Merlin panted.
He had risen from his restless bed at this late hour, unable to sleep. He had snuck out of the castle with ease and run until his legs burned. Until he had found a field far enough away that he wouldn't be disturbed.
He knew somewhere in the back of his mind that tomorrow he would awaken in his own bed, rise and go about his duties, and when someone told a joke he would laugh and smile again.
But, for now he thought of all the years he had suffered in silence while others got the credit.
He thought of all he had sacrificed, all he had lost in his fight to keep Arthur alive.
He thought of all the times he had been wounded, both physically and emotionally for this cause that could so easily fall to nothing.
He saw, once again, his vision of Arthur's death at Mordred's hand.
He saw the faces of all those who had tried to kill Arthur, all those he had killed.
He thought of the disaster that would surely follow if he were to fail in his mission to protect the King.
He thought of all of the innocent people who would suffer if Merlin's efforts fell short.
He thought of all those who trusted him, who depended on him to bring about a better life.
He thought of Killgarrah, almost the last of his kin, and how empty life would be once he was gone.
He thought of Alator, his loyal friend, who had suffered and died to keep his secret.
He thought of Finna, the woman who had given her all to ensure his safety.
For once, he could not stop all the fear, pain, frustration, and loss from cresting over him like a wave coming to crush his very soul.
And Merlin screamed.