The Chairs
A/N: This just kind of popped into my head. I forgot the ending that I was originally going to use, but I think it turned out all right… Let me know
Summary: There it was. The chair. He stared at it, annoyed that his king had failed to show up.
Disclaimer: I only wish I owned Merlin. Because that would be amazing!
There it was. The chair. He stared at it, annoyed that his king had failed to show up. You would think he would be there. After all, it was he who suggested they sit and talk on this day every week at this time. Their schedules were just so tight, their days so hectic. He should be there.
Couldn't count on that prat for anything.
And he suddenly jolted awake.
He suddenly remembered.
He looked to his left, and there it was. The chair. His chair.
And why wasn't he there? Mordred. You must let the boy die. That was what Kilgharrah had told him.
You must let the boy die.
And what the Great Dragon had foreseen had come true.
The King was dead. Long live the King. And he had been powerless to stop it. After all those years of protecting him, of watching his back it had all come to nothing.
Well, not exactly. He had brought magic and peace back to the land. He had united Albion. He had married Guinevere and made her the happiest woman on earth. He had wonderful children. He had been the greatest king that would ever reign. Of that, he was positive. But he'd better not tell him that; it would all go to his head. As if it wasn't big enough.
He shook his head. Old dreams weren't often good. They were usually filled with the battle that ended his best friend's life. Years ago. He was an old man now. He would laugh if he could see him. With his long white beard, his long white hair, his purple robes. And he had finally donned that damn hat too. Why that clotpole would make him wear that horrid thing was something he had never managed to figure out. He would much rather have his old neckerchief back. The fire in front of him roared on, warming his old frame. But not for much longer. No, he wouldn't be alone for long now. He was the only one left.
Gwen had died shortly after her husband. Only one of their children were left. Gaius was long dead, as was his mother. He had no family now. Not now.
He settled further into the chair. He felt warmer than he had in years.
He closed his eyes.
The warmth engulfed him. When he failed to appear for a council meeting the next day, the king began to worry. He valued his father's best friend's advice, and it was odd for him to avoid an important meeting such as this. Well, it hadn't always been odd. He had skipped many times and people could still remember their king sprinting down the corridors, searching for his Court Sorcerer, ready to kill him.
They gave him a funeral fit for a king, and he was put to rest next to his king, as always. Always loyal to him, and only him – it was only fitting.
And the chairs remained. Those chairs.
One on the left and one on the right. As always. Together.
With the indent from people sitting in them time after time. Two people.
Their fates entwined forevermore.
Those chairs.
Their chairs.