This is very short and kind of dark but I just enjoy killing Merlin too much. Sorry not sorry guys!
WARNING: blood and character death
DISCLAIMER: Not mine
The world had suddenly slowed, and Arthur couldn't move his feet. His arms flew out, ready to push the young manservant to the floor and take the brunt of whatever came at them himself. Only he couldn't. He was too slow. All that training for nothing.
Nothing could train you for this, one could suppose.
Nothing could train you to watch an axe sink into the skull of your best friend.
Arthur's stomach dropped, rolled and clenched in quick succession as the weapon arched through the air and landed with a thunk in the soft skin of his servant's head.
Then suddenly the world sped up, and Arthur could move, finally, he could run, but he was still too late. Merlin tottered for a few seconds and then dropped like a doll a child had grown bored of. The battle around them suddenly meant nothing, as if the world knew this was the end.
Or maybe everyone had fell silent at the cry that broke through Arthur's lips. In the days that follow, Arthur would not recall what it was he screamed, but it was enough to stop their attackers and enough for his men to silently end them. By the time the last body fell, Arthur was at Merlin's side, cradling the bloody man-boy?- in his arms.
Crimson poured down Merlin's face, the sharp blade of the weapon embedded in the side of his head. His eyes were wide open, staring up at the perfectly clear sky that matched his eyes so well. Arthur took his chin roughly in one hand, shaking his manservant's chin ever so slightly.
"Merlin! Merlin! Merlin?!"
There was no reply of course. Merlin's lips were parted, as if about to say something. But they were already growing cold. No breath escaped them.
This was so wrong, Arthur thought. So wrong. Merlin couldn't die. He just couldn't. Not without... Not without a goodbye.
Breath caught in the prince's throat, as tears filled his eyes, at the shock, the confusion; the sheer wrongness of it all. There was suddenly a cry at Arthur's shoulder as Gwaine fell to his knees, and the horrified gasps of the others soon joined.
Nobody moved for a long while.
They waited a long while as Arthur trembled where he stood, hovering over the corpse of his friend. What should they do? Bury him? Burn him? Remove the axe, or let it stay there. Arthur's hand grasped the axe, as if to move it, but the sickening squelch it made sent his arm snapping back to his side. His knees trembled, and he crumpled onto Merlin's chest, his calloused hands moving to the young man's still-warm cheeks. Blood trickled down snow-white skin, tangling his eyelashes and painting Arthur as red as the cloak around his neck.
The wind picked up around them, sending Merlin's coal black mess into a frenzy. Arthur didn't even realise he was crying until a sob left his mouth, his chest shuddering as his cries echoed through the woods.