Merlin wanted to scream. Emotions he didn't have words to describe pulsed through his system in waves that forced him in every direction, tearing and twisting his mind until he wasn't sure whether he was even still awake.

He had given everything he had and more and it was never enough. Even the mighty Emrys couldn't defeat destiny, he'd realised that a long time ago but to realise that all his hard work and his pain and his loss would come to nothing was almost impossible for him to take. Arthur was going to die. Mordred was going to kill him. And Merlin, for all his powers, could do nothing to stop it.

Finna and Alator and countless others had given their lives for this message to be delivered, facing death with a smile, content in the knowledge that it was worth it. But it wasn't.

Didn't they all know that? Couldn't they see? He was one man and he didn't even have the strength to save his best friend.

'You will remember me.'

That's what Kilgarrah had said. But Merlin didn't want to remember, not anymore because all that ever meant was pain and heartbreak and he had already lost too much, had been left with too little and he couldn't do this anymore.

How was he meant to just keep going, knowing how this all ended? If this whole fight was futile why should he bother fighting until the end?

He was just so tired. Too many people had died for him, too many souls lost to Avalon to protect a futile dream. His family and his friends, his allies and his enemies. Everyone he came into contact with was either killed or warped so badly that they lost who they used to be - he could never forgive himself for not helping Morgana when he had the chance.

Gaius had tried to comfort him, reminding him of the huge power he had at his command - if anyone could bend destiny it was him. But Merlin had tried to explain, it didn't matter the amount of magic he had, it wasn't going to make a difference; it didn't matter how large a castle was if it was made of glass.

The warlock looked at his window, dark with the shadows of night and examined his reflection. He looked thin, pale - he had been shot less than a day ago - but beyond that he could see an overwhelming fatigue that no amount of sleep could ease. He didn't want to fight anymore. He had tried to fight and he had lost everything: Will, Freya, Balinor, Morgana, Lancelot, Elyan, Alator, Finna, Uther (who had still died because of Merlin, regardless of the warlock's personal opinion) and so many others. And now he would lose Kilgarrah, the last of his kin besides Aithusa, and he would lose Arthur. His best friend.

"Some destiny," he told his reflection, his voice sounding dead to his own ears.

The night wore on but Merlin didn't sleep. He just kept staring at his reflection, the stranger with a familiar face, wondering just when he had abandoned whatever remained of his innocence.

"I don't know what to do," he told himself. "I honestly have no idea. I can't win this."

It was the first time he had admitted it aloud and it cut at him in ways he hadn't thought possible.

"I can't win," he whispered again, burying his head in his hands, suddenly disgusted by his own reflection. "I can't win."

It wasn't until the darkness of night was brightening with the dawn that the tears finally spilled over and the warlock broke down, collapsing into himself in grief. In time he collected himself to face the world, offering his usual smile and pretending that it wasn't a little off, all the while whispering to himself in the back of his mind.

'I can't win.'

I was feeling really angsty. Yay.