Merlin was tired. She had plagued him long enough. That witch. He couldn't understand how he'd let himself get so caught up in this mess. There were few things that he was certain of in this life, and they were as follows; firstly, Arthur Pendragon was the biggest prat in all of history and secondly, that prat was the saviour of mankind. There was one other thing that he was sure about. And that was that the witch was the only one that could entrance him in this way. She would be his downfall, probably. It certainly felt that way sometimes.
"Merlin," she would call beguilingly, "Merlin."
And no matter where he was, no matter what he was doing, he would answer. He would always answer because after a day full of tedious chores for the prince, after receiving lectures about magic and housework and becoming a better physician from Gaius, after being fussed over by Gwen for being so damned clumsy, she was the object of every thought that filled his mind. Every spare moment he had was spent with her in his thoughts. She was like an itch beneath his skin. Manifesting at the back of his consciousness, a constant need just slightly out of reach.
Those close to him had noticed his odd behaviour. But they hadn't let it concern them because they knew that Merlin had a way of righting himself without the need for their interference. His far off look and the wistfulness in his brown eyes had become a regular thing. Arthur, in particular, enjoyed bringing him back to reality with a sharp blow to the back of the head.
His desperation to hold her close had been so strong these last few weeks. At one point he had thought that he had seen her browsing the market stalls in the lower quarter. But the dark haired maiden had not been his. Her eyes had been a shocking green, not the silvery colour he was accustomed to. And her hair, upon a second inspection, had been closer to raven than to the comfortingly rich chocolate brown that adorned his lady's head. It had been a sorry jolt to his system when he realised how long it had truly been since they had been together. Until her recalled why they had been parted in the first place.
Merlin's anger at her was not uncalled for. She had done many bad things in her time but this was by far the worst. She knew what Arthur had meant to him. She knew of his belief that Arthur would end all suffering. She knew of his deep regard for him. Yet still she had made an attempt on the crowned prince's life. Never had they fought like this. Never had she been so harsh with her words, and never had he cut her so deep with his. The pair that had seemed to unlikely and yet so perfect, had shattered. The pieces of their broken hearts had scattered across the forest floor where they had yelled their voices hoarse.
"How could you?!" he had cried.
"I did what I thought was best, Merlin!" she yelled in return.
"You know that's not true!"
"He hates us. He hates our kind. He'll never accept magic, or those who possess it."
"He is not his father."
"No, but he will be," she whispered.
"You don't know that. He's my friend, perhaps he will see reason," he tried.
"He won't. I know the Pendragons. They cannot change."
"How could you know? You are a witch who has spent all of her life lamenting over all the unjust things that have happened in your lifetime. You are blinded by bitterness and hatred."
"No. I have seen what Uther does, and what he is teaching his son to do. I have witnessed their destruction first hand. So have you. They will never accept us."
He decided to try a new tactic. "Perhaps you are right. But you must promise me that you won't harm him."
"I can't promise you that, Merlin."
"Please. My destiny and his are entwined. By hurting him you shall be hurting me. I would risk my life to save him, you know I would."
"I shan't hurt him. For your sake. But I can't stay here. Not anymore. I'm leaving."
"What?" he choked out.
"I can't stay. Not after what I've done," she sighed.
"You can't leave," he told her.
"Why not?" she replied.
"Because I need you."
"You need me?" she scoffed, "you are destined to become the greatest sorcerer of all time. You are Emrys. You don't need me."
"Yes I do. You are a priestess of the old religion. You are the greatest woman that I have ever known. You are the reason I have made it this far. Please, stay."
"I can't."
"You can't? Or you refuse to?"
"Merlin, we are not having this conversation. I am leaving. I'm sorry," at this point she was on the brink of tears.
"Will you ever return?" he hoped.
"No."
"Can I ever see you again?" the desperation in his tone was evident now.
Her broken voice echoed in his heart when she gave him the answer that he had been dreading the most. Her eyes of silver were empty, her cheeks were damp with tears, and her hands trembled with regret.
"No."
She embraced him for a final time, holding on for a few seconds longer than necessary. He closed his eyes, taking in her scent and feeling her long curls tickle his cheeks. She pressed her soft lips to his, their brief kiss mingling with her tears. And then she turned and fled. He chased in the direction that she had gone, but there was no hope. She had vanished, and with him she had left a part of her heart.
That had been weeks ago. A stray tear crawled its way down his cheek and onto his pillow, in no hurry to arrive at its destination. He stared at the ceiling of his bedroom, wishing that there could have been another way for him to be reunited with the woman who had claimed his love for her own.
What felt to him like an eternity later, although in reality it was only thirty months, Merlin travelled to the Isle of the Blessed in order to give his life for the prince's. Gaius, willing to sacrifice himself for the young warlock, tried to take his place. But once there, they met her. The woman that haunted his dreams. This was where she had been hiding.
"No, Gaius, you can't," Merlin cried to his old friend.
"You are young and much too valuable to lose. I am old, it is my time."
Someone must drink from the cup of life. Someone must die. They all knew this. And the witch knew that Merlin would never allow it to be Gaius. So much so that he had already knocked the older gentleman unconscious to prevent the old man from certain death. But he was right, Arthur must live. She had seen now. And the man who she had come to adore was about to sacrifice himself. But the world could not have Arthur without his Merlin. So there was only one way to solve this. And if it saved his life, she would willingly give her own in return.
She raised the cup to her mouth and smiled sadly at him. The trepidation that filled his stare shook her very being. Her name shaped his lips in horror as she drank the cursed liquid. Now, she thought, how ironic that the salvation of Camelot would need to be saved himself by the likes of her.
His warm coffee gaze met her eyes the colour of the moon for the last time, a smile on her delicate lips and a frown adorning his. He ran towards her, screaming for her to stop. But it was too late. He was blown sideways from the force of the explosion. A bright light filled the ruins on the island, coating everything with its brilliance. With no more warning than a heartrending smile, she was gone from his life, more permanently than he could ever have envisaged.
Had anyone been around to witness this aftermath of the encounter, they would have seen nothing a broken man kneeling with his hand placed on a charred spot on the grass and an elderly gentleman sprawled gracelessly a few feet from him. But it is not the sight that would cause one to stop and notice. It is the sounds of the wind blowing wildly through remains of the old castle, the feel of complete and utter loss and desolation in the air, the cries of anguish from the weeping man, the smell of sorrow fresh in the breeze, the sense of total devotion permeating the area around the heart broken.
Merlin looked skywards with eyes distorted by saltwater tears and whispered to her softly.
"I'll see you at the end of things."
And centuries later, when finally it was his turn to leave this earth, he smiled. Long after the days of King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table had become nothing more than old myths and legends, when the world no longer believed in magic, and the names Guinevere and Gwaine and Lancelot and Merlin had lost most of their meaning, he lay in his bed to take his final breaths.
"Are you going to live?" a boy asked from his side.
"I'm afraid not, my dear grandson," he replied. The boy was not really his grandson, for he had never had children as he had never loved another in all his centuries quite like he loved his witch.
"Why not? You have lived so long, why not for longer now?" the child cried.
"Because, she is waiting for me," he soothed, it felt good to be needed.
"The lady from your stories?" he asked.
"Yes, I have not seen her in many years," he explained.
"And King Arthur and his knights? And his horrid wife, Guinevere?" he questioned.
"Queen Guinevere was one of the most wonderful people I have ever met. Those legends are wrong about her, you know. She would never have done that to Arthur, she loved him with all her heart. I want you to remember that. You cannot believe all that is written in history books, I know, I was there. You must recall all that my stories have taught you. You will be a good man," he said.
"I love you, Grandfather."
"I love you too."
A few hours later, Merlin awoke in a place all coloured in white. He could make out some figures in the background, whispering melodiously. He looked at his hands, fingers long and pale and wrinkle free. He was not an old man anymore. It occurred to him that this must be death.
Vision adjusting to the light, the faces of the people chattering amongst themselves became clearer. There was the friend who he had last seen boarding the fateful journey of the Titanic, the man who he had lived with back in 1875, all those who had meant one thing or another to him during his lifetime. And there, to the left of the woman who had taken him in when he had contracted smallpox in 1438, was Gaius. The man, who had been like a father to him, was talking animatedly with the Knights of the Round Table, and even Morgana and Mordred had seemed to make their peace with the others. Well, they had had centuries to do so. Their King and Queen were murmuring quietly to one another, most likely they'd had another quarrel and Arthur was attempting to make it up to Gwen.
The warlock smiled, scanning the room of oblivious loved ones. It had been a regrettably long time since he had seen most of them, and his life had been shaped in many ways from their influences. But there was once face who was not so oblivious. The one person, amongst the many who had come to meet him, that was staring directly at him, had dark chestnut curls and eyes the colour of moonlight. She smiled slowly and walked towards him, without attracting the attention of the others. This was their time, their reunion, their moment and theirs alone.
He looked at her for a moment before holding her tightly in his arms. It had been several lifetimes since he had felt so whole. It was as if a missing part of him had been restored, a piece of him that he was pretty sure had been located right in the centre of his heart.
After a silence filled with incomparable adoration, he looked her squared in the eyes and asked her the question that he had kept for many centuries. "Why did you do that? How dare you leave me all alone like that, and then sacrifice yourself for me? Do you know what that did to me?"
Her musical laugh reached his ears.
"Because I love you, Merlin."
"Love, as in, present tense?"
"Of course, it's you. It's always been you."
They had mere moments before their other companions realised that their long lost friend had awakened, but those moments were the most precious.
"I love you too, Nimueh."