This is a quiet story. Nothing too epic, shocking or mind-blowing - just our favourite duo on their journey from Avalon to Camelot, talking, walking and... being alive.
The title is taken from the song Diamond Eyes by Shinedown.
Special thanks to my beta reader wryter501 for correcting my mistakes, providing me with helpful advice and for giving the story a more decent form.
Ten chapters, regular updates.
Warning: blood.
Chapter 1 - A Life of a Dragon
It was a new day. The sun that just rose over the horizon was throwing shadows of light on the meadow, and the air was wet with morning dew and the smell of the lake. Nature was living its own life - indifferent to the events that were shaking the foundation of the kingdom and changing the destiny of its citizens for many following generations – except for the birds that refused to sing, hiding humbly in the branches and taking the role of silent witnesses of moments, that would soon be deeply engraved in the history of Camelot.
The Great Dragon knew that his own destiny was as firmly interlaced with King Arthur as it was with Merlin. However, there was a twist, an unexpected, yet welcomed change in its course. The golden age of Albion was nearing and it was a rule old as the mankind itself that when something new was about to start, another part had to end its journey.
He watched Merlin trying to drag Arthur towards the Lake. He saw the enormous pain that threatened to implode his friend's heart. The warlock was already at the very edge of his capacity, both emotionally and physically. Exhaustion was visible on his features and Kilgarrah knew that what he was about to ask him would add salt in his wounds.
Arthur was dead, but Merlin's task wasn't over yet.
"There is but one thing you can do, young warlock," Kilgharrah said with a warm, yet tired voice.
"Anything," Merlin gasped, still holding the dead weight of his friend in his arms. His muscles were trembling with the effort and his breath was short with strain. Hopelessness was carving a hole through his chest.
"I cannot heal the King," the creature said with humility and sadness that was so unusual to his character, "however, what I can do is heal you."
Merlin blinked a few times, not fully understanding the Dragon's words. He slowly lowered Arthur on the grass and stepped in front of Kilgarrah.
"How-" he swallowed the word. He knew, if there was any chance to take Arthur's wounds on himself, he would have already done it earlier. There had been situations desperate enough to make him try such thing. However, neither Gaius nor Kilgharrah ever made such suggestion and Merlin himself never truly dared to think it could be possible.
Kilgarrah rose his head before he spoke again. "The price is high. A life has to be sacrificed and you will need a powerful magic that no man is capable of."
Riddles. That was the first word that came on Merlin's mind. "Tell me what I need to do. If it's my life you ask, you already know my answer," he said, with determination and strength that surprised even himself.
"A life of a dragon."
Merlin swallowed hard, expecting Kilgarrah to correct his words, to explain.
"I am tired, Merlin," the dragon breathed out. "It is known, that a dragon can heal his master from mortal wounds afflicted by dark magic."
Merlin's face reflected his inner confusion. "Heal?" his voice broke.
"After you take Arthur's wound upon yourself," Kilgarrah confirmed.
"You... can't die," Merlin begged, but then stopped himself. He remembered the moment on the meadow when Kilgarrah's left wing was lying at his side, weak and broken. And it wasn't just that. Kilgarrah moved slower, his breath was hardly as strong and deep and even his voice sounded weaker every time they met. These were the signs Merlin refused to see, but he knew they have been present for some time.
"Your king is dead," the Dragon spoke slowly, reasonably, "I owe you, Merlin, for setting me free from the dungeons. And I owe Arthur and the whole of Camelot for the lives I took afterwards. Let me repay that to you."
Merlin's eyes were suddenly filled with tears, his breath stuck in his throat. He couldn't speak through the sob that threatened to burst from his lungs.
"I beg you, Merlin," Kilgarrah urged on.
Merlin shook his head and whipped away the tears from his cheeks. "I need you with me. I will need you for the times to come, more than ever," he said strongly and clearly, trying to bring some sense into the creature, to explain that there was no place for such scenario in his mind. "I will take Arthur's wound on myself, but I won't let you-"
"Then, there will be no reason to heal Arthur, for he alone cannot unite Albion. The future is already written, Merlin. And it does not speak about an old dragon."
Merlin looked at Kilgharrah, almost paralyzed by his suggestion.
"Find Aithusa. It is not too late for her. One day she will serve you well."
Merlin shook his head again as if trying to wake up from a nightmare. He stood there for a moment, staring in the vivid green under his feet, then looked at Arthur's dead body a few steps away from him. He needed more time to think. He felt himself between huge stones that pressed his chest from both sides and no matter what choice he made, he knew that there was no way he would escape without losing something vitally important.
"How-," he said, stopping in the middle of the sentence. He had no idea what to ask. How do you die? Do I need to kill you? With Arthur's sword?
"No dragon can be brought to this world without the call of a Dragon Lord and no dragon shall leave without his permission. You must order me, young warlock," the Dragon said plainly, lowering his head on his front paws.
Merlin stepped away, refusing to meet his eyes, subduing another sob that shook within his body. He was going to order Kilgharrah to die. The realization disgusted him. He felt he would be misusing his power to kill a beautiful creature and a friend who saved his life so many times.
"I don't want you to die," Merlin pleaded, finally looking in Kilgarrah's eyes.
"Death can not be avoided, Merlin."
"It doesn't have to be today."
"Today is as good day as any. I can not avoid dying and you can not avoid your duty as a dragon lord. Will you do it tomorrow?"
Merlin was silent. Of course he wouldn't do it tomorrow, nor the day after or in ten years time. How could he?
"I will never truly leave you, young warlock," the Dragon's voice softened, "you have to be strong and let me go. For the sake of Albion."
Merlin couldn't move. His heart was heavy with everything he'd been through and he thought it would take only a little push to break him completely. He couldn't imagine how he was supposed to survive Kilgharrah's passing.
"I want this, Merlin. It is my last wish. Please, help me."
Merlin felt one tear after another sliding down his cheeks. He took a few steps forward and raised his arm to touch Kilgharrah's nose. His skin was rough like a thick bark of an old tree. The dragon smiled, warmly but shortly, closing his eyes and gently pushing his head against Merlin's palm. His breath sounded like a hundred running horses, wild and fast, chasing the hair on the warlock's forehead. Merlin lost himself in the moment.
"There is not much time left," Kilgharrah urged on, "you must act quickly or the life of the king will be lost forever."
Merlin's mouth opened as he gazed into Kilgharrah's eyes, trying to remember what was there - the wisdom and gratitude, but also the pain and guilt. He needed more time to say goodbye. Kilgharrah deserved a better departure from this world and Merlin was almost sure he could stand there forever, absorbing his presence and trying to memorize the little details...
"Thank you," Merlin whispered. "For everything."
The dragon blinked slowly. "It has been my honour, young warlock. After I die, take Arthur's sword and pierce my heart. My blood will help you heal. You must not let it off of your wound until you are healed completely. Remember that."
Merlin pressed his lips tightly together. Kilgarrah was so calm and self-composed, and Merlin wished he would find such peace in himself as well.
"I will give you an enchantment now. When the time comes, place your hands on Arthur's side and let your magic flow in the wound. Kneel."
Merlin sank on the ground, refusing to let go of his friend, hoping to remember each of his words and deeds. A golden mist floated from Kilgharrah's nostrils and eyes and clung to Merlin, but the warlock felt nothing, not even a chill.
"Be brave, my friend."
Merlin nodded in resignation. He got up and once again reached his hands towards Kilgharrah. The pain in his chest subsided and he somehow found the strength to breathe again.
"I will make sure Camelot remembers your sacrifice."
"I couldn't ask for more. It is my time. Goodbye, young warlock."
"Goodbye, Kilgharrah," Merlin whispered after a short hesitation. He pulled his hands away from the dragon's nose and took a step back.
Kilgharrah lowered his head to his paws as Merlin spoke the words of the ancient language. The Dragon released a long breath as if he was freed from the weight of thousands of years. His eyes slowly closed, giving Merlin a last grateful look, almost as if he couldn't imagine a better way how to end his life. Then his body went calm. And when Merlin thought it was over, there was one more breath, small and weak and shy, like the first breeze at the beginning of spring. Then Kilgharrah moved no more.
It was quiet.
Merlin took a step forward, his hand reaching towards the dragon in a weak attempt to conserve the moment stopped in the air, but time was ticking. He had to be precise and self-composed.
He quickly wiped away the tears from his cheeks with his sleeve and went to Arthur's body. He picked up the sword, his moves mechanical, almost lifeless. The sword felt heavy in his hand as he made his way back to Kilgharrah's body. He pointed the tip on the place he knew the dragon's heart was, purely by instinct, and pushed hard, hoping that the sword wouldn't be too short to penetrate the thick skin and reach his heart. The sword slid in like a sharp knife through tender flesh and when Merlin pulled it out, blood started to flow in a strong stream down the skin into the earth.
Merlin untied his neckerchief and held it on the wound until the red fabric turned dark with blood and then closed the wound with a silent whisper.
He didn't remember how he got to Arthur again, but suddenly he found himself kneeling over his body, trying to remove the armor and get straight to the wound. It looked horrible when he finally rid Arthur of his chainmail, revealing the bloodied tunic and then gaping hole itself. Without hesitation, he placed both of his hands on Arthur's ribs, one over the other and closed his eyes.
Words of magic formed in his head, words he was sure he'd never heard before. His hands felt embraced by warm strings, providing him a strange but comforting feeling. His head was spinning and his arms started to tremble with the force of magic that flashed through his whole being.
Merlin hissed in surprise when Arthur's chest suddenly moved under his hands. It made him smile in relief. He wanted to look and make sure that Arthur was truly alive, but something was holding his eyes tightly closed. He knew he wouldn't be able to take his hands off of his friend now, even if he wanted to. It must have been a part of the enchantment that kept him from failing his task and he was grateful that it was so, feeling the first tender touch on his own ribs right on the place where Arthur's wound was.
At first it was nothing more than a slight pressure, as if Gaius prodded his ribs to test if any were broken. A sudden surge of fear reverberated through him as something snapped inside his chest. It didn't hurt, at least not yet. But it didn't matter.
Arthur was alive.
