Merlin had known it was coming – how could he not? He knew Lancelot better than anybody, in every single way possible; he could tell from the look in his eyes that there was no other way about it. Arthur could not die: it was his destiny to protect the people of Camelot; Merlin could not die for it was his destiny to look after Arthur but Lancelot…? He had a duty to look after Arthur too, and he had promised the woman who loved him with his life.
But it was not for the reasons everyone thought that caused Lancelot to sacrifice himself; only Merlin knew the real reason.
There had been times in the past few months before Lancelot's death that they had spent together as only two lovers could. They had never discussed what they felt for each other or the situation that they were in. All Merlin knew was that the two of them shared feelings for each other despite the fact that they'd never before been mentioned aloud.
He sat in an empty field quite a way from the Castle but still inside the Kingdom of Camelot, just thinking about the events that had unfolded over the past few days. Merlin knew he would never be able to forgive himself. For Lancelot to just give up his life so simply hurt him more than anything ever had in the world.
The worst part was that he could not get an explanation – why did it have to be Lancelot to give up his life? Why couldn't it have been somebody else? There were plenty of people that deserved to die. Merlin could feel the anger building up inside of him as he continued to pick at the grass around him, slowly and slowly getting more aggressive until he was ripping the blades out from their roots with such force.
It left him almost exhausted. The young warlock could not fathom the pain and sorrow he felt inside; it was a familiar feeling to what he experienced when Freya died but this was greater, it was more powerful and all he wanted to do was break down and howl with grief. But he had to be strong; Merlin knew that if he wasn't then nobody could. Guinevere tried to hide her despair but it was painfully obvious; Arthur attempted to be stronger for her but he too couldn't suppress the guilt that was almost crippling him for it had been his duty to protect the people of Camelot.
They all felt their losses, and nobody wanted to do anything anymore. Lancelot had made everything seem alive and happy with his positive attitude and the way that he was always smiling. Merlin's mouth twitched at the memory of Lancelot's grin looking at him, especially the beam that used to grace his perfect face as they lay entwined together, the bed sheets twisted around them in their own private little sanctuary.
As he sat, calmer now, tears stinging his eyes as they fell and stained his skin, Merlin thought some more. He thought about how he could bring Lancelot back; how there had to be a way no matter what… Surely there was – he was a powerful, young Warlock, there had to be something he could do. Unwavering now, he stood, stronger than ever like a surge of determination had just pulsed through his veins.
He was going to get Lancelot back, if it was the last thing he ever did.