"Arthur..." The old man's tone hadn't changed the slightest in all the time he had known him. Light and slightly mocking and with far too much attitude for a servant, it twinkled in his deep blue eyes.

"Yes Merlin?" The voice from the bed was still deep, still commanding, even after 40 years. And slightly resigned.

"You're a prat."

Arthur grinned. He'd known it was coming, but it still made him laugh after all this time.

"Seriously," Merlin continued, "a man of your age and senility should know better than to go hunting in the rain. But no, I'm Arthur, Once and Future King of Albion. I can do these things without getting sick." There was a pause, and Arthur felt, rather than saw his grin.

"Go ahead" Arthur replied, tone expectant as his wife's grip on his hand tightened. "Say 'I told you so.'"

"Me?" Merlin laughed eyes twinkling merrily beneath his salt and pepper hair. "I would never."

Arthur laughed again, a laugh which turned into a spasm of coughing that knocked him backwards into his pillows. The King was ill, everyone knew that, but this was more than that. Arthur was dying.

Ever since Freya had passed, Merlin had known this day was looming. Even his magic would no longer help- they had achieved their destiny together, and now destiny was taking him from them. No man, no matter how great, could live forever.

Guinevere sat beside her husband, silently holding his hand. Still beautiful and majestic, she tried to smile across the bed, but they both knew what was coming next. She and the King had already said goodbye, and now she sat, silently, holding him and waiting for the end. Arthur knew she loved him, and she knew he loved her, so what else was there to say?

And now, in this room, she was no longer Guinevere, Once and Future Queen of Albion and Lady of Camelot. She was Gwen, his wife and lover for 40 years, the very centre of his universe. He hated to leave her, but it was getting harder and harder to stay.

It was strange, the King mused as he gazed at his oldest friend. Other people got older, their faces wrinkling and their minds slowing down, but Merlin... Merlin had just gotten wiser with age, knowledge crowding into the corners his blue eyes. Eyes that had grown tired, since Freya had passed. It was three years ago now, but something had gone out behind the blue, something that wouldn't relight.

The room grew darker, and Merlin's eyes flashed gold to light the lamps on the walls as the King grew weaker.

Rain began to fall against the oncoming darkness, and Merlin cursed as a window blew open, allowing the rain in.

"Stupid weather." He muttered as he went to shut the window. "Can't ever do what it's bloody told. You want sun? Sorry Merlin, all I can manage is rain today. Even when you want a good storm you have to make one yourself..."

"Merlin?" The voice from the bed was soft now, and fading fast.

"Yes Arthur?"

"Shut up."

And the King died. No thunderstorm, no darkness, the Once and Future King of Albion left the world nothing to mark his passing. But Camelot felt it, and shuddered against the rain as every person stopped, just for a second, as the King of Albion, Lord of Camelot and known to his friends as Arthur, left the world behind him.

Merlin looked up from the bed, feeling the magic stirring in his body as Guinevere began to sob silently.

"Guinevere." He called softly, but she heard through her grief, turning to face him, eyes shining with tears.

He sighed. He didn't want to leave her alone like this.

"Goodbye Gwen."

She frowned, and opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off.

"Two sides of a coin, remember?" And he knew she understood.

It took less than a second for his heart to stop.