The gusts of wind that followed Kilgarrah's departure buffeted Merlin as his tears fell freely. The sorrow within him, despite the dragon's words, felt as if it could sink him to his knees by pure existence alone. It's weight could leave him in front of the lake, crushed beneath it, until that time in which Avalon deemed it within its power to return the Once and Future King to the land of the living.
Despite his anguish though, Merlin knew he couldn't remain there, or anywhere near Camelot. Even though Gaius had sworn his favorite meal would be waiting on the table for him, the warlock had no intention of arriving for it. The elder physician had extended this courtesy with good intentions, and years later, Merlin would come to regret his decision to forgo this offer. However, at that time, he could not bear the thought of returning to Camelot without Arthur.
Camelot was more than just Arthur, he was aware. However, without the King there, it would never be to Merlin what it once had been. The sorcerer hoped that those who knew him best would understand, and not begrudge him the freedom to live without judgement for his choices. As he understood it though, luck had never been on his side. That much had been made all the more clear with each person he loved that perished. A metaphorical sword, in the form of Arthur's death, had driven the point home, straight through his heart.
Merlin could write tomes on what could have, and should have been, he mused, standing beside the water. He rued the days that he hadn't killed Mordred as an adult, or the ones in which he had taken Gaius' advice to leave Morgana be, rather than befriend her. In the depths of his heart, he knew that no matter how much he wished it were otherwise, what had happened could not be altered any longer. His decisions had led them to where they were, forcing both men to pay their version of the ultimate price. It had been unthinkable, up until the moment the plans of their former enemies had come to fruition. Now, no amount of begging or pleading to anyone could reverse what had come to pass.
Wiping away the droplets from his eyes as best he could, or at least enough so he could see Arthur one last time, Merlin conjured up a boat not unlike the ones that were used for the burial of other knights. With little effort, he lifted Arthur up onto it. Splaying his body out just so, making certain he looked regal, even in death, Merlin stood back to take Arthur in.
As he did, more tears spilled from Merlin's reddened eyes. His throat tightened, and it was a miracle he managed to breath, as he gazed down at the man who had meant so much to him in life. Try as he might, gaining control of himself was about as likely as finding a needle in a haystack. He could only hope that his magic would be kept at bay. For once it was released, he was entirely uncertain whether or not he could force it to retract its grip on whatever it would lay to ruin.
It took some time, but there was a fleeting moment of courage where once Merlin had emblazoned the image of his king in his mind forever, he had to to act. Moving purposefully, he managed to ease the boat, which held Arthur's hollow body, into the water. Seconds later, the warlock raised his hands.
The necessary spell tumbled from Merlin's mouth in fitful bursts, as his body shook and his soul cried out for the man drifting further and further from him. Once Arthur's vessel had long since floated across the water of Lake Avalon, Merlin turned his back on the last place he had seen Arthur, intent on never looking back.
Days later, after Percival had informed Queen Guinevere and Sir Leon of the King of Camelot's death, Gaius had not seen or heard a word from Merlin. Part of him had thought that he might. After all, Merlin had made it clear how much Gaius meant to him, as a mentor and a parental figure to boot. Even so, the aged court physician had more than an inkling that he had seen the last of his former charge.
It was not until after he had returned to his own chambers, following the official proclamation of Arthur's demise, that he found a paper, which had been resting in there since shortly after he had left for the throne room, unbeknownst to him.
Dear Gaius,
I'm sorry to inform you that I won't be returning to Camelot. I hope that if not now, then in time, you and the others will understand. I've visited with my mother, and told her my plans. Please, believe me when I say that I wish I had the strength to come see you one last time. Unfortunately, I do not.
On my way back from Lake Avalon, as you may know, I entrusted Sir Percival with the ring Arthur had given to me for Gwen. I hope by now that she has received it. If not, then please send patrols out immediately for it. Of one thing I know, Arthur did want her rule to be uncontested in the aftermath of the events following Camlann. Regardless of where I am, I will see that wish through.
For a moment, Gaius closed his eyes, as pin pricks of perspiration threatened to manifest into aching sobs in the near future. After calming himself enough to continue, he gazed down once more at the parchment within his grasp.
Thank you, for everything that you've ever done for me. I am forever in your debt. Should we not see each other again, please know that you have been one of the most influential people in my life. Were it not for you, well, I'm not sure where'd I'd be. Probably less heartbroken, if I'm being honest, but I don't regret coming this far; only that Arthur isn't here to share the dawn of a new age with us.
Take care, Gaius.
Love always, Merlin.
At the closing of the letter, Gaius wept. A letter had brought Merlin to Camelot, and a letter was all that had been left of him in the wake of his departure. The parallel was not lost on him, as his aged heart shuddered in remorse for all that he had never managed to accomplish, and the ache of what could now never possibly be.