Hello!
I've finally found the time to publish this story.
It's an AU to the battle of Camlann. Merlin chooses to get his powers back during the same night that he lost them and without Gwaine's help, so Morgana doesn't find out about his plans. He chooses to go the Lake of Avalon instead of the Crystal Cave and receives help from an old 'friend'... Will he be able to change Destiny?
Rated T for character deaths. Reveal!fic. No slash. Some Arthur/Gwen and Merlin/Freya. Implied Gwaine/Eira and mentioned Mordred/Kara.
Thanks to my beta Lolaangelbunn. She's amazing.
DISCLAIMER: Merlin belongs to BBC Network. I only own my ideas and my stupid brain.
The line at the end of the story is a variation of a sentence taken from "Le Morte D'Arthur" written by Sir Thomas Malory. The adaptation and the translation is by yours truly.
I hope you'll like it!
Love,
MildeAmasoj ❤
"Let loose the hounds of war,
Let the dreadfire of the last Priestess rain down from angry skies,
For brother will slaughter brother,
For friend will murder friend,
As the great horn sounds a cold dawn at Camlann,
The prophets do not lie,
There, Arthur will meet his end,
Upon that mighty plain."
-Gaius (5x10)
Merlin woke up in his room, his head aching and his eyes blurry.
He blinked to clear his vision and found Gaius hovering over him.
"Merlin!"
The warlock got up and rubbed his forehead. "What happened? What was that thing?"
The physician sighed, relieved to see that his ward was alright. "Morgana's work, that's for sure. Mordred would have told her of your powers by now, Merlin. It was only a matter of time before she struck out. We can only be grateful that she failed."
The young man nodded and stood up to stretch his legs. As soon as he was out of bed, though, his knees buckled and he fell on the floor. "Did she?" he murmured.
Gaius crouched beside him, his joints cracking, and touched his ward's clammy brow with the back of his hand. "You have a low fever, my boy. It's nothing to worry about. That creature must have something to do with it."
The old man helped Merlin back to his bed and began wiping his forehead with a wet cloth.
The warlock slowly became aware of his dry throat and turned towards the cup of water that was on his bedside table. "Strangaþ," he whispered, but nothing happened.
"Strangaþ," he repeated, more forcefully. "Strangaþ!"
Realizing with increasing worry that his magic wasn't working, he called his mentor.
"Gaius!"
The physician looked at him as he turned his head, his eyes full of pain and fear.
"I've lost my magic," he whispered.
After some research, Merlin had decided to go to the Lake of Avalon and try to get his magic back. He had chosen to travel alone and at night, not wanting to be seen by any unwelcome witnesses. Gaius had disagreed, but they both knew that he had to do it.
He arrived quickly thanks to the horse he had 'borrowed' from the royal stables.
He tied the mare to the lowest branch of a nearby tree, and walked into the lake.
He stopped once the water reached his waist and touched the surface with the palms of his hands.
He closed his eyes and stood there, waiting.
All of a sudden, there was a movement in the water, and he opened his eyes to find a young woman before him.
"Freya," he breathed, surprised. He was expecting a Sidhe or another creature, but her presence was more than welcomed.
"Hello, Merlin," she greeted, smiling.
Her voice was sweet and full of kindness, her eyes showing clearly the deep love she felt for him.
She laid her hand on his face, stroking his cheek tenderly, as he leaned into her touch.
He opened his eyes and took her hands in his, knowing that he couldn't afford to spend time with her. "Freya... I need your help. I've lost-"
She silenced him with a finger on his lips and he stopped talking. She shook her head. "Oh, Merlin, I know why you are here. But let me tell you something: you haven't lost your magic."
The young man gasped. "What? But I can't use it anymore! That creature... Gaius said that it devours the magic of others, draining them of their power. Is that true?"
She nodded. "It is," she answered softly. "But you're no ordinary sorcerer. You are son of the earth, the sea, the sky. Magic is the fabric of this world, and you were born of that magic. You are magic itself. You cannot lose what you are."
Merlin stared at her, surprised. "But how do I find myself again?"
She placed her hand on his face. "I will help you. You must believe, Merlin. Believe in yourself, in your magic, in Albion. Believe in your Destiny. If you fight, if you let hope into your heart, Morgana cannot be victorious."
He closed his eyes, a dreamy smile on his face.
"Your light, Merlin. That's the real magic. You have to walk towards it, feel the warmth of your powers," she whispered, her eyes glowing gold. She caught him as he fell, laying him on the lake's shores. She stroked his cheek, watching over him as he rested.
"Follow the light, Merlin. You might still be able to change Destiny."
Merlin opened his eyes slowly, taking in his surroundings. The sun was rising above the mountains, reflecting its light on the lake's waters.
Freya was on the ground beside him, holding his hand. He smiled at her and sat up.
He met her beautiful chocolate eyes with a questioning gaze, and she nodded reassuringly. He inhaled deeply and cupped his hands. "Blóstmá," he whispered.
He grinned as a red rose appeared in his hands and he offered it to his lady, who took it with a reminiscent smile.
"You were right!" he exclaimed happily, kissing her.
She grinned against his lips. "A woman is always right."
He got up and took her in his arms, twirling her around and laughing joyfully. "Thank you, thank you!"
He put her down and she shook her head. She cupped his face with her hands and rested her forehead against his. "No, thank you. You've given me the chance to see you again."
His smile dropped as he remembered the reason he had come for. He kissed her one last time and turned to walk away, but he stopped.
"Will I ever see you again?" he asked, looking back at her and meeting her eyes.
Freya nodded and he smiled at her, before jumping on his horse and riding back to Camelot.
She sighed and walked back into the lake, a sad smile on her pale face.
"You will, my love, and sooner than you may think."
Merlin arrived in Camelot to find a great commotion in the courtyard.
He dismounted and walked towards a guard, gripping his arm. "What's happening?"
The man looked at him and recognized him as the king's manservant. "I heard that the garrison at Stowell was attacked."
The young man's eyes widened. "Thank you," he said hurriedly, grabbing the horse's reins again. He left the mare in the stables and ran into the castle.
Gaius was walking down the corridor tending to hurt people. He stopped working once he saw his ward and walked towards him. "Merlin! How did it go?"
The young man embraced his mentor for a brief moment. "Everything is alright, now. An old friend of mine helped me find myself again."
The old man raised his eyebrow and smiled softly, before his expression returned to serious. "Morgana attacked the garrison at Stowell. We have suffered some losses between the knights and many of them have been injured. I need your help to treat their wounds."
The warlock nodded and walked to help a young blond woman who was sitting beside Gwaine.
The knight raised his head and grinned. "Hey, mate. Think you could help this lovely lady?" he asked, gesturing to the woman's wounded leg.
Merlin nodded and began to work, listening to the conversation between the two.
"Do you have news from Stowell? Have you heard from my family?" the woman inquired, her eyes pleading.
Gwaine glanced at Merlin before answering. "Eira, your family... The people of your town... You're the only one that survived the attack."
The knight's tone caught Merlin's attention, who cut the bandage with a knife before standing up. He backed away, but continued to look at them.
Eira's eyes filled with tears. "I'm... alone."
Gwaine kneeled down next to her and placed a hand over hers. "I'm sorry. Eira. Whatever happens, you'll be safe here in Camelot. You have my word."
Merlin smiled softly at himself, surprised by the drunkard's gentleness towards the woman.
"Thank you," she whispered, grateful.
Merlin was lying on his bed, his wide eyes burning holes into the ceiling.
Arthur had decided to ride towards the Saxons and fight them at Camlann.
Camlann.
That name resounded in his head like a curse. That was the place Destiny had chosen for Arthur's final battle.
He shuddered at the thought.
But he had his magic back, didn't he? He could fight beside his king and protect him, as he had always done.
A new resolve shone in his eyes. He would save his friend, even if it was the last thing he would ever do.
The next morning, Merlin laid carefully the king's armor on the table, taking great care in even the smallest particular.
"I think that you'll find that's everything, sire," he said once he had finished.
Arthur turned towards him and nodded, slightly surprised. "Impressive... I mean, coming from you. Any servant in Camelot could have done this in half the time it took you."
Merlin raised an eyebrow. "Should I take this as a compliment or as a reproach?"
The blonde looked at him grinning. "Why should I give you the pleasure of my approval? It's a reproach, obviously."
The younger man snorted. "Thank you, sire."
Arthur rolled his eyes. "Merlin, you idiot, you do know that a reproach is not a good thing, don't you?"
The servant crossed his arms. "You still haven't thrown anything at me, so I guess you're satisfied with my work."
Arthur threw a cup at Merlin's head, but the younger man ducked, laughing. "So, what are you after?"
The warlock frowned at him. "After?"
"Come on, Merlin. You're the worst servant in the history of the world. Now suddenly this. Is it money?" the king asked.
Merlin shook his head, amused. "No."
"No, it can't be that. You already won all of mine." At this the servant laughed, but his master continued. "Time off?"
Merlin rolled his eyes. "No, Arthur. I just wanted to make sure you had all you needed for our journey to Camlann. For the days ahead."
"Well, then," the blonde replied, slightly surprised, and patted the younger man on the back. "Thank you."
They had made camp a few hours earlier and they were now around the fire, eating.
Arthur tensed at the thought of his final battle with Morgana, but he relaxed knowing that if he had to die, he would die fighting.
The presence of his knights and Gaius and, more importantly, of Guinevere and Merlin, helped him, for he knew that he was fighting for just cause and to help the people he cared about.
He squeezed his wife's hand tightly and met her beautiful warm brown eyes.
"A queen's place is beside her king," she had said after he had expressed his worry for her wellbeing.
He closed the gap between them, not caring that he was in the presence if all his knights, and kissed her. "I love you," he whispered.
She embraced him, as he breathed her scent of lavender and lilac. "I love you, too."
He held her in his arms during all the evening, under the beautiful sky, admiring her beauty as she glowed under the moonlight.
Merlin had observed them for all he time, an affectionate smile on his face.
He wouldn't allow his friends to be parted. He wouldn't allow Arthur to die. He wouldn't allow Morgana to win.
Camlann would not be the place where everything ended.
Merlin woke up as he felt a jolt of strong magic go through him. He took a moment to gather his thought before he whipped up in his makeshift bed and turned his attention on his surroundings.
He closed his eyes, trying to track the source of the magic.
He saw in his mind's eye the Saxons, led by Mordred and Morgana, walking towards Camelot's camp.
They were going to attack them soon.
He felt them coming close, and he knew he had to warn Arthur.
It would have been suspicious if he suddenly had the knowledge of Morgana's idea, so he decided to contact the king in his dreams.
He closed his eyes and sent a wave of magic towards Arthur. He sent a clear message to the king, hoping his friend would trust him.
"Arthur. Arthur, your plan is a good one and you may yet save this kingdom, but you must be on alert. Your army's flank is vulnerable. There's an old path over the ridge of Camlann, and Morgana knows of it. She means to trap you, Arthur. Find the path or the battle will be over before it's begun. Find the path!"
Arthur gasped a he whipped up in his bed, the voice he had heard in his dreams still reverberating into his head.
Gwen woke up as well and looked at him questioningly. "What's the matter?"
"Merlin," he breathed, confused. The voice in his dream was the one of his servant, he was sure of it. But how could that be?
The queen misunderstood the look on his face and tried to reassure him. "It was a dream, Arthur. Just a dream."
He shook his head. "It didn't feel like a dream. It felt..."
He remembered the message he had received in his sleep and, throwing the covers off his body, he got up.
His wife, shocked by the sudden movement, called after him as he ran out of the tent. "Arthur!"
He found the knights outside, and Leon approached him. "Sire, the scouts report that Morgana's army is on the move."
Arthur nodded, already expecting it. "She'll attack before the night is done. Tell our men to prepare."
He looked at Merlin, who was behind the knight and was staring at him, and they shared a worried glance.
He walked towards his servant and put a hand on his shoulder, feeling the other's distress. "It's alright to be scared, Merlin. We all are."
The warlock lowered his gaze, seeming in deep thought.
The king squeezed his shoulder before offering him his other arm. "We will win this battle, Merlin, I promise."
The younger man smiled at him, gripping his arm in return. "I know, Arthur."
The air smelled of death and decay, while the clanging of the swords and the yells of the fighters were the only sounds discernible.
Hundreds of bodies laid sprawled on the cold earth, their eyes staring, unseeing, at the black sky, as their blood stained the ground like ink on parchment.
Fear crawled at the hearts of those who were preparing themselves to face the next opponent, crushing their souls with its icy fingers.
What in the years to come would be called "the battle of Camlann" was raging, cutting short many lives between Camelot's knights and Saxons.
The High Priestess Morgana Pendragon watched all this from the top of the highest hill, smirking.
Her expression soon transformed into rage as she saw a gangly man making his way across the battlefield, right beside the king.
The little pest was useless without his magic.
What was he doing there?
Arthur cut down man by man, the blood of the fallen staining his hands.
From time to time he'd glance at Merlin to make sure he was alright.
His servant was fighting surprisingly well, having learnt the basis of sword fighting after many years of practice. He made up for what he lacked in technique with his ability to catch his opponents unaware and to duck their hits.
The younger man always managed to surprise him with his courage and his loyalty to Camelot and to its king.
He smiled at himself, knowing that he would always have his friend right beside him, and continued to fight with all his might.
After a long battle, most of the Saxons had been killed or had fled, much to the servant's relief.
Merlin and Arthur had gotten separated while they were fighting, and the youngest of the two was desperately trying to find his king.
He froze in his tracks as he saw Mordred in the distance.
He hid behind a rock as he performed the spell he had practiced a few days prior in his chambers, feeling his body changing.
He stepped out of his hiding place and walked towards Mordred.
His footsteps alerted the former knight of his presence, and the boy whirled around.
He looked at him and smirked. "Hello, Arthur."
Merlin hid his smile at the thought that his spell had worked and that he had managed to take Arthur's appearance. "Mordred," he greeted.
The boy stepped towards him, anger clear on his face. "I will never forgive you for what you've done," he spat venomously.
Merlin's hands tightened around the sword's hilt, anxiety crawling at his heart. "I'm sorry for what has happened to you, Mordred. But Kara was a danger to Camelot, and I couldn't let her roam free. Arth- I tried to give her a chance at redemption, but she was strong in her beliefs. I'm sorry. I understand that you must be suffering."
Mordred's nostrils flared as fury won over him. "You could never understand, Arthur Pendragon."
He lunged at the warlock and smirked as he felt the cursed sword slid between his ribs.
Merlin fell on his knees and the Druid let his guard down, smirking.
The older man surprised him with a grin as he stood up and stabbed him with his sword.
Mordred looked at him to find not the king's blue eyes, but the blazing golden ones of Emrys staring at him in satisfaction.
Merlin twisted the sword in Mordred's gut and removed it, lowering him to the ground and closing his eyes as he took his last breath.
He brought a hand to his wounded side and felt blood spilling between his fingers.
He picked up Mordred's sword and gasped when he felt the familiar feeling of dragon magic coursing through it. A sword forged in dragon's breath... Aithusa...
His musings were interrupted by a loud shriek and he turned around to find Morgana staring at him with an expression so full of hatred that he had to suppress a shudder.
"What have you done?!"
She ran towards Mordred and kneeled beside him, trying desperately to find his pulse. She screamed when she found none, and stood up, walking towards her sworn enemy. "You will pay for this, Emrys! I swear it!"
She shot a fireball at him and he blocked it with a wave if his hand. She was shocked at seeing him using magic. "How...?"
He understood what she meant immediately. "A friend of mine helped me."
Morgana was trembling with rage. "I will... I will torture you until you beg me to kill you, and then I'll tear your body to pieces and burn it, saving your fingers for your dear friends. Ah, I can almost see it. The great Emrys won't even be properly buried for his fingers will be the only discernible part of his body. I'm going to enjoy killing you, Emrys. And then, I'll kill all of your friends and I'll have my rightful place on the throne. That's one of those happy endings they always talk about, isn't it?"
She smirked and was about to run him trough when she was stopped by the poke of a sharp sword on her back.
"Stay still."
The voice held so much coldness that she almost didn't realize it was Arthur. She narrowed her eyes and stepped on the left, not caring about what he'd said, knowing that she couldn't be killed by human means.
She whirled around, a twisted smile on her pale face. "Hello, dear brother. You've come to join us?"
He visibly gulped, sending a glance at Merlin who was still holding a hand to his bloody wound and swaying on his place. "What have you done to him?"
A crazed laugh left her mouth. "Nothing. He killed Mordred. And Mordred killed him."
The king shook his head, shocked by the revelation. He had seen his friend killing many people that day, but he would have never imagined he would be able to kill a former knight of Camelot. And a strong one at that.
He then registered the ending of her sentence. "He's still alive, Morgana," he said slowly.
"Not for much longer. Mordred's sword... It's not an ordinary sword. Nothing can survive its touch," she explained. Her eyes found Merlin's. "Not even Emrys," she spat.
"Emrys?" he repeated, puzzled.
That name- he was sure he had heard it somewhere before.
Morgana's smirk widened, if at all possible. "Oh, he doesn't know, does he?" she asked with mock innocence. She walked to stand exactly between the two men. "Oh, I'm going to enjoy this so much."
She gestured at Merlin with her hand, locking eyes with Arthur. "He," she began. "He is a sorcerer."
The king's eyes widened to an impossible size and he shook his head in denial. "No. You're lying."
Merlin was looking at him with eyes so full of pain, and not due to the wound, that he instinctively knew that she was telling the truth.
"Arthur..."
The witch laughed. "Am I? He's the one who's always lied to you. He has hidden his powers because he doesn't trust you. Hurts, doesn't it?"
She turned to look at Merlin, her eyes holding even more hatred. "You've betrayed your kind, Emrys. You've protected him at the cost of your own life, but he'd kill you without thinking about it twice. Don't you see the look of disgust painted on his face, Emrys? Was it worth it?"
The raven haired man fell on his knees, the events of the day taking their toll on him. His eyes, on the other hand, were full of energy and strong as ever. "Yes, it was. Everything I've done... I'd do it again a thousand times over. I have no regrets."
Morgana rolled her eyes at his display of loyalty. She looked at Arthur again. "What are you waiting for? Finish him. He's everything you've fought against since you were born."
The blonde raised his sword and moved. Morgana turned towards Merlin, wishing to see his face as he died.
Imagine her surprise when she saw the tip of Arthur's sword on her neck. "What...?"
He glared daggers at her, his blue eyes almost unrecognizable in his rage. "You're wrong, Morgana. You are everything I've fought against since I was born. You're the representation of the evil of magic. If Merlin is a sorcerer, his worst sin is to have hidden his skills. But he doesn't have an evil bone in his body. You, on the other hand, are too far gone."
He sighed and his eyes softened. "I'm so sorry, Morgana. I wish things could have gone in a different way," he said, before bringing his arm back, about to run her through.
She smirked. "No mortal blade can kill me."
He raised his eyebrow. "It's worth a try, isn't it?"
He stabbed her silently, maintaining their eyes locked for the whole time.
Her green eyes widened when she felt a wave of dragon magic passing through her.
Arthur twisted his sword and removed it with a squelching sound, keeping his arms around her as he lowered her to the ground, in an act resembling an embrace.
With the thought that, at the end, Emrys had indeed been her doom, she took in a rasping breath and released it.
Nothing followed.
He crouched beside her, closing her eyes and stroking her matted hair, remembering all the times she had forced him to brush it when they were children.
His reverie was interrupted by the sound of a body hitting the ground. He turned around and saw Merlin laying on his back, struggling to keep his eyes opened.
He ran towards him and fell on his knees beside him. The warlock looked at him puzzled.
"You don't hate me?"
He king shook his head, placing his hands on the gaping wound. "No, I don't. I'm angry, really angry, but I don't hate you. I don't think I could ever hate you. Besides, I'm sure you had your reasons for lying to me."
Merlin grinned weakly. "You'd have chopped my head off," he joked.
Arthur's eyes softened. "I don't know what I would have done," he admitted.
The warlock's smile disappeared. "I'm sorry."
The blonde's brow furrowed. "What are you apologizing for?"
"I wanted to be the one to tell you the truth. I never wanted to lie to you. I'm sorry you had to find out this way," he whispered, his voice cracking at the end of the sentence.
Arthur sighed, seeing the pain and the regret into those sparkling blue eyes. "I know. I'm sorry that you didn't feel like you could trust me enough."
Merlin shook his head. "No. I did trust you, I always have and always will. But as you have grown up knowing that magic was evil, I've grown up knowing that I had to hide my gifts or I'd have been killed for having them. At the beginning I didn't tell you because I didn't think you could understand. After some time... I just didn't want things to change. I was a coward," he explained, his eyes bright with unshed tears.
"No, you weren't. You just were an idiot," he replied, smiling tentatively.
The younger man grinned at him, his eyes full of an heartbreakingly innocent hope.
"You've forgiven me?" he asked.
Arthur shook his head. "There's nothing to forgive, Merlin, and you know it."
The raven haired man smiled widely, relief washing over him so strongly that it left him dizzy.
Or maybe that was the blood loss.
At the thought, he unintentionally let out a pained whimper that caught Arthur's attention. The king's gaze fell again on the wound and he frowned, recalling the late witch's words.
"Mordred's sword... It's not an ordinary sword. Nothing can survive its touch. Not even Emrys."
His eyes widened and he inhaled a sharp breath. "No..."
Merlin looked at the king as understanding filled his young, yet full of wisdom, bright eyes. His breath became labored as more blood stained his blue shirt.
He had saved Arthur; that was everything that mattered to him.
But he knew, oh, he knew perfectly well what the blonde was feeling as he bled out in his arms.
The feeling of emptiness, his chest constricting with every painful time his heart beat.
He had felt the same way every time Arthur had been on the verge of dying, or when he had seen him on his knees, felled by Mordred's sword.
But at the end, the vision had come true, hadn't it?
A wave of unbearable pain interrupted his train of thoughts and he let out an involuntary yell.
His eyes met the scared ones of his king, two different shades of blue reflecting the same fear.
As his breath itched he felt Arthur's strong arms wrapping him in an embrace.
He choked and gasped, but not enough breath could reach his lungs.
He tried to swallow the blood bubbling in his throat, but in vain; a thin line of crimson left his mouth as darkness edged at the corners of his vision.
The king tightened his hold on him, shouting that he didn't care about his magic, that he would remove the ban, that he would give him the title of Court Sorcerer and other nonsense as he begged for him not to die.
And Merlin tried, tried with all his might to stay awake, to push away the darkness that was claiming him.
"Arthur..." he called, knowing that all he couldn't hold on for much longer. "Thank you."
Those words couldn't even begin to describe the gratitude the warlock felt towards his friend.
The blonde had completely accepted him. For God's sake, he was begging for him to heal himself with magic!
Two sides of the same coin...
That was what Kilgharrah had meant, wasn't it?
He was glad that Arthur was with him in those moments; he had always thought he would die on the pyre, burned as the sorcerer he was, with his master staring at him with pure hatred in his eyes.
He decided he would do something else for his king. He rested two fingers on the blonde's left temple and transmitted to him all his memories of everything he had done and of everything they had done together.
He saw Arthur's eyes fill with tears as his pale hand fell on the ground.
Was he crying? How could he cry over him, if no man was worth his tears?
Was a sorcerer worth them?
He heard his broken whispers of apologies and his pleas to stay with him.
No, he wasn't crying over a sorcerer. He was crying over a friend, over a half of his soul.
He wanted to stay with Arthur, he wanted to stay beside him as he reunited Albion and allowed the use of magic in Camelot.
But he couldn't, he just couldn't keep his eyes opened anymore.
I'm sorry...
He saw the sun rise as light shone on the bloody battlefield.
"It's a new day," he whispered softly.
Arthur's eyes followed his gaze and noticed the dawning sun.
The most powerful sorcerer to ever walk on earth breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly.
The last thing he saw was his king's panicked face, shouting, tears streaming down his face.
He felt detached as his friend's hands shook him roughly and he smiled at him for the last time.
And finally, he let himself fall into oblivion.
Arthur saw the light fade from Merlin's blue eyes as he gave him a weak smile, before his breath stilled and he became limp in his arms.
"Merlin?" he whispered, shaking his friend's fragile body.
He shook his head in denial when he noticed that Merlin wasn't breathing anymore. "Merlin, you idiot, wake up!" he shouted, voice breaking.
He didn't care that anybody could arrive there and see him; he hugged the warlock and cried. "You can't leave me..." he whispered, almost expecting a witty retort and feeling hopelessness crush him when he didn't receive one. "No..."
He looked at Merlin once again and wiped away the dirt on his sharp cheekbone with his thumb. He tried to ignore the man's paleness and the blood that stained his shirt as he searched for a pulse, finding none.
Sobs wracked his body, raising in pitch, as, with unbearable grief, he came to face the reality that his friend, his brother, was gone forever.
There would be no more jokes, no more smiles, no more laughs.
No more oddly wise words, no more comforting hands on his shoulders, no more races on their horses.
He thought about his friend's bright grin when he had opened the curtains of his room every morning, shouting ridiculous things like 'rise and shine!' or 'let's have you, lazy daisy!'
He smiled at the memory, even as tears streamed down his face.
How was he supposed to go on without Merlin?
He shook his head, wiping his tears away; it was useless to think about it. He would just have to keep on living in his honor.
"It's a new day," Merlin had said with his last breath.
He stood up; nothing was left for him on that bloody battlefield.
He picked his sword, a painful reminder of Merlin's loyalty, and put it in its scabbard.
He gathered the younger man's body in his arms, letting out another sob at his lack of reaction. Merlin was so cold...
He wasn't supposed to be cold. He was supposed to be smiling and joking and affectionately calling him 'prat'.
Arthur closed his eyes and thought about the memories his friend had transmitted to him.
The Lake of Avalon.
That was where he would bring Merlin, where the woman he had loved was waiting for him.
He nodded at himself and continued to walk towards the camp, swallowing the lump in his throat as he thought about his friends' future reaction at the warlock's death.
God, Gaius would be completely broken at seeing the young man in Arthur's arms. Merlin was- had been like a son to him.
Hunith... Merlin's mother would probably die of grief. The king still remembered clearly the woman's love for her son shining brightly in her pale blue eyes.
Guinevere would cry so much. His beautiful, kind Guinevere had lost her best friend just after her brother. And he wouldn't be able to comfort her, for he was even more distraught than she would be.
Gwaine would probably kill him. No, scratch that, Gwaine would surely kill him. And he would probably let him try. He had been supposed to protect Merlin, just as the warlock had been supposed to protect his king, but while the younger man had managed to save him, he had failed.
He had failed him, his brother. He had failed everyone.
Merlin was gone.
And he would never come back.
The reactions of the others had been unsurprisingly similar to those Arthur had predicted, with the only difference that Gwaine had spared him when he had seen the pain his eyes.
Once they had left the battlefield, after burning the bodies of the fallen fighters, both on their side and the enemy's, they had gone straight to the Lake of Avalon, not even thinking about stopping to Camelot. They would have enough time for that.
They had said their goodbyes and had laid Merlin's pale body in a wooden boat.
The king himself had been the one to throw the burning arrow that had lit the boat on fire.
Merlin had received the funeral of a knight, of a noble, and that wasn't even near enough to what he had deserved.
Arthur had removed the ban on magic as he had promised, much to the surprise of his people, who had respected his choice nonetheless.
As soon as they had returned to Camelot, they had discovered Eira's true loyalties and she had been executed the morning after. Gwaine had been pained by her death, but it had been nothing compared to what he had felt when he had seen Merlin laying pale and limp in Arthur's arms, and he had partly blamed her for his death.
Together with Gaius, who seemed to have aged a hundred years since his ward's death, Arthur had recounted Merlin's story to his friends, in a long day filled with fond smiles and tears.
Albion would be reunited not much time later, and it would shine for many years under the reign of King Arthur's and Queen Guinevere's descendants.
Many would say that the king had defied the prophecy, but that wasn't the truth.
For Arthur Pendragon did meet his end at Camlann, that day.
But it wasn't the enemy's sword, but his friend's loyalty that put an end to the life he knew.
The prophets did not lie, for the golden king of Albion died and rose from his ashes, to live and rule for many years to come, but always remembering that a piece of his soul had died, that day, upon the mighty plain of Camlann.
And after thousands of years, when the story of his life became fiction, he would always keep his true name.
The name of the man whose soul had burned, but had risen from its ashes.
The Once and Future King.
Ex cinere surrexit Arthurus, rex quondam, rexque futurus.
From the ashes rose Arthur, king once, and king to be.
FIN.