The coin lies on its side, heads up, tails down. Arthur is crowned prince. Merlin, a servant, a sorcerer, no friend of Camelot, no friend of Arthur. They are strangers, enemies, even. They call each other names, they banter, they laugh, they anger one another. Are we friends? Merlin wonders. Can we be friends? Maybe one day, but Arthur doesn't know. Can he ever know?
Heads up.
Arthur's heartbeat is slowing. Merlin's is quickening, panic, fear coursing through his veins like the blood from his heart. The coin is tipping… a flash of lightening.
The coin falls flat.
They are friends now, Merlin likes to think. They're more than just two fates intertwined. Arthur values his judgment, keeps him by his side, not as a servant, but as a friend. Merlin sees Arthur as a king, regardless of who holds the crown. He swears to stay by Arthur 'I am happy to be your servant, til the day I die,' but he wavers when he sends her away, heart breaking like the lock that started this tragic love story. She rules the lake now, the coin is slipping, slipping, falling.
It lands heads up.
The land is asleep, Arthur is fading, Merlin is choking himself awake, much like the betrayal that he served his friend, no… Morgana. He falls and gets burned.
Heads up.
Old wounds still bleed, shadowed figures return, enemies dressed as friends. Poisonous relations course through the city's blood, each beat from the heart nearly sending her to her knees. Merlin is strained, no longer recognizing friend from foe. The kingdom is falling, her king long gone. Arthur is afraid, and Merlin knows his task. The goblet plummets, as does the ceiling, the two left standing amidst the dust.
Heads up.
The tear sucks the warmth from life. Merlin shivers when Arthur speaks, but tries not to smile at the young prince. Nobility will take you so far, put the kingdom first, put others before yourself. His rule will be long and prosperous. The cold is overwhelming, a figure moves to the shadows. Merlin screams.
Heads up.
Arthur is grieving, his father dies and Merlin has sealed his own fate.
Heads up.
She plays with his mind like a child would a toy, but loyalty prevails, Arthur's name ringing in his head, clear, like a bell.
Heads up.
The pain of a once lost friend lost once more is re-lived. The pain of a freshly lost friend is deeper than ever.
The once and future king sits upon his newly reclaimed throne.
LONG LIVE THE QUEEN
It rings through the halls. The coin radiates light, Camelot is merely crowning.
The coin remains tails down. The Disir hope to balance it soon.
Arthur's bane has returned. 'You should have killed him when you had the chance,' Merlin scolds himself, scolds the young boy who couldn't let his kin die. Oh, how foolish.
The light is fading from the coin now. A shadow has diminished its shine. Arthur's head spins, Merlin sees a chance and he takes it. 'Magic has no place in Camelot.' He grinds the coin into the dirt with the heel of his boot. The surface is tarnished. One can barely see if the coin is heads up, but Merlin knows.
The horrifying screams echo in their heads long after they depart the Tower. The table is emptying. The coin is buried.
The Queen is hollow, her love is gone, her golden heart replaced by the cold steel of hatred. Can love really prevail over magic?
Merlin almost laughs at that thought. Theirs could.
'With all my heart.'
Gentle winds blow the dirt away. The coin is visible now. It remains heads up.
Another friend lost, his betrayal cuts just as deep as the sword forged in a dragon's breath. Merlin's warm embrace is not quite able to overpower the steely cold of his words. 'I'm a sorcerer…' No, 'I have magic.' Not warm enough at all. The metal traveling to Arthur's heart reflects the look in his eyes: anger, betrayal.
'A half cannot truly hate that which makes it whole.' Merlin must trust that the Great Dragon is right.
Tails up.
They journey, Arthur grows weaker, and his expression grows warmer each time he and Merlin speak.
The coin tips.
And on that plain, where the knife of fate is tilting: 'I want to say something I've never said to you before…' For a solid, beautiful moment, the coin is perfectly balanced. Merlin clutches Arthur's cold one with his, tears sliding down his cheeks. 'Thank you.'
The coin falls flat, heads down, tails up.
He's lived too many lifetimes, made too many friends that abandon him every time. He's finally stopped counting. He walks past the lake where he set fire to the empty shell of his destiny, walks past where the Great Dragon told him Arthur would rise again. Kilgarrah was long gone, as were the rest of them; his family…his friends. And he lingered on, hair graying, beard growing, face wrinkled from too many days under the sun, waiting, waiting, waiting for his king to return.
Tails up.
He has taken heart, he has stayed, and he has waited, oh, he's waited so long. He's getting tired, he is old. He's spent a million lifetimes grieving. He's ready to go home.
The old man gathers himself, stands, and takes one last, long look at the peaceful lake. He waves goodbye to his Freya, to Lancelot, to his King, to Arthur, and turns, beginning the long trudge back to the road.
The sun peeks out from behind the clouds; a soft breeze washes over his face. A small wave breaks over the rocky sand of the beach he has turned his back on.
"M-Merlin?" The old man freezes, the name he hasn't heard in God knows how long meeting his ears. It should sound foreign, it should sound unfamiliar, but from that voice… Oh! From that voice, it sounded like home.
Merlin turns, hair morphing from its blinding white to its former brunette, wrinkles fading into pale skin. He doesn't believe it, doesn't want to believe it from all the times that his mind played cruel tricks on him. So he lifts his skeptical, time-wearied eyes meet Arthur's confused blue ones.
"Arthur," Merlin sighs, face breaking out into the wide grin that it hadn't seen in a while.
The coin is balanced.
The Disir smiles.