Prologue: Before the Now
Throbbing, numb hand cradled against his chest, Merlin sank the ground until his knees rested in the rubble. The warlock leaned his aching, swimming head against the stones that barricaded him into the cave. Tears trickled down his dusty cheeks and stung the cuts that littered his face. Each breath was painful and filled his mouth with a metallic taste; he'd broken a rib or two and had probably punctured a lung.
Only two people knew he was there. One expected him to return to Camelot at any time and help fight the battle of Camlann. The other expected him to die within the depths of this cave. The latter was right. He was going to die in here. That realization clenched his stomach with dread. He felt his heart break from despair. Defeated, he hung his concussed head and listened to the ragged, grief filled breaths that came from his lips. Energy waning, the warlock lowered himself to the ground and unconsciousness took him.
Hours later, he heard his name whispered in a vaguely familiar voice. Squinting, the Dragonlord noted that the room was bathed a soft, warm light. Merlin noticed that the crystals in the cave had lit up as he turned his head to look around. He stopped moving when he saw his father standing before him with a worried smile on his face. This must be a dream, thought the warlock.
"Are you really here?" asked the young Dragonlord. His voice was broken and raspy. He hoped Balinor was somehow here and alive so that he didn't die alone. Merlin didn't want to be by himself in these final moments. "Are you real?"
Balinor crept forward and knelt beside the injured warlock. The elder man ran his fingers through Merlin's matted hair and stroked his son's forehead with an instinctive parental touch that was meant to both answer his question as well as comfort him.
More tears sprang into Merlin's eyes. Never before this moment had he felt more loved. The touch was tender and gentle. It brought an ache of more grief to his stomach. He felt that this world was so cruel for taking his father away from him without even giving him a chance to know Balinor. Even though their time had been limited, the Dragonlord felt much love and adoration for this man. Perhaps in death he'd come to know him.
"Do not let go, Merlin. Do not give in. You are more than the son of your father. You are the son of the earth, the sea, the sky, the air," Balinor continued.
He moved his hands along Merlin's broken body. Once in a while, his father would pause and concentrate on a spot that was broken and battered. Balinor went slowly as if he didn't want to miss a single wound – not even a small scrape.
"Magic is the fabric of this world and you were born of that magic," he whispered to Merlin in a quite serious tone. "You are magic itself. Believe what your heart knows to be true, that you have always been and always will be."
Finished with the task, he moved his hand away. Slowly, he stood and towered over the warlock. Merlin looked up at Balinor with a weary smile upon his face. "Rest," whispered Balinor. The tone was absolutely parental. "You are weary and your body is healing."
"Will you be here when I wake," whispered Merlin as he yawned. Seeing his father nod, Merlin closed his eyes and let sleep take him.
For hours, the warlock slept without a dream or a care. He only woke when Balinor shook him into reluctant consciousness. Still drowsy, Merlin wiped the sleep from his eyes.
On his feet, he steadied himself against the wall. He stared at his father through half-mast eyes. The smile that Balinor gave comforted him. It brought him peace and an inner calmness that he hadn't felt in a very long time.
"Your journey has only just begun. You wield a power that you cannot yet conceive of. Destiny awaits. Don't be afraid. Trust in what you are. Trust in what will be," the man hummed. His voice was low and loving. It revealed all the care he had for his son.
"Good bye, father," Merlin began. The warlock's voice shook a little. There was a part of him that was still fearful and uncertain of the future. He wished that his father could stay with him longer. Merlin felt like he still needed the man.
"There are no good-byes, Emrys. For I will always be as you will always be," Balinor told Merlin. He nodded to the warlock. The nod turned into a jerk of the head. It was as if he encouraged Merlin to go on and to get out of there.
Taking a deep breath, Merlin stepped forward. He climbed up and through the crystals. A natural staircase had been carved into the stones by water, earth quivers, and erosion. Coming to the end of the cave, the warlock stopped. Now what? The way out was blocked. Sighing in frustration, Merlin glanced around. Then, he saw it – an ancient staff similar to the one he'd taken from the Sidhe years ago. This was a sign, the warlock was sure of it.
Taking it in his hands, he whispered a spell. His look turned from young man to that of the old wizard Dragoon. The warlock thought it would be the safest way to proceed. Magic, after all, was still banned in Camelot and he didn't want burned or hung after he helped Camelot and her King win this war.
With his hand wrapped tightly around the staff, he blew away the stone wall with a surge of magic that shook the ground beneath him. Charging forward, Merlin stood at the cliff. He aimed at the Saxons. Groups of ten or twenty were blown back, defeated with his abilities. The warlock then pointed at another set and another and another until the rest of Camelot's enemy had been destroyed. As Aithusa came towards Camelot's Knights, he gestured towards the white beast with the staff. A bolt of electricity came from its top and struck the dragon. With a long, pain-filled screech, she fell and was dead. The war was over; Camelot had won.
Now, it was time to turn back into his younger self. Under his breath, he whispered a spell. The aged look of Emrys dripped away and soon he was left with a shock of dark hair and smooth youthful skin. Feeling weighed down by the robes, Merlin ripped them off. "How does Gaius stand wearing those?" he wondered aloud as he cast the staff aside; Merlin didn't need that anymore.
Racing down the cliff, he looked for the king. "Arthur!" he called. Over and over he shouted the word until the warlock practically lost his voice. Finally, Merlin found the blonde-haired king. He was wounded and unconscious.
"No," Merlin sobbed as he knelt beside his friend. Pressing two fingers against Arthur's neck, the warlock was relieved to find the king alive. Merlin picked Arthur up and struggled into a standing position. Walking as quickly as he could, Merlin headed to the forest. He examined the wound after he sat Arthur upon the ground – it was bad.
They needed Gaius's help. However, he didn't know where his mentor was and Merlin didn't want to leave Arthur alone and wounded. So, he did the only thing he could – send a telepathic message. Gaius, Gaius, I hope you can hear me, Merlin thought. I need your help. Arthur's hurt. We're in the woods off the pass. Come quickly. Please. I don't think I can heal him.
After the message was sent, he let his thoughts fade into nothingness as he hoped Gaius had heard it. Sure enough, after a half hour, the physician came with his bag of medical supplies. He knelt beside Arthur and examined the wound.
"How is he?" asked Merlin. His brow was furrowed and he looked exhausted. "Please, Gaius, tell me! I need to know."
Gaius shook his head. "The wound is grievous. I fear that dark magic is at work. There's nothing I can do." The words were grim and filled with bitterness.
"There has to be!" Merlin gasped. "I'm not going to lose him! He's my friend."
"I am sorry. I can't do anything." Gaius grew quiet as he thought. "There is one place where he could be saved. It is Avalon. Take him there, but you must hurry. You have but three days."
Merlin nodded grimly. They had to move quickly. But first, Merlin had to tell Arthur something, especially since magic would probably be involved with this journey. Wearily, he sat down beside Arthur.
Arthur moaned as he slowly woke. "What's the matter? You look troubled," he whispered, clearly disregarding the wound on his side.
Merlin moved closer and knelt beside the king. "I'm sorry. I thought….I thought I had defied the prophecy. I thought I got to you in time," the warlock mused as he held Arthur's wrist to check Arthur's pulse.
"What are you talking about?" Arthur asked after he shook his head. The King looked at him with wide eyes and a look that clearly said that he thought Merlin was crazy.
Merlin looked away from Arthur. He couldn't bear to look his friend in the eye while admitting the truth. "I defeated the Saxons…the dragon…and yet, I knew it was Mordred I must stop. I knew it was he would be ultimately slay you," he rambled
Arthur chuckled a little as he patted Merlin on the shoulder. "The person who defeated them was the sorcerer," the King rasped. His voice betrayed the pain he tried to hide.
Merlin couldn't help it. He broke down into hysterics. For support, Merlin squeezed Arthur's wrist tighter. "I am the sorcerer," the warlock rasped. His breathes were loud and probably scared away all the animals close to them.
"Don't be ridiculous, Merlin," Arthur replied with another shake of the head. His voice was stronger and less pain filled.
"I'm a…" Merlin tried to say. His tears constricted his throat and he couldn't continue for a moment. To try to regain composure, the warlock sniffed. He pointed to his chest with his thumb. "I'm a sorcerer. I have magic."
Arthur made a small sound. It made Merlin glance up for a brief moment. The King's mouth was open. Hurt and confusion shined in his eyes. The look sickened Merlin and the warlock had to look away.
"And I use it for you, Arthur. Only for you," Merlin concluded.
"Merlin, you are not a sorcerer. I would know," Arthur retorted. His pressed his hand against Merlin's chest as if to put emphasis on his words.
"Look …OK," Merlin instructed, after he sniffed yet again. He moved away from Arthur to face the fire. Holding his hand out, the warlock made the flames curl and twist into the shape of a dragon.
Merlin felt like a monster as Arthur pulled away and told him to leave. So, he did. He spent the night wandering and thinking. This wasn't how things were supposed to go or to be. Finally, when the warlock returned to the campsite, he discovered that while Arthur still did not trust him, he had agreed to let Merlin take him to Avalon (although it seemed Gaius had had to do a lot of convincing while Merlin was away, for Arthur to consent to the trip).
Day one of the ride had been mostly quiet. The only thing that had really happened was an attack by bandits, which Merlin had taken care of, much to Arthur's shock and amazement. The King even seemed a little sad about the situation, as if he had wished Merlin was still the magic-less manservant.
"So you're not an idiot, that was another lie," Arthur grumbled as they continued on their trek to Avalon. He shifted in his saddle and winced.
"No, just another part of my charm," the warlock retorted as he tried to joke with Arthur. However, it fell flat, even to Merlin's ears. The words made Merlin sound hurtby Arthur's statement, which he was. The warlock wished Arthur could see that he was the same person as before.
Day two of their east was travel to Avalon started out just as quiet as day one had been. It was unnerving and it felt as if he relived the first day all over again. Not much was said or done as they slowly made their way to Avalon. That all changed though, while Arthur and Merlin stopped for a short time near a brook.
In silence, Merlin settled Arthur against a boulder. He unstrapped Excalibur from the horse and laid it beside an oak. The warlock did not want them to be completely swordless just in case the horses bolted. While filling the water skins, Merlin had his back to Arthur. A crunch of leaves and the horses' panicked whinnies filled the air; the warlock stood and darted back to the clearing. Something was wrong. He knew it.
"Hello, Emrys," Morgana quipped. Her voice was scathing. It sounded as if she resented him.
Before Merlin could say anything and before he had any time to turn around, the sorceress had thrust her hand out. With Morgana's magic the warlock was thrown back and down to the ground. A rib or two crunched as he hit. She glanced his way one time and then headed straight for an uncomfortable looking Arthur, who struggled to get his sword.
Breathless, Merlin lay there watching everything that unfolded before him. He was scared and little disoriented. He wasn't quite sure what to do.
"What a joy it is to see you, Arthur," Morgana greeted in a mocking voice. She loomed over him. "Look at you…not so tall and mighty now."
Morgana stooped so that she was eye level with her brother. "You may have won the battle, but you've lost the war. You're going to die by Mordred's hand," Morgana continued. A large, cruel smile stretched across her face.
Arthur somehow managed to keep silent. He held his tongue. His jaw tensed and pulsed, though, and he stared with pure, cold hatred at the woman who is his half-sister.
"Don't worry, dear brother, I won't let you die alone," Morgana practically chirped, unaware that Merlin had risen and had drawn Excalibur from her sheath. "I'll stay and watch over you until the wolves gorge on your carcass and bathe in your blood."
"No," Merlin growled. The sword was firmly clasped in his hands. He was poised ready to strike. "That will not happen. Not here. Not today. Not as long as I have breath in my lungs."
At that last word, Merlin thrust the sword into the sorceress's stomach. This made Morgana's head go back as she gasped a little. It even made Arthur swallow, loudly. The warlock jerked the blade upwards, which made Morgana gasp again.
Merlin noted Morgana's lips turn down into a frown as she sank to the foliage-covered ground. Merlin pulled the blade out and continued to stare at Morgana, who made a pitiful gasp. "Good bye, Morgana," Merlin whispered as the high priestess took her last breath. "I'm sorry for what you became. I wish it hadn't been this way."
The warlock raced over to Arthur after he dropped the sword to the ground. Kneeling, Merlin threw Arthur's arm over his shoulder. "We brought peace at last," Arthur mumbled. This made the raven-haired warlock stop for a moment and look down at his best friend.
"Come on," Merlin said as a response. He dug his heel in and pushed up. Struggling, they headed off for the lake.
They walked in silence. However, after about an hour of travel, Arthur stumbled. "We have to make it to the lake," Merlin ordered even as the king fell completely to the ground, trapping Merlin under him.
"You can save me," Arthur whispered as he was manhandled into a half-sitting position.
"No, I can't," Merlin lamented. His voice shook slightly; the sadness he had been trying to hold back showed through for just a little bit. He pushed it away and deliberately replaced it with quasi-determination. "I'm not going to lose you!"
"Just…just…just hold me," the King whispered as he patted Merlin's hand. "Please."
Merlin felt tears come to his eyes. He pressed his chin against Arthur's shoulder and dug in a little to keep himself from crying. This was it. This was the end and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. A big part of the warlock broke with that knowledge.
Arthur's face scrunched up into thought as he closed his eyes for a moment. "I want to say… something I have never said to you before."
He stopped speaking. His lips were pressed together as he prepared to speak. "Merlin, thank you," Arthur declared finally. He reached up and touched the back of Merlin's head. Gently, he patted the dark locks and smiled. Arthur held the back of Merlin's head for a moment and then, his blue eyes rolled back in his head as his hand dropped onto his stomach.
"Arthur," Merlin whispered while he grasped the side of Arthur's neck and cheek. "No! Arthur!" The warlock patted Arthur on the cheek in attempts to rouse him, at least a little bit.
There was no response. The King was dead, but Merlin did not want to believe it. He lowered Arthur to the ground and for a moment, he pressed his forehead against the King's cold brow. Raising his head a little, he shouted "Arthur!" It was loud and primal. His mouth worked as he tried to say, "Don't leave me", but the words would not come out. All he could whisper was, "Arthur", as he cradled the man's head in his arms.
Merlin attempted to lift Arthur from the ground. He had to get him to Avalon. Maybe there was still hope in saving him. It was a fool's hope full of folly and denial, but hope nonetheless. He grunted as he tried to get to his feet. His body wouldn't work right. It seemed to fight the grief. He gritted his teeth as he worked. Merlin's full concentration was set upon getting the King up and carrying him all the way to Avalon.
But, he couldn't. He was exhausted and numb from sorrow. The dead body was heavy. In fact, the weight caused him to practically lie upon the ground. "Arthur!" he hoarsely bellowed even though his friend could not hear the word.
In grief, he wept. Those cries turned into the tongue of a Dragonlord as he called for Kilgharrah one last time. He needed the beast's help. The words were desperate. Once that was done, he cradled Arthur's head to his chest for a moment. Then, carefully, he rolled out from under the body and allowed the fallen King to rest upon the ground. Holding Arthur's head in his hands, Merlin again pressed his temple against Arthur's brow. He rested it there until he heard the familiar flap of Kilgarrah's wings (although they sounded slower, as if the dragon was having a hard time of flying).
"Kilgharrah," Merlin whispered as the mighty beast landed in from of him, shaking the ground. With unstable legs, the warlock stood. "I would not have summoned you if there was any other choice. I have one last favour to ask."
The dragon nodded as he looked at the fallen King. Merlin placed Arthur's body on the back of the dragon and then the warlock climbed on behind him. Holding tight, they flew to the shores of Avalon. Through most of the trip, Merlin looked at the face of Arthur, but every now and then, he would glance out toward where they were going. Once there, Merlin slid off and pulled Arthur's body with him. Gently, he dragged him towards a small row boat as Kilgharrah flew away.
Teary-eyed, the warlock put Arthur on the ground and stared at the tower of Avalon through the hazy mist. There was one more thing to do before setting Arthur off on this final journey into the beyond. Unsheathing Excalibur, the warlock examined the sword one more time and then threw the blade into the lake.
The Lady of the Lake's hand emerged from under the water, which made the water ripple. She grabbed the hilt as the blade fell towards the lake. Holding it aloft, the Lady sank back beneath the depths of the water, along with the sword.
After the row boat was prepared, Merlin laid the fallen King into the craft. Straightening Arthur's hair and his red cape, the warlock then rested a hand upon Arthur's brow. He wasn't ready to give up or say goodbye. As he examined the young King one last time, for he did not want to forget this person, a sob escaped his lips. The sobs turned to large tears. His whole body shook with emotion. Holding Arthur's hand one last time, Merlin sent the boat off with a bit of magic.
With tear-stained cheeks and sobs still racking his body, he watched the boat sail off. Once the boat was gone, he trudged out of the water, only to face Percival and Leon.
"The King is dead," Merlin whispered. Not waiting to hear an answer, Merlin ran and ran and ran. He didn't watch where he went. He didn't care if some bandits might attack (they didn't). He didn't care if he got lost or attacked by some monster (which, of course, he didn't).
His mind was numb. Merlin really wasn't thinking of anything as he raced away from Camelot. There was no awareness of exhaustion, thirst, or hunger. He was just slightly aware of the sun setting that first night and then the sun rising the next morning. Out of grief, the warlock fled. Much like adrenaline, it fuelled him and kept him going.
Merlin only slowed when he came to a little village. It was Ealdor. Scrubbing at his eyes, he glanced around. It all looked the same and that fact brought him comfort.
His saw his mother exited the baker's cottage with a basket of eggs and loaves of bread. With no inhibition, Merlin rushed over to her. Throwing his arms around her neck, Merlin pressed himself against Hunith in a tight hug. Shaking and sobbing, he whispered, "He's dead. Arthur's gone."
"Shh," Hunith whispered after she recovered from seeing her son so broken and bereft. "Come, Merlin. You're home. I'll take care of you. Your mother's here." The woman let Merlin out of the embrace and then led him inside.
She put him to bed and, pulling the blanket up until it touched his chin, stroked his hair away from his forehead. As the young man slept, tears quietly poured down his cheeks and his brow furrowed. His mother stayed at his side until he woke. And then Hunith only left Merlin to get him some food, which he quietly ate and then fell back to sleep.
This went on for several days, but on the fifth day he woke and decided it was time to move on. He filled a tub with hot water and Merlin bathed. Dressed in fresh clothes, he informed his mother that he was leaving. And then, like a puff of breeze on a hot, summer day, he drifted away.
Arthur's Note: Have you missed me? I am so sorry for not updating many stories in the last few months. However, this story is the reason why. I've worked on this since February. I hope you like it. Please, read and review! I will be updating my other stuff soon.