A/N I found this on my old computer the other day when I was searching for some old stories I had written... and I really liked it. I fixed it up a bit and I thought maybe you guys would like it. Takes place after s5e5. Enjoy.
He was done.
He was done with it all! He had enough, he didn't want to do this anymore! He was so sick and tired of everything exploding around him - everything he did blew up in his face!
Nothing was right anymore - fate was against Arthur, Mordred was alive and he had said words so treasonous to himself that he felt sick and hollow inside all the time now.
Magic has no place in Camelot.
Oh how he hated himself for saying that. Everything inside him had screamed and screamed at him to tell Arthur he should accept the Old Religion - to allow magic back into his kingdom and even to reveal himself.
But no. He didn't say any of those things. He did the exact opposite and the weight of those horrible, disgusting words burned against his soul every minute of every day.
And now Arthur had set himself a little more firmly against magic, believed that not only was Merlin against magic but also that he was willing to let good men die to avoid it. That it didn't matter who they were or what they had done, just that their lives weren't worth bringing magic back.
Coward! Coward! Coward!
He was disgusting. He'd fallen so far... what was it Gaius had said?
Oh yes.
What happened to the boy that walked into my chambers a few years ago?
He had told Gaius that he'd grown up... but had he really?
He didn't think so. He never imagined himself growing up to become this.
Liar. Murderer. Coward. Betrayer. Cruel. Obsessed.
He was all of those things, wasn't he?
Liar. Lying was second nature to him, easier then telling the truth. Murderer. He'd murdered and killed hundreds of people without a second thought.
When he was younger, he knew that everyone thought of sorcerers as thieves and murderers. That they killed for fun and thought nothing of it. And when Kilgarrah told him of his destiny, he thought that it was his chance to prove them wrong. He had never killed anyone before at that time - he had used his magic for little tricks and pranks that were essentially harmless and were meant for nothing but fun and amusement for him and Will.
How could anyone call that evil?
But that was then. And this was now.
Lords, how long had it been since he used his magic for something fun? For something innocent and childish and for the amusement of a friend?
He couldn't remember the last time. Now all it was used for was to kill - man or beast, it didn't matter.
Kill. Kill. Kill.
Murderer. That's what he'd become.
Betrayer. He was that too. He betrayed Morgana. He let her become what she was - it was his fault that Camelot now had her to deal with! His fault!
All he needed to do was reach out to her! All he had to do was let her know she wasn't alone! But he didn't. And Morgause got to her first.
He constantly betrayed his "friends", if he even dared to call them that anymore. He cared more for Arthur's life then he did for Gwaine's or Percival's just a few weeks back. He hadn't thought about them at all - all he knew was that he didn't want Arthur to go after them, regardless of their fate.
That wasn't the kind of friend he used to be. He used to care more about other people, not just Arthur... not just himself.
What would Lancelot think of him now? Lancelot always saw the good in him - he had supported him throughout all his trials and he had encouraged his use of magic - he always let him just be himself.
Lancelot would probably be disappointed. He'd probably wonder what had happened and think that maybe he should have told someone about him from the start and kept this all from happening.
He had betrayed his kind too.
It was his job, his bloody destiny to convince Arthur that magic wasn't bad! That it wasn't something to be feared and hated... but all he had done was tell him there was no place for in his kingdom.
The druids, the remaining dragons, and the rest of his kind, like Gili and Alator, had all put their trust in him to make the world a little safer for them... But he hadn't done a single thing to make that happen. Nothing! In ten years nothing had changed or come close to changing!
They'd hate him too.
And progress he occasionally made, he ended up stepping on.
They couldn't trust him.
He didn't even trust himself.
Magic has no place in Camelot.
No matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried, those words wouldn't leave him. He couldn't forget them nor forgive himself for saying them.
He had lost himself.
Somewhere in the past ten years... he'd just lost himself. He didn't know what to do anymore. He didn't want to do anymore.
He had become cruel, cold, and detached. He killed without mercy - it hadn't occured to him to have any, anymore. Too many battles, too many wars... it'd stolen that from him. Over the years, he'd become desperate and obsessed with the return of magic.
Nothing else mattered anymore. He never left Camelot, never left Arthur's side. He hadn't visited his mother in years and oh... how he missed her.
But somehow, even she wasn't enough.
And the realization of that truth, that painful truth, hurt more than thousand deaths. How could that have happened? There was a time he'd have done anything for her. He'd have given up destiny and Arthur and everything to make sure she was safe.
He still loved her, lords knew he did. But Camelot had become first. Camelot was more important. Arthur was more important. Destiny had to happen...
And he felt like crying because of it...
He just wanted to be done. He hadn't asked for any of this... he hadn't wanted any of it.
He was done.
Or at least... that's what he had told himself and that was how he had come to be running for all he was worth in the middle of the forest, not caring which way he was going, just knowing he had to get away from Camelot, away from Arthur and Gaius and the knights. Away from destiny and his terrible mistakes that hit him in the face every day and from every direction.
His breath had long become ragged and short and his heart fluttered wildly in his chest like a bird trapped in a cage but he wouldn't stop. He couldn't. Not until he could outrun his demons. Not until he could feel like a half-decent person again. Not until he could look at himself and think that maybe he was worth something - that someone could look at him again and he wouldn't automatically think that they should hate him.
There wasn't a reason to smile anymore. There wasn't a reason to laugh and enjoy simple pleasures. His life was hell and it seemed no one ever noticed.
Why could no one ever notice? He thought desperately, as he pushed himself harder, gasping for air now and tears welling in his eyes, blurring his vision.
Gaius only ever wanted more from him.
Arthur, even if he did notice something was wrong, would never say anything to him. Never. Besides, he was so caught up with helping Mordred become a better knight that he wouldn't have time for him anyway.
Gwaine long since started to hang out with fellow knights rather than him... probably for the best... they were better men then he was.
Gwen was queen and other queenly things to attend too.
He didn't deserve it, he knew that he didn't! But why couldn't someone just, maybe for once try to shoulder one of his problems like he did for theirs?
Quite suddenly he stumbled and collided with the ground, having tripped over a rock that jutted out from the dirt.
He had no idea how far he had come or even which way he had gone. The castle was far from his sight. He was completely alone and shaking with barely concealed sobs - he knew he had seconds before he completely broke.
With shaking hands and arms and a huge amount of effort, he levered himself up and sat back against the nearest tree, trembling from exhaustion and tears pooling from his eyes.
How had it come to this?
Something inside him cracked and he didn't know how long he wept for. It could have been minutes or hours or days, he wasn't sure. And he didn't care. He screamed and cried out his sorrows and anger and frustrations - his sadness and weakness and despairs out to the unforgiving world he lived in. The one that kept shoving and pushing for him to do more but offered no help along the way.
He wept until he couldn't weep anymore, until all he felt was hollow and alone. He distantly realized it was dark and raining something fierce but he was too tired to care. Too tired to do much of anything except sit.
He scrubbed his eyes softly and leaned his head back against the tree, feeling the cold drops of rain pitter quickly against his face and slowly closed his eyes. He pulled his knees up towards him so that he could rest his arms on them and sighed.
He didn't want to go back... not yet... perhaps not ever. But inevitably he would.
He would have to go back... he didn't even have a choice anymore.
All around him, the storm raged on and on and he wondered as he began to fade off into an uneasy sleep, if it would ever end.
A/N Was the ending alright? Was the story alright? I've been trying to finish it for a little while now but I never knew how I wanted it to end. Arthur appeared in a different ending, but I didn't really like how that one went. I wanted it to be centered on Merlin. And only after my really lousy, horrible day was I able to come up with something even remotely decent that I liked.
This is complete. I don't plan on writing anymore. But in my head, Merlin stays out during the storm all night, wakes up in the morning all despondent and alone and a tad bit out of it and after a while heads back to Camelot to be the Merlin we didn't really like in the last season - he may have met up with Arthur and some knights on the way back, cause they all went to look for him when he never came back during the storm. The season continues as usual, everyone dies, nothing is resolved and we're left unsatisfied with everything. :/
Hopefully there aren't any typos, my 14 year old cat Boot, sat on my lap and blocked my view of the screen for most of it, though he did make me feel better.
Anyhow - reviews are love and honestly, I could really use some right now. Thanks for reading!