Just One Truth
KnockKnock7
No copyright infringement intended.
"Arthur!" The cry startles him out of a restless sleep and he jumps to alertness, his sword in his hand, before he is even aware of who has called out to him.
"Arthur, your army's flank is vulnerable. There's an old path over the ridge at Camlann, Morgana knows of it. She means to trap us, Arthur. Find the path or the battle will be over before it's begun," Merlin says hurriedly, the words falling out of his mouth so quickly it's hard to keep track of them.
Arthur stares blankly at his servant. He wonders, hopes, that this is some sort of sick dream. Merlin is covered in dirt from head to toe. There are holes in his customary clothes as if he had fallen down a long ways. But the worst part is: he is covered in what is unmistakably blood. There's so much blood, Arthur wonders how he's even standing. There are cuts on his face and arms, a huge gash on the right side of his face as if somebody hit him with a rock, and though he can't see the damage, Arthur can see that there's something wrong with Merlin's left leg. What could possibly have happened to him?
Merlin had been with Arthur just a little bit ago, preparing him for bed and speaking words of his meaningless prattle interspersed with his wise reassurances that Arthur was indeed doing the right thing. And now...now, Merlin looks like he lived through a battle while Arthur tried to sleep.
"Arthur, we need to find the path!" he reiterates as Arthur continues to stare at him. Merlin is looking at Arthur as if he doesn't understand why his king is being so slow about this. And he's right, if this information is true, and Arthur has no doubt that it is, then they must work quickly. But...
"Merlin, how do you know this?" he asks. He doesn't doubt the accuracy but he needs to know how his servant could possibly have attained it. He needs to know if Merlin is alright, but he bottles those words up because he recognizes that look in Merlin's eyes; it's the look that Merlin gets when he has become so single-mindedly focused on one task and nothing—certainly not his own well-being—can distract him from completing it.
Merlin's eyes slide somewhere to the right of Arthur's shoulder and the King braces himself for what will come next. "As I was leaving you, I saw someone leaving the camp. It could have been anything, so I decided to follow him—stupid, I know, I should have spoken to the watch and informed you, but I didn't. Anyway, I followed him; he met with a Saxon guard and they spoke of some hidden path. They saw me there at the end while I was leaving." He shrugs casually, dismissing the matter. "As I was running I fell down the cliff—you know how clumsy I am, but it saved me from them."
The king looks at his servant, at his friend, and knows that he is lying. Arthur knows that Merlin lies to him constantly. It hurts him, but he's never confronted him about it. He knows that Merlin has never ventured into the taverns without Arthur pushing him in. He knows that Merlin would never abandon his side for a girl—or anyone—when there is such an important peace treaty to be made. He knows these are lies and so many more but he does not know why Merlin lies. Does not know where Merlin disappears to when he's gone for hours or days unexpectedly, does not know why he returns home with limps and bruises and eyes dark with sadness, and he does not how Merlin came by this information now.
Arthur knows that Merlin lies to him about things, but Arthur trusts no one more than he trusts his servant. Merlin may lie to him about himself but the King knows he would never lie to Arthur where his well-being and Camelot's safety are concerned.
One day, Merlin will trust him with the whole truth, but until then, Arthur is willing to wait.
"Alright, let's find this path."
"Merlin," he orders in a low voice, his hand on his servant's shoulder, "stay here with Gaius and Guinevere, they'll need all the help they can get and you're more than qualified." These words are all true but Arthur doesn't pretend to himself that honesty is what compels him to say them. A war zone is no place for innocent, injured man-servants.
"Yes, Sire," Merlin answers. Arthur gives his thin, frail shoulder a reassuring squeeze and takes one last look at Gaius, mixing some potion over the fire, at his beautiful Guinevere, getting bandages ready to use, at Merlin, staring at him with fire in his eyes.
Arthur leaves, and tries to pretend that he doesn't know that Merlin was lying.
The battle rages on and Arthur is consumed by rage and fire and survival. His sword slices through armor and bone; his feet and fists hit all who come too close. He fights for all that is right. For Camelot, in all her splendor. For the nobles, who will have to pick up the pieces of this war. For the merchants, who will have to find a way to supply the people. For the villagers, who are unprotected and innocent. He fights for every citizen of Camelot, for his people.
He swirls, dispatches another enemy, and catches a glimpse of blue and brown and red behind him.
But there is another enemy and another behind him and yet another. Arthur can only hope that Merlin will be able to take care of himself. Arthur raises his sword again.
"For the love of Camelot!"
In the heat of battle, Arthur loses track of those splashes of color in a world of gray and white and blood-red. He is surrounded by enemies; his strength is failing. But he will not give in.
He surveys the men before him, assessing them. He wonders if this will be the moment when he will die for his people.
And then the ground is shaking and a ferocious storm hits so suddenly it cannot be natural. Arthur is just as surprised by the accurate lightening strikes but he uses them to his advantage and attacks without hesitation.
"Arthur!" A cry rips through the sounds of the battlefield, filled with so much desperation and emotion that the King cannot help but turn towards the voice.
He is aware of danger behind him; he sees the glint of a sword raised to strike and then Merlin crashes into him and he is pushed forcefully into the ground. His shoulder aches in protest as it comes into contact with the earth beneath him but he takes no heed to it. He looks to where he had been standing just in time to see Mordred cut Merlin down.
Arthur's world stops in that one moment.
He is aware of everything around him: the men moaning in pain, the still bodies of those who will never speak again, the wind swirling around carrying the scents of blood and sweat and death in its wake. He can see the sword slice open Merlin's skin, sees the blood as it spurts out, staining the rocks beneath him. He can see the pain in Merlin's eyes. He can see Mordred smile coldly.
And suddenly Arthur's world comes into blinding focus.
His stabs his sword into Mordred's heart before the traitor even realizes what has happened.
He turns towards his servant only to see Merlin fall to his knees, the ground already soaked in his blood.
"Merlin!" Arthur cries, running over to his fallen friend, abandoning his weapon without a thought. "Merlin, are you al—" He cuts himself off because he can see that his servant is so very not alright.
Merlin's eyes flicker in his direction but then they slide over to Mordred's body; he stares, transfixed, as if he has never seen anything quite like it before.
Arthur calls his name again, forcefully, trying to snap him out of whatever trance he has fallen into. He looks at the mess and the blood gushing out of the wound and Arthur feels something inside of him break at the sight.
Nothing can save Merlin now. Even if Arthur could somehow staunch the bleeding, there is no hope of sewing this wound back together.
"Merlin?" he questions and his voice is trembling with the force of his emotions but for once he lets them free. "Merlin, please look at me."
But Merlin just continues staring at Mordred's corpse.
"Emrys!" Arthur's blood runs cold at the scream and there's a part of himself that orders him to stand up and fight this rage that is Morgana Pendragon but Merlin is dying and he cannot leave him.
At the scream, Merlin's eyes, finally, snap to his master's face and he shakes himself suddenly, the spell from which he had been frozen broken, it seems. Then he tries to stand.
"No, Merlin, just stay down," he orders but Merlin, like he always does, disobeys and stands on shaking legs.
Arthur, once again, admires the strength of the man before him.
Recognizing that to argue would be a waste of precious time, Arthur recaptures his sword and faces his sister side by side with his friend.
He hears the roar of the creature before he sees them; a speck in the sky. Morgana will not even face them on equal footing, but will attack from above.
Arthur knows that he cannot defeat the dragon let alone Morgana, but he stands sure, ready to fight them all the same.
And then, Merlin speaks in a voice low and full of pure power and suddenly the dragon flips over and Morgana falls to the ground.
Arthur feels suddenly that his world is crumbling apart, all that he had ever thought crashing down around him.
But he has no time for betrayals and anger and hurt and emotion because Morgana is screaming for their blood and saying words that he does not understand but he can feel the hatred spewing forth out of her.
He can see the dragon preparing to bathe them in flames that will burn them till they are nothing but ashes. Arthur is powerless against both of them but he raises his sword again and prepares for death.
He will throw his sword at Morgana, he decides in a split second, if his aim is true and he does it now, while she is distracted then he can at least stop the spell.
But before he can act upon his plan, Merlin raises his blood-soaked hand and his eyes suddenly flash to gold. Arthur is not aware of the sword behind him until it flies past his unprotected back and embeds itself into Morgana's heart. Her scream cuts short as she falls to the ground, her eyes staring upward in surprise.
Arthur stares and stares at the man before him and feels as if he has finally found all the pieces that make up who Merlin is.
Arthur finally has the truth.
His victory is short lived though and he is brought back into this moment as the dragon screams and from her mouth bursts hot, burning flames.
Arthur never even feels them, though, as Merlin raises his hand and his eyes flash golden once more, and then there is a shield between the flames and themselves. Arthur cannot even feel the heat from them. He marvels at the power in Merlin's eyes.
Merlin murmurs words in that indecipherable language and Arthur does not even blink, because everything makes so much more sense now. The dragon is screaming and there is an unnatural wind that snaps her wings and abruptly she is crashing to the ground.
Then Merlin looks at him in desperation and screams one word, "No!"
And suddenly Arthur is flying through the air, away—too far away from Merlin. He hits the rock wall but feels no pain at the impact, nothing but a soft caress. Merlin, he realizes, must have softened his fall.
Merlin!
And suddenly, Arthur is running, running as fast as he can possibly can. He sees Mordred's body and the pool of Merlin's blood; he sees Morgana's corpse and the sword that was created to kill him but instead destroyed its creator. Arthur sees the dragon, dead, its wings in pieces, its eyes staring upwards in malice.
But of Merlin, he sees no sign.
"Merlin?" he calls again and again, desperately trying to find his... What was Merlin to him now? There are so many pieces still missing, so many things that Arthur does not understand, but he knows that he does not want to abandon Merlin. Not after the lies and the betrayals. Not after the sorcery. Not after the truth.
"Merlin!" he screams again.
But there is only silence.
Arthur comes back again to the last place he saw his servant, his guardian, his friend. He must be here, though Arthur has already searched and could not find him.
"No!" he cries and in his frustration kicks the corpse of the dragon. He kicks and punches, screaming in grief.
He cannot lose Merlin.
Suddenly the strength bleeds out of him and he crumples to the ground in defeat. And that's when he hears it, a whimper. It's a whisper in the silence but Arthur hears it and knows that Merlin is close.
He stares in horror at the dragon's body and understands where his friend is.
He hates the dragon, in that moment, more than he has ever hated anything else. This monster crushed his friend and Merlin had known, had understood its intent. And instead of saving himself, he had pushed Arthur to safety.
In that moment, Arthur thinks that he hates Merlin too. Hates his self-sacrificing idiot who didn't have an ounce of self-preservation in him. Hates that he always puts Arthur before himself, every single time.
Arthur stands once more and pushes against the dragon, but of course it barely even moves.
"Get off of him!" he screams. But his strength is no match for the dragon, even in death. Arthur stares and then in one last ditch attempt he says, "Merlin, if you can hear me, I think I need a little bit of help."
Then he takes a deep breath and tries to do the impossible. He pushes and the dragon's body moves beneath his hands.
And Arthur finally finds his missing friend.
"Merlin?" he whispers, his mind reeling from the sight before him. Merlin's body is a mass of gore, blood seeping from so many wounds, his chest looks like it's fallen into itself, and there are huge talon-shaped chunks missing from his body.
Arthur is frozen, unable to move, unable to process what this means.
Merlin's eyes, wide in the blinding light, dark with pain, look up at him as if he is the most beautiful sight he has ever laid eyes on. "I'm sorry, Sire," he says, his voice harsh and the words rough with pain.
Arthur's heart breaks at the words and he is shaken from his stupor. He falls to the ground, his knees protesting at the harshness of the stones, but Arthur is only aware of the man before him. How is he even breathing?
"Merlin, it's okay, just...just breathe, okay?" he forces out through his frozen mouth. Please, please no.
"S...Sire." Merlin tries again and Arthur is angry because he needs Merlin to shut up and let Arthur think about what they can possibly do. There has to be something!
"Merlin, it's okay," he snaps, unable to contain his frustration, "Just, just don't try to talk. Just focus on breathing." Though how that can possibly help, Arthur doesn't know, because he can hear the rise and fall of Merlin's chest as his broken bones grate upon each other with each breath he takes. Arthur cannot imagine the pain that Merlin is in. His trembling hands hover over him, uncertain of where to even begin.
But Merlin never did learn when to shut up so he keeps trying, forcing words out between labored breaths and pain-filled whimpers. "Arthur, I'm sorry. Magic...born wi—born." The words are all jumbled up but Arthur listens to them, listens to Merlin's last words... "Born—ma—magic. So—sorr—Sorry. Lies...Guilty...Sorry...Si—Sire."
The words, softly spoken and jumbled together, are Merlin's confession of guilt.
They are the truth that Arthur has waited so long to hear.
But he doesn't want to know, not like this. He wants to hear it with Merlin's ever present commentary of how oblivious Arthur has been and how many times he really has saved him and and... He wants Merlin to live to tell him the truth the way Arthur has always envisioned.
But he does not want these words of guilt to be the last things that Merlin ever tells him. It's selfish, he thinks, but Arthur doesn't care.
"Merlin, please," he whispers and feels tears begin to fall from his eyes. He doesn't care about them. "Please, it's alright. I don't care. Not right now." Maybe never, if he's completely honest, "Just, for once in your life, be quiet!"
Merlin's flow of words do stop but he is coughing now and Arthur holds his head up to ease him then tries to stop the blood once more. There's too much, he knows, he would have to have an entire army of hands to stop the bleeding.
Arthur holds onto him anyway, trying to keep Merlin's life force inside of him. Merlin keeps breathing, short ragged breaths. But he still breathes and Arthur still fights for him.
He does not know what Merlin is thinking as he stares at Arthur; his expression is so heartbreaking that the king is not sure he wants to know.
Arthur looks into his eyes, that color between gray and blue and remembers those eyes lightening to gold, and a solution appears to him. "Merlin, you have magic," he says, his voice breaking the silence with hope.
"Sorry," Merlin breathes out but Arthur doesn't care about that. He only cares that if Merlin had the power to command the elements, to force a dragon to his will, to kill Morgana Pendragon, then Merlin must surely have the power to heal himself.
"No," he brushes aside the unneeded apology, "Merlin, just heal yourself."
Merlin's brow furrows and his eyes slide past Arthur a couple of times before he is able to focus on him again.
"Merlin, as your King..." No, that's not right, that sounds too much like an emotionless tyrant, "as your fr—as your friend, I command you to heal yourself. Using your magic." Those last three words should burn coming out of his mouth but instead they slide off into the open air as if there were nothing more acceptable.
But Merlin refuses to accept Arthur's perfectly reasonable plan. "I—can't, Si..." Arthur is alarmed at the way Merlin's voice falls away into coughing once more and his eyes close tiredly.
Arthur shakes him, but oh so gently, and Merlin's eyes open once more. Arthur's hope is dwindling away with each passing second.
"Why not?" he cries softly, and he is not aware of the way his voice trembles.
Merlin frowns again but manages to gather the strength to speak from somewhere deep inside himself. "Doesn't...Healing...not..." After every word he has to stop and rest before continuing—it is a far cry from the Merlin that Arthur is used to, that Arthur needs. "My st—strong..." Then his voice trails off and Arthur is forced to accept his plan won't be fulfilled.
He can ask no more from Merlin. He should let his friend slip away into death as peacefully and as quickly as he can but Arthur cannot let him go. He can't lose Merlin, he just can't!
"Merlin...please, stay with me," he begs his friend, and he believes that if Merlin would only keep fighting, then somehow, he will live.
"Arthur..." Merlin's voice is so soft and hoarse that Arthur can barely understand him but he leans closer until his forehead rests on Merlin's own—he feels the fever raging, feels the trembling in every part of Merlin's body, feels his breath as he whispers his last words. "Pl—please, don't...ha—hate...me."
Arthur cannot breathe, cannot answer, cannot even formulate a thought. How can Merlin of all people think that Arthur could ever hate him? Forget the lies and forget the truth! Merlin was Arthur's first, true friend. The voice that pulled him from the dark, the eyes that spoke only truth, the one person that had never really betrayed Arthur. Even with the taint of Merlin's lies and the brightness of his truth, Arthur could never hate Merlin.
"No, Merlin," he finally gets out, and it's not enough but his words are fleeing in the face of this nightmare. "No, I won't hate you. I'll never hate you." It's a promise and Arthur Pendragon is a man of his word.
Merlin does not look like he believes him and Arthur opens his mouth to convince him—somehow he will, but he never gets the chance. Merlin shudders and convulses, his hand begins to flail around, and he cries out in sudden pain.
It is the first verbal cry of pain that he has uttered.
Arthur grabs hold of his hand with both of his and crushes it, trying to give Merlin all the strength he has, trying to tell him in this touch all the things his tongue won't say, trying to tell him that he is not alone. Never alone.
"Merlin, please," Arthur begs once more, because he can't give in even now that death has made its presence known. "Please, don't leave me."
His voice is small but somehow Merlin hears him and whispers, "So—sorry, Sire."
"No!" Arthur screams in grief and pain. He keeps a hold of Merlin's hand though, trying so hard to keep him here, with Arthur where he belongs.
Merlin looks straight into Arthur's eyes and the king can barely see through his weeping but he keeps his eyes open and he memorizes this last look, because he knows there will never be another. Even now, in the face of death, Merlin looks at him in trust and loyalty.
And then his eyes roll upward, his body goes limp, and he breathes no more.
A part of Arthur Pendragon dies then, a part that was full of happiness and trust and belief and love.
Arthur screams a wordless sound of pure anguish.
He sits there surrounded by the death of his greatest enemies and the body of his best friend. It's over, a part of him whispers, no more Morgana, no more wars. There will finally be peace. The cost, he thinks, is too great. Arthur has always been willing to die for Camelot but he never wanted anyone to die for him. He never wanted to hold his servant in his arms while he died.
Time passes around him but Arthur simply sits by the body of his friend; he's still holding onto Merlin's hand.
He doesn't know that he'll ever let him go.
So yeah, I don't need my heart or anything. Hopefully, you don't either...
Thanks to AntiKryptonite for editing again!
And thank you for reading.