This story takes place beside the lake of Avalon.
After Arthur's death…
The sun penetrated through the clouds and shone its light onto a vast green plain beyond a lush forest. Sounds of crying and howling drifted in the wind and were whisked away with the current.
A raven-haired boy was kneeling beside a limp blonde king, embracing his pale cheeks and wailing, letting his tears and sweat soak his neckerchief and his brown jacket. Towering over them, forming a huge blob of shadow, was a green-brownish dragon, with its yellowish eyes staring at the young warlock in a peaceful way.
"Merlin, there's nothing you can do now."
"Please, Arthur, don't leave me. Albion needs you." The young boy that was Merlin kept on shaking the already dead king, as he buried his head and ruffled the wild golden hair that he had never forgotten since the day he arrived at Camelot and received his destiny.
"One day, King Arthur will rise again, when Camelot is replaced by towns and cities, and he will fight to maintain the old ways. He will summon you in the future." And with that, the great dragon flapped his wings, bringing a gush of wind into Merlin's face and sending his matted black hair flying freely. "Goodbye, young warlock. I have to go. It was a nice pleasure working with you."
"Wait, you mean, you're not coming back?"
"That's the cycle of life, Merlin. No one can go against it. Not even the most elderly creature on Earth." That was the last thing the great dragon confessed to the last dragon lord before he wobbled into the air. Merlin cupped his eyes and stared at him until he emerged into a black dot and disappeared along the horizon.
The day was approaching to an end as the sun dipped down the sky and cast a color of bloody red upon the Earth, stretching Merlin's hunched shadow. In his heart, Merlin knew that he wouldn't be able to return to Camelot so he gathered some firewood and lit up a fire using magic. It felt weird to him being able to use his abilities once more for such small things. Usually, when he was camping with Arthur, to avoid revealing his identity, he always used firestones, although it always took like a handful of minutes before a small spark of orange escaped his hands, lighting up Arthur's cheerful face.
Arthur, oh, Arthur…
Merlin couldn't bear thinking of him. The thoughts of Arthur being happy before this never return journey just worsened the pain of him dying. Merlin's face was filled with agony like he had being stabbed in the chest. His eyes were all puffed up and bloodlines were visible snaking next to his blue iris.
If only I was faster, we could have arrived at the tower before sunset.
Merlin glanced over the shimmering lake and laid his gaze on the structure being supported on a piece of land in the middle of the body of water.
That was where Arthur could've gotten his remedy, and then we would head back to Camelot, still being happy as always, with him mocking me as a complete idiot and me scolding him back as a dollop-head. I don't care if I will have to mop the floor three times, polish his armor, being his target in training. I just want old Arthur back, with me hugging him in the starlight and pointing out constellations…
Before he knew, Merlin's tears were rolling down his face, tears of guilt, and of course anger towards himself. He licked his lips and tasted the salty liquid. Using his hands, he wiped some of them onto the grass and laid down, taking in the scent of dirt and earth. It somehow comforted him and he drifted off into a dreamless sleep, still holding Arthur's cold hand.