Disclaimer: Nothing is mine but the creativity and storyline. All rights go to their respectful owners.
Merlin knew he was dying. He had known from the moment the sword had pierced his skin that he was a dead man.
Arthur had warned him. Arthur had told him – he had told him not to go; not to go out to war with them. That's what he had said. He'd told him to stay behind with Gaius to help the injured. But Merlin wanted to be on the battlefield, brave, standing beside Arthur on the firing line, where his duty lied. His duty lied with the Prince – and with Camelot.
So when he ran out of the castle, displaying a far-too-heavy sword in his right hand, Arthur had screamed at him. Just screamed his name. Not out of anger, or out of annoyance – but out of concern and fright. Arthur was frightened – screaming Merlin's name; just his name, as his throat was already too raw to scream anything else.
Merlin had faltered when he heard Arthur's voice, hesitating for just a second to scan the hundreds of swarming bodies for the crowned Prince of Camelot. But that slight falter was enough for Merlin to be struck from behind; watching helplessly as the sword slid easily through his flesh.
"MERLIN!"
He remembered Arthur screaming. But it seemed so distant now. So far away in his detachment, only echoing in his ears rather than hearing him clearly. He couldn't even see clearly, all his vision was blurred at the edges, fading in and out of blackness as his heavy eyelids blinked slowly. He swayed, and the ground spun, and he fell to the ground just as his assailant slid the sword from his limp body, leaving him to hit the ground with a sickening thud.
His body was too heavy to move. It weighed him down like a ton of bricks, rooting him to the ground far worse than gravity ever could. He could barely lift his head to keep it out of the blood quickly flooding onto the floor around him.
He could still hear Arthur in the background, in the fringes of his mind. Still screaming – never stopping. Always screaming his name, over and over again. But as the screaming faded out into deafening silence, and his vision blurred to such an extent he could only make out colours as they streamed past him, he knew in an instant that he was dying – and he didn't have long left.
The pain was numbing. He couldn't feel any pain other than a slight stinging sensation at the backs of his eyes, and he let the tears run freely. Because he knew that he had to do one last thing before he passed on to the other world. He knew that he would do whatever it took to get there – even if it meant dragging his body by his fingernails just to get there.
Because he had to see her one last time.
Merlin knew the battle around him was so fierce that no one would notice him if he got up and stumbled away, just as much as he knew that no one was coming to help him. Not even Arthur, who he knew was still screaming his name even though all he could hear now was the whistling of the wind. Even as all the sweaty, muddy and bloodied bodies of soldiers ran past him in streaks of colour, he couldn't hear their shouting; nor the clinking of swords; nor the screaming of the injured as they lay dying on the ground – just like he was.
But this wasn't the end for Camelot. Arthur would live, he knew that now. He didn't need him to protect him any longer. Because in this fight – in this fight – Uther would die and Arthur would become king. Merlin had fulfilled his destiny now. And yet he could not pass on to the other side in peace until he spoke to her; that one woman he so longed to see.
And so he began his ten-minute journey, dragging his heavy body behind him as he pushed himself forward against the grass with his arms, his face distorted in effort and pain as sharp stabbing pains racked through him with every jolted movement. Uttering brief healing spells to prolong his life as he went, he made his way through the thinnest of the battleground and into the wooded area around the castle. Once he was out of sight, he collapsed face-first into the mud again, now shaded by trees. He lifted a shaking, blood-stained hand to his face and wiped his brow of the sheen lingering there, before growling one last healing spell under his breath and throwing his body upwards.
He cried out in agony as the pain became unbearable in his system. Eyes squeezed shut and teeth ground together, he pushed himself backwards until he was stood on two legs and collapsed onto a nearby tree trunk. It supported him nicely, but it used all his energy to not just slide back down the trunk and onto the floor again.
But he had to go – just one last time – he had to keep going.
And so he did, not allowing himself for breaks or breathers, forcing one foot infront of the other, stumbling in agony from one tree to the next, until he had made it a good fifty metres away from the battleground. He was now enclosed in trees, and he had been stumbling for about fifteen minutes now. Slowly but surely.
He threw himself onto another tree trunk and, for the first time in twenty minutes, he looked down to see the damage that had been caused.
He had a huge chunk of flesh gouged out of his left side, which was still oozing slightly with fresh blood as his spells forced his heart to keep pounding. But most of the blood had congealed there, but he knew there was no way it would begin to clot any time soon. His clothes were covered in the sticky, warm crimson liquid and after dragging himself across the floor, it had picked up every little leaf or twig. His hands were unusually pale as he looked to them clutching the tree trunk. They were still trembling uncontrollably, even though most of the pain was ebbing away and all that was left was a hollow, aching feeling.
But he was so exhausted.
He pressed further, until he saw a gap in the trees ahead. It wasn't far now. Not far at all and then he would see her.
But... so... tired...
Practically dragging his feet across the floor, he made it to the gap in the trees and threw himself onto the shore behind it. His body slid for a moment on top of all the loose rocks and stones surrounding him, and then he lay still, his face buried in the rocks as he inhaled deeply.
He couldn't even muster the strength to utter a healing spell anymore, but he knew that it was okay... he would see her now... just one last time...
And when he finally opened his eyes – there she was; standing right in the centre of his eyesight, only about a metre away, her clothes still stained and torn, her hair still matted and dirty, and her face still looking as warm as ever when her warm smile spread across her face.
"Hello, Merlin." She whispered, but it sounded so clear it was as if she was standing right beside him.
Freya.
She slowly stepped towards him, coming away from the lake's surface that had pooled around her ankles to kneel beside him and support his head against her knees. He looked up into her round, perfect face. Her eyes were still glistening with life, their dark hazel colour so affectionate they could have melted his ice blue.
And they probably did – because when he closed his eyes to inhale her mossy, natural scent, a single tear slipped from the corner of them and down his temples into his hair.
She stroked his face with the palm of her hand and bowed her head to gently kiss him on the forehead. She paid no attention to his wounds, nor how he was trembling uncontrollably. She just smiled down softly at him, taking in all his contented face.
After what seemed like an eternity, she whispered again, and it still sounded as clear as chimes in Merlin's head, "I missed you."
Merlin sighed, as much as it pained him to do so, but even the trace of a wince never showed up on his face. Because now that he was with Freya, no pain existed, no traces of agony were left on his bruised and bloodied skin – because he was with her now. With her forever.
I missed you too.
A great grin broke out across her face, and she brought her face down to Merlin's until their lips met. It was just a peck, with so many different meanings. It lingered for too long – but not long enough. Once they broke away, Merlin's eyes opened again and examined her face. She was real; she was sat there with him, nursing him... loving him again.
She hadn't changed a bit since the last time he'd seen her. Not even the rosiness in her skin had faded, and she looked just as alive as ever as she stroked his matted hair away from his sweaty forehead. The only thing that told Merlin she wasn't real was the coolness of her fingers as they brushed his skin; although refreshing, it wasn't human. It didn't correspond with the warm colour of her skin and contradicted her existence somehow. She was dead.
I want to go with you.
The smile faded from Freya's face. But the smile still danced in her eyes, and that was good enough for Merlin.
And so they sat there, holding on to each other, just looking into each other's eyes, listening to the world pass around them, until the sun began to set and a chill filled the summery air. She stroked his face once more, and it reassured him of everything. He just nodded once, reaching out a heavy, trembling hand to touch her face just once, before he gasped and the last breath of air left his lungs.
He went limp against Freya's hands, but the gentle smile never left her face. She just held him closer and watched him sleep against her as the wind whipped up the lake; slowly at first, but larger and larger until it crept up against her and she sighed in content at the recollection of her home. The lake.
And then they both were slowly swept away, like two little grains of sand just floating on the water – together; finally forever.
A/N: I've had this idea in my head for a while now, and I just felt like writing something sad. What do you think?
I'm sorry I had to make Merlin die. :( But it wouldn't have been much of a story if he had lived, would it?
I hope you liked, anyway! Reviews are love!
Kelly xxx
