AN: Neither Merlin or The Hunger Games belong to me.

So I don't know where I'm getting all these Merlin crossovers from, but here's another one. Then I'll get back to my other stories.

Words in bold are Capitol POV

Merlin...

Arthur spoke shakily through the mental line of communication the warlock had set up between them, while trying not to show hesitation as he held a dagger to Merlin's throat.

Arthur, what are you doing?!

Merlin...I can't do it.

The warlock sent him a covertly urgent look, holding still as the blond man in front of him held a blade to him. He knew the outside world was waiting.

"And...any minute now," Caesar Flickerman said, on the edge of his seat along with Claudius Templesmith, waiting for a victor to emerge. It was down to the last two tributes. One was muscular and blond, and looked every bit a career, entering the games with great knowledge of weaponry. The other had surprised them. Thin, gangly, and dark-haired, this tribute had looked the part of a weakling, but his surprising aptitude for survival had earned him a spot in the final two. Even if he hadn't allied himself with the other, no one had expected him to do as well as he did.

You have to! Merlin insisted. Only one of us can be a victor.

Arthur knew he was right. Knew this moment would come. But that didn't make it much easier to strike Merlin down with the weapon in his hand.

Merlin stared at him, the seconds ticking down. His goal had been to get Arthur out of this alive, which he had managed to do. Now all that had to happen was for Arthur to guarantee his own survival. If only he wasn't hesitating to do so.

C'mon, Arthur! Immortality, remember? You have to win so you can fix this! It had been what he'd used before to convince Arthur to do this. That his magic would protect him, that he only had to appear to die, and then Arthur would go on to assist the rebellion and get the country of Panem out of this mess.

Right, Arthur replied. He steeled himself, and then, before he could loose his nerve, he plunged the blade into his friend's chest.

Merlin gasped, but for Arthur's sake held back his cry of pain. He collapsed, blood welling from his wound. He closed his eyes so no one would see them flashing gold, insuring that the tracker in his arm relayed to the Capitol that he was done for good.

"There you have it, folks!" Caesar roared over the exited shouts of the crowd. "Arthur Pendragon, winner of the seventy-third Hunger Games!"

Arthur stared at his friend, limp and bloody on the ground. Then he quickly schooled his expression into one of victory, ignoring how it sickened him that the crowd was raving that Merlin had been killed. Just another interview, then Haymitch would put him into contact with the other people who were tired of living in this world where the rich reveled in the suffering of the poor.

Hell, he was tired of it, and he had only lived in it for barely over a month. He knew, when he returned from Avalon, that the world would be in trouble. That's why he was returning, to try and fix it.

Before the Games had started, Merlin had told him that it was prophesied that the next Hunger Games would bring someone who could bring down the Capitol and its sadistic ways. Arthur had to survive to help bring about this rebellion, and once it had come, step up as a leader, because Katniss Everdeen, no matter how brave, was not one for being a leader, nor had she ever wanted to be.

As he watched the 'corpse' of his friend being picked up by the helipad, he thought that it had better be worth it. Then he realized, that was probably how Merlin had felt all those centuries ago, not knowing if he would succeed.

Well. If Merlin could do it, so could he.