The strangest feeling that Merlin has ever felt has to be this. He knew he wasn't in his body, because he was looking down at it. But he couldn't get farther than five yards away from it. He also knew he wasn't alone. Someone else was there, though he knew not who.

So he sat (but not really), while the marbled rays of sunlight turned red and orange against his bone white skin. He waited patiently while the light faded and the moon began to rise. Merlin looked up to the sky, and despite the warping of the water's surface, he could see that it was a waxing quarter moon. Only a few days until the full moon.

He knows that he is dead. But it doesn't bother him at all. The bustle, and noise, and pain, of living is gone. There is only peace left in its wake. He could sit here, watching the sky through the water for as long as time allowed. He had no where he needed to be. But a nagging feeling kept tugging at his contempt.

He should have passed on.

Every spirit must either make the trip to the next world, or be trapped as a ghost for eternity. Forever tortured by their own unrest.

But Merlin did not feel restless. He felt calm. So why couldn't he go?

As the moon rose, it's rays began to filter through the water. A form became visable to Merlin. A young woman, who was simultainiously familiar, and a complete stranger. She appeared to be made out of the water and moonlight only. A simple, yet beautiful creature. He simply watched as she approached his body, and then looked to him. Somehow, she knew he was there. He felt like he should say something, so he did.

"Hello." he said simply.

"Hello." she responded, kindly, but sadly.

"What's wrong?" Merlin questioned.

"You're dead. And it's my fault." she answered with downcast eyes.

"That's alright." he responded in an attempt to make her less upset, "I don't mind, really, it's quite...nice."

Everything seemed more simple now that he was dead. The past didn't haunt him, the future didn't burden him. He simply was. And it really was quite nice.

He looked to the water spirit. She was the only one around, perhaps she could answer his question.

"I was wondering," he says slowly.

"Yes?" she questions.

"Well, why haven't I passed on? Y'know, since I'm dead and all?" he asks in a rush.

The spirit seems to sigh. "I took you before you were able to finish your work. Your soul is tied to the Destiny of another's. Neither of you can pass on while the other lives."

Suddenly he remembers Arthur, his destiny, Albion. With it comes the crushing weight of his duty. He mutters a weak, 'oh, right' and glances away from her.

He stares at his own dead body. Although it is pale, it hasn't developed the grey hue that the corpse should have this long after death. Especially since he bled out. He decides to voice his concerns.

"Why hasn't my body started to decay yet?" he asks the spirit.

"Its my waters," she responds, "they have healing properties. Its keeping your body alive even though your heart and lungs have stopped. Your wound is gone now. In a few days your heart will begin beating again. I've put a spell on you so that you can breathe underwater when your lungs begin working again. But healing your body is one thing, putting you back in it? I fear that may be beyond my control."

Merlin nods solemnly. "What can I do?" he asks.

"Wait, and hope that all goes well." she answers.

Merlin looks up to speak with her once more, but when he looks, she's gone.

So he does as she told him. He waits by his body as dawn filters through the water, and hopes for a friends safety all the while thinking of how he can get back to him.