He’d fallen asleep on the sofa again. As he stretched his arms above his head, he wondered for a moment where Merlin was, wondered whether Merlin needed waking or if he was staying home to work. But reality fell on his like a ton of bricks a second later. He started to scream again, burying his head into the new cushion trying to muffle as much noise as possible. And as the sun rose, Arthur cried, Arthur wept. He wept for his lost love. Wept for the life he could have known. Begged that Merlin could come back – who he was begging to, he didn’t know, he didn’t care.
There were so many things that needed to be sorted out; people who needed telling, Merlin’s clothes needed clearing, appointments and reservations needed cancelling. All of them final. Final things that cleared Merlin not only out of his life, but out of the world forever too – there would be no coming back.
He spent a while in his room, cross legged on the floor beside their wardrobe, running his fingers over the worn cotton of Merlin’s clothes. The soft fabric was cool and loved; still smelling of Merlin, his sweet, almost cherry smell filling Arthur’s nostrils, fainter now than it used to be, but still there and still the only smell Arthur would ever need. That smell proved Merlin had lived, proved he had been there, proved that Arthur hadn’t made it up.
Another cold shower, another run. The same route as yesterday familiar and constant in his mind, unchanging to keep some continuity. The thud of his feet on the pavement soothed him, it gave him a focus point, a focus that wasn’t the ache in his chest. The winter air was cruel, the wind biting. There was no warmth in his heart; the love and tenderness Merlin radiated in his smile was lost forever.
He returned home. Again he read the letter, again it hurt. But task three was all that should matter now, it was all that did matter now. Merlin had always known Arthur hated buying stuff for the house, always allowing Merlin to choose under the strict conditions of “No pink. Our house is going to be pink free.”. Merlin had grinned and agreed, and from then on Arthur always felt that one day he was going to come home and the whole house was going to be pink and there Merlin would be hiding in a corner crying with laughter as Arthur completely lost the plot.
Yet here he was. Faced with the arduous task of shopping, and not even good (read: food) shopping, just house stuff shopping. God, he hated even the notion.
IKEA, to Arthur, was the sin of the Earth. A big jumble of DIY furniture that no normal person could fit together without drilling some new holes themselves which really defeated the whole point of flat-plack furniture. But it was only 10 minutes from the house, and it did have quite a big selection of stuff even if he didn’t know what most of it was, surely there must be something there for him to find. So that’s where he headed.
If he was honest, Ikea was horrific. Arthur hadn’t realised how much time had passed since Merlin had… since he’d died. A whole week… which meant, Fuck I came to IKEA on a Saturday. Arthur groaned inwardly, running a hand shakily through his hair. People were everywhere, throwing heaven knows what into their baskets; kids were screaming, parents were stressed; the shop floor was littered with cardboard boxes, plastic bags, bits of cable that someone was going to fall over soon; it was mayhem. It was almost too much disaster to deal with.
All he needed was one item, how hard could it be? He slipped a photocopy of the letter (have tucked the actual letter away at home to keep in safe) out of his pocket and re-read task three.
“Cushion… art… goldfish bowl…” he muttered to himself, at a complete loss as to what he was doing. “Cushion.” He decided firmly, cushions would be easy. Cushions were just soft and squidgy things used for comfort and decoration, it would be easy for him to find one of them that he liked.
I need something to match the house… blue or red maybe?... soft and fluffy… son I can snuggle into it… shit I sound like a girl… I really hope no one is telepathic here… this is not the time for this train of thought get a grip Arthur… it’s cushion shopping not telepathy… focus, Arthur… that one there!
Arthur snatched a red cushion tightly to his chest; glancing left and right to make sure no one had seen him. The soft fabric was cool to touch but would soon become war, and as he studied it he gently traced the embroidered golden dragon with his finger. It was perfect.
Merlin would have loved it. He thought suddenly, his eyes beginning to water, his hands shaking.
He sped to checkout, not caring who he bumped into; he had to get out of there. The walls were closing in, the stuffy air was suffocating him, he was drowning dry. Outside the store he collapsed onto the nearest bench. The world was spinning beneath him and this time he could feel it. The ground was waiting to swallow him up whole. He wanted Merlin back, ne needed Merlin back. Without him his life meant nothing and no one could convince him otherwise.
He sat on that bench for nearly an hour before stumbling home. He felt light headed and dizzy for the rest of the day, unable to keep himself grounded at all. He lay, curled up on the sofa, cradling his new cushion and his favourite photograph of Merlin tightly to his chest, wrapped up in Merlin’s dressing gown. The world felt empty. His heart was broken. Life wasn’t worth living.
Little did he know, Merlin was going to be helping him again very soon.