Merlin sat near a small pond that lay in the woods, his boots mere inches from the cool water. As day turned towards cruel night, the tears which traveled down his cheeks seemed almost to freeze. Merlin no longer felt like the world's most powerful sorcerer. He didn't feel like anyone. His physical heart still beat, but his spiritual one froze the exact second Arthur's had. Because if Kilgharrah was correct, that's all it had done. It would thaw again one day, Arthur would return, and, and….
It was his fault.
That he had to wait, that the soul of Arthur Pendragon was stuck in limbo. Years back he could have prevented it. It killed Merlin inside, because the mistakes were ones he made, for they were deeds that if carried out would have made him cruel. If Mordred had died years ago this could have prevented it, but Merlin saved the boy. That had been wrong, supposedly. No, he was supposed to let an innocent child die merely because of something he could do in the future. If Merlin had let him die because of a mere possibility, he would have been no better than Uther Pendragon, the man whose morals clashed strongly against his.
Yet letting Mordred live wasn't his only mistake. No, he had been given another chance. When Morgana fell, it could have all been over. She would have died as nature had intended, and Arthur may yet be alive. Again, Merlin was given the choice between two evils. Had she died, Arthur and Uther would have been crushed, and he would have been forced to endure watching the spirits of the men decline with the death of their beloved Morgana. Merlin thought he could help. He couldn't bare to see the sorrow within Arthur, so he let her live. That wasn't even the gravest mistake he had made. No. It really hadn't been. It wasn't letting Mordred live, or Morgana for that matter that killed Arthur in the end. It was him. He had simultaneously slain king and manservant with nine words.
There can be no place for magic in Camelot.
With each word Merlin muttered he had stabbed himself in the heart. The words took a bit longer to kill Arthur, however. He had been told that Mordred would be Arthur's downfall, so he said the words he had hoped would save him at the expense of the warlock's own emotions. There can be no place for magic in Camelot. He hadn't known. In that moment Merlin had either killed Arthur, or ensured his fate, and he hated himself for it. He hated himself every moment spent without the king, and he would with each moment that followed. There was no way around it, he was dead now. Magic was not legal in Camelot. There was no shining golden age of Albion, not then. It wasn't gold, it was rusted tin, deformed and falling apart. Merlin stared at the water and licked his lips. His pale hands, now whiter than ever were trembling with sorrow.
If he had let Mordred die as a child, he would have betrayed his morals. He would not have been Merlin, he would be a man with a heart so hard that it could crush stone. Allowing Morgana to die would have caused guilt as well, because a voice would always whisper inside his ear that he could have prevented it. Either way, Merlin would have lost. Either way he would have done something that would be regretted, something that made him feel like a complete idiot. Perhaps he was one. Perhaps he had always been such.
A small part inside Merlin now spoke against the magic inside him. If he did not have magic, he would not have so many cruel choices to make. Without magic he would have been as powerless and as blameless as everyone else. Yet that was not who Merlin was. Merlin was Emrys. Merlin was hope.
Perhaps that hope would take a thousand years, perhaps two before it became anything more. But for Arthur, two thousand years would be worth it. For Arthur he would endure all that pain in the world, he would take the slow path. If he hadn't made the mistakes in the past, he wouldn't be human. He had made mistakes, and he would make many more. But every mistake, every misstep would be made with the intent for good. Everything he did would be for the man he believed in. Death did not matter. Death would not tear that belief from Merlin's chest. He would wait.
He would travel the world as an empty shell. He would be a locked box, and Arthur would be the key. Each day until Arthur's return would be an eternity, but it would be worth it.
Merlin stood then. Perhaps he did not love himself, but he would not, could not hate himself. Not while he had hope. Kilgharrah had promised Albion a golden age, and perhaps that golden ages had generations to wait, but when it came, Merlin would be waiting. Merlin would be there.
He would be there for Arthur
Author's note: I do not own Merlin or bbc or any of that jazz. Anyways. I sort of hate myself for writing this because it is HORRIBLY depressing. To me at least. Like, I'm going to need to write some sort of happy bromance fic to make up for this one, because jeez. But I had to write it, because…. I have a lot of issues with how Merlin ended, to be honest, but I won't bug you guys with my rants because you don't want to read that. But anyways, one thing that did bug me was how it was seriously made to look like Arthur's death was Merlin's fault because if he didn't have compassion and let Morgana and Mordred live those times, Arthur would not of died. And the no place for magic line. Don't even. Don't. Anyways, that aside, please fav and review! :-)