A/N: This is my first Merlin fiction, so please be gentle in reviews and such! I've been meaning to write this for a while, but didn't know if I could pull it off; it taking place in a different time period. But, I finally gathered up my courage, opened my laptop, and here we are.

This is officially an AU, taking place after Camlann, but without anybody dying. Lancelot is here, too! I just can't stand the way the series ended, so here's my way to console myself.

Hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin

Never Quite Lost

The battle had been short, the victory simple. The bandits had all either surrendered or died, and all that had been left was the cleaning-up of the messy aftermath. Swords had long since been sheathed, battered shields had been lowered, and shoulders had been punched good-naturedly in celebration of their pure magnificence. They had set up camp a few miles away, through the forest, and they had been sitting around the warm fire, laughing and cleansing their minds of the gore that still had yet to be removed, not a short walking-distance away. The knights beamed and radiated brotherly loyalty, each coming up with some way or another to cheer the others up.

Sir Gwaine told riveting tales that surely, positively could not have happened, ranging from smaller things like wrestling a bear, to not-so-small things like riding a herd of unicorns into battle against several powerful sorcerers, coming out gloriously victorious. The others scoffed at the mere notion, and Sir Elyan laughingly pointed out that no, it wasn't true because only virgins could even see unicorns. This gained several more chuckles, and a mock-offended look from Gwaine.

Sir Leon and Sir Lancelot both told honorably humble stories about various rescues and other duties they had performed, like calming terrified children during the aftermath of the Battle of Camlann. This particular tale didn't do much to lighten any hearts, as much as it made them all go solemnly silent. They had lost many good knights in that fight, and lost many allies to the enemy's side well.

Then, when they had thought the good moment was forever lost, Merlin perked up, recalling tales of his childhood and the magical pranks he had played. Soon the mood had returned, and everyone went to bed in good spirits.

The next day promised to be perfect, no rain and no sweltering heat. They made plans to return to Camelot's borders that evening, after clean up was completed and the nearby villages were patrolled. Ealdor being one of these, the newly-appointed Court Sorcerer excitedly invited his friends to visit his mother's hut with him. They could practically feel the waves of ecstatic impatience rolling off of the warlock as he spoke of it, and knew he was anticipating his chance to tell his mother that he had finally been accepted as a practitioner of magic.

'So why did it all have to go so wrong?' Arthur silently begged of the Lord. 'Why did this have to happen?'

"Support his head!"

"Wrap it tighter!"

"He's losing too much blood!"

"Stay with us, Merlin!"

The king was blissfully numb as he sat near the edge of the small clearing, watching his brothers-in-arms as they worked frantically to save the youngest of the group.

'Why did that blasted bandit have to live? Why did he have to live, when he would come back for revenge? Why did he have to live to stab Merlin?' He asked in his mind. Well, there's no use in obsessing over it now. He was dead now, even though Arthur severely wished he were still living so that he could torture the life right out of him.

While the old raggedy thief had been punished with a fate identical to Merlin's- a sword jammed up from his stomach into his ribcage and lungs- it was hardly justice for what he had done.

And now here was Arthur Pendragon, mighty King of Camelot, uniting force of the great Albion, sobbing like an infant over the lifeless body of his best friend, his brother.

"Sire, you must stay focused!" Percival snapped, effectively bringing Arthur back to task.

"Arthur, keep his torso elevated!" Lancelot ordered. Arthur was all-too happy to let someone else make the decisions for once, and obediently knelt by the former servant's head, gently pulling Merlin's head and shoulders onto his lap. He tapped the boy on the cheek, insisting he wake up.

"Come on, Merlin. You must open your eyes." He pleaded, not caring the slightest if anyone thought any less of him for it. His begging met no response.

The young man in front of him was so unlike the usual Merlin, he had to keep from wondering if maybe they had the wrong warlock.

His skin was pale and sweaty, but cold to the touch and almost bloodless. His face looked more gaunt than usual, shadows filling the craters he called cheeks and purple rings forming under his eyes. He was lying completely bonelessly, not reacting even when Elyan poured water into his wound to clean it. The fact that his magic didn't appear to be healing him was worrisome as well. Every once and a while there'd be a golden shimmering beneath his closed lids, and then matching golden shimmering around the edges of his wound, and they'd all sit with bated breaths and watch hopefully; but then the light would die down again and there would be no change in the status of his injury.

Maybe there was only so much his magic could do?

But, no, he was the mighty Emrys, prophesied by the druids for thousands of years before his birth. He was supposed to be magic itself, with an unending supply and limitless power. He was supposed to stay by Arthur's side forever, it was said to be his destiny for years! Why was his all-powerful magic failing him now, of all times? Not once had it failed Arthur, otherwise he would have been long dead. No, Merlin's magic and Merlin himself had always come through for him, and he hated to even ponder on the fact that his best friend's very being was betraying him. Did the fates really choose to be so unkind to the most selfless, kind, worthy person among them? After all he had done for each and every one of them- things they knew of and things they did not- and they could hardly do anything for him in return; in his hour of need, no less.

They all felt positively rotten.

The wound had been wrapped up tightly in the cleanest of their capes- Gwaine's- and still blood leaked through, staining the Pendragon red a dark maroon. Gwaine doubted he would ever want anything to do with the thing ever again after this was all over.

And that's what scared them the most- this whole experience would eventually end. The possibility- no, probability- that this ended with Merlin's death was terrifying. They couldn't be positively sure they could keep him alive until his wound was entirely healed, and the fact that they had to leave this moment where he was injured but alive and temporarily stable did not bode well for their lanky friend.

They all sat in solemn silence now, watching and waiting for something, anything, to happen.

While deep down inside they didn't expect him to wake up, they all hoped desperately for another glimpse of those cerulean eyes. Even golden irises would be a sight for sore eyes.

What Lancelot knew, that the rest didn't, was that there was no possible way at all for Merlin to recover. He had taken a few opportunities in the past to study a few medicinal practices with Gaius and knew that while they could maybe slow the bleeding, there was no non-magical way to repair the surely shredded tissue of his lungs, the sliced arteries, and his other punctured organs. And it seemed even magic was having difficulty doing those things. It was truly a miracle that he had lived this long.

Of course, that seemed to be the only thing his magic was doing- keeping him barely alive. Not healing his insides, no, just keeping his heart pumping, lungs wheezing, and brain living. They weren't even sure if that counted as alive. He must have been in so much pain, yet his face remained impassive.

There was a wet gurgling noise that now accompanied his ragged breaths, and every once and awhile a single drop of blood would drip from the corner of his mouth. That in itself they knew was a bad sign.

They stayed vigil by his side for what felt like many hours, but must have been only two or three. The warlock's head remained in Arthur's lap, and the king absentmindedly would run his fingers affectionately through the curly hair, black as a raven's wing. Whenever the blood would escape his lips, the king would delicately wipe it away with his cloak and gently turn him over and pat his back in an even gentler fashion, helping dislodge any remaining blood from his throat.

It was after another hour of this pattern that the coughing began.

They started as small, throat-clearing sorts of coughs, but soon became big, choking barks as the man's body struggled to expel the increasing amount of blood from his lungs. As a result, they had to slowly sit him up, with Percival holding him upright while Arthur pat his back more. They had to be extremely careful not to jostle the massive internal injuries throughout his entire front and stomach. He started shivering.

It was after another few minutes that they realized that he was getting increasingly worse, and there was little else they could do other than make him comfortable and keep him functioning a little while longer. Even Arthur was beginning to lose his stubborn hope that all would be well.

His shivers became full-on shakes, his lips and fingernails turned blue, and when Lancelot peeled back his eyelid, his eyes were discovered to be glassy and unfocused, his pupils unresponsive to light.

By late afternoon, not even the warmth of pure sunlight could quell his obvious chills.

They so desperately wanted to move him back to their encampment where there were more supplies, but besides the occasional movements of sitting up and down and being shifted into sunnier patches as the sun flew across the sky, it was unsafe to move him further.

By the fourth hour, the coughing turned to vomiting.

Blood was everywhere now, on the ground, on Merlin's clothes, on Leon's and Lancelot's chainmail. They had managed to get a few sips of water down his throat, but when they finally got it past his clenched teeth- the first sign that he was feeling pain- due to Percival holding his jaw open, they realized worriedly that he wasn't swallowing. When it became evident that he wasn't just taking his time, and that he needed to breathe soon, Gwaine hurriedly rubbed his throat up and down, trying to stimulate the muscles into the movements that were supposed to be automatic. Eventually the gratifying sound of water going down the esophagus was heard, along with the feeling of his Adam's apple going up and down once. The movement seemed to somehow exhaust those particular muscles, but at least he now had some water in him.

Until he threw it back up ten minutes later, the clear liquid now tinged pink with blood.

They only left his side to answer nature's call, and even then, they prolonged it as much as possible to avoid leaving him. They didn't eat anything all day, and the same went with water. They stayed there, in a grassy clearing in the middle of the forest, somewhere in Cenred's land, not leaving the confines of said clearing for hours on end, all completely focused on keeping Merlin comfortable and warm.

And to think, a mere five years ago, he had been 'just a servant', new to Camelot and a total idiot and waste of space in Arthur's eyes.

And now, here that same 'waste of space' was, and here Arthur was, screaming inside and begging him for hours to please, just wake up and be okay. That single boy had changed Arthur for the better, in ways it seemed impossible to even believe, he had wormed his awkward way into each of their hearts, had saved Arthur's life and the life of his kingdom multiple times, had comforted him, been a friend to him, and had saved him from Mordred's and Agravaine's treachery.

He and his queen were still grieving from their second stillbirth, and now they might well be burying another loved one, all within the space of a year. He needed Merlin's support still, because sometimes the grief and stress would just be too much for even Guenivere to help with, as she was still grieving, herself; but Merlin could always get through to him and reassure him. He needed him.

By the fifth hour, his breathing was shallow and his pulse was weak, and blood was being coughed up at a much more rapid rate. They were really surprised he had made it this long, and that he had so lost so much blood for such a light person.

After tenderly wiping bloody spittle from the young man's chin for the eleventh time that hour, Gwaine finally spoke up after so long in silence.

"Mates, I don't like this. I don't like watching him suffer so. There's nothing left for us to do, a-and all his magic's doing is keeping him alive when-" he stopped short, choking a little, before finishing quietly, "-when he needs to let go."

Arthur winced, growling slightly in the back of his throat. The other knights glared at the drunkard.

"Please, the lad's suffering horribly! H-he doesn't deserve this! I know w-we don't want to let him go, bu-but it's his time, brothers. I think we'd be doing him a kindness if- if we put 'im out of his misery." He stated, a tear sliding down his cheek.

And then they realized that it was just as painful for him to suggest it as it was for them to consider it. He loved Merlin like a little brother, and had known him for longer than some of them; they could only imagine how he was really feeling under his mask of calm sadness.

But no, they couldn't just let Merlin go out of nowhere.

"Gwaine's right. This is unnecessary cruelty. There's no chance of recovery, not this time." Said Lancelot, and they all turned teary gazes to Arthur. It was his call, as always. He swallowed and tried to dislodge the lump in his throat.

"No, we can't-" He started, but caught himself. He sighed, looked down to the still face in his arms. Took in the blood escaping his friend's lips yet again. The pained way his eyebrows knit together and released.

And then several shocked gasps drew his attention from the boy's face, to his knights, all of which were staring at Merlin's torso. He slowly lowered his gaze to Merlin's chest, fearing the worst.

Golden tendrils of flowing light emerged from the warlock's chest- from his heart- reaching higher and higher into the evening breeze, towards the skies. It shimmered like gold, but was almost transparent simultaneously. It performed intricate dances never before witnessed, writhed like a living being and weaved like a wave on the rowdiest ocean. It was awe-inspiringly beautiful. It was magic. Pure magic.

And then there was a gasping from Arthur's legs, where Merlin was moving frantically, biting his lip while trying not to scream out.

"Merlin!" They shouted, thrilled that he was waking. He barely heard them though, only the concerned cries of his Once and Future King.

"Mmh…" He moaned, opening his eyes, which were bright gold, brighter than they had ever been before. They almost hurt to look at.

"NO!" Merlin suddenly screamed, and the golden magic grew taller even faster, the swirling and dancing becoming swift, blurry movements. His eyes glowed pure golden, and his breathing increased in his panic.

"NO! Don't leave me!" He screamed again, his throat rubbing raw.

"Whoa, Merlin, what's wrong?" Arthur asked. Merlin turned his glowing eyes to the king, who gasped as the color was slowly draining from the outer rings of his eyes and working inward, changing to blue as it went.

"M-my magic." The warlock answered, tears sliding down his face. Arthur realized what he meant. His magic was leaving him, like rats on a sinking ship. He became furious with the universe.

"Merlin, I'm here. We're all here, all of us." He soothed, running a hand over the younger man's forehead.

"Yes, Merlin, we're all here. We'll never leave you." Gwaine said with a smile, though his eyes spoke of pure agony. If his magic left, that meant he was leaving much sooner than they had thought. They weren't ready.

Merlin stayed silent for a moment, lifting his head as high as it would go in his weakened state, to look to each of his closest friends, excluding Gaius and Gwen. Finally, a weak- but genuine- smile reached his lips, and he lay his head back down as another wave of pain hit. He concealed it, though.

"Thank you." Was all he got out. But no more needed to be said. He knew he was going to die, and they knew he knew, and so there was nothing left to say. The simple thank you encompassed so much in their lives, and it meant the world to each of them. Elyan, the one with the littlest relationship with the Court Sorcerer, was surprisingly the one to speak.

"No, Merlin, thank you." And Merlin smiled wider- just barely. He nodded and closed his eyes for a moment.

He opened them again and looked at the group, then up to Arthur.

"Please don't leave me." He whispered. They all smiled kindly, tears gliding down their faces, and each placed a hand on his arms and legs, Arthur on his shoulder.

"We're here." By now his irises were fully blue again, the last ring fading away to nothing as the golden stream ended and flowed up into the sky, to the heavens. He had his own tears as well, but they soon turned to blood droplets running from his eyes. He watched his beloved magic, his very being, leave with such a resigned look, yet so full of longing. Arthur wanted so badly to grab his former manservant and never let him go.

But then, Merlin looked to up at him, and he was so full of peace, Arthur couldn't help smiling. Merlin was at peace, and by God he was going to stay that way.

And so, as Merlin's breaths became too shallow to detect and his heart slowly failed, he lay with his eyes softly closed, his head resting in his best friend's lap, without a care in the world. His friends were there, they would always be there for him, and he would be okay. Everything would be okay.

His breathing eventually stopped, and in those precious last seconds, he took one last glance at his closest friends. The sight of them all settled his final doubts, and from where he lay, he could see all of their faces. Perfect, he thought to himself earnestly. I'm so glad to have been in their lives.

He looked up into Arthur's face, his eyes saying all he needed to. It's been a privilege to know you, to grow with you. I'll miss you, brother. Arthur seemed to understand, and he nodded.

His final task done, Merlin relaxed himself and prepared to forever leave his broken, bloody body, and the only friends he had ever had. But he was never afraid.

His heart beat one last time, and the last image he saw was his friends, smiling fondly down at him, before his eyes slowly… drifted… shut.

And so, the most loving, caring heart in all of Albion finally beat its last.

The anguished roars of the Great Dragon could be heard from miles away as their age-old kinship was finally severed.