A/N: It's been a while, but I'm back with another one-shot :) This is a 'what if?' kind of story that popped into my mind out of nowhere.
On another note, my friend recently pointed out to me that I can actually reply to reviews! Call me a noob, but I honestly didn't know. So if I've never replied you before, I am so sorry!
Anyway, enough with the apologies. Onwards!
EDIT: Saw a few grammar mistakes, and I couldn't help myself :3
Disclaimer: Funny, there was this dream the other night...
The happenings start two weeks after you move into the castle. You are busy removing the last of your items from your bags when you spot someone hovering near the door. You think it was a servant and went to check the corridor, but no one was around.
Shaking your head bemusedly, you turn back around, only for you to come face-to-face with a man. Tallish, floppy black hair, skinny build. You start to draw your hand back instinctively, but stop when he begins to speak.
"This was his room," he tells you wistfully.
And then he disappears from view.
"You never told me the castle was haunted."
Your fiancé looks at you strangely. "Haunted?"
"The two men..." you say, waving feebly in the direction of your room.
He chuckles and puts his arm around your shoulders. "Are you sure you're alright, love?" he asks, planting a kiss onto your head and steering you away, "I would know if flickering heads pop out of the pots when the cooks are making our meals." He shoots you a cocky grin. "This was my home for the past twenty-one years, after all."
As he leads you away, you can't help but gaze over at the two men watching the interaction quietly from afar. Their eerily-similar blue eyes glint with an emotion you can't quite place, and you look away. You don't bother pointing them out to your fiancé – he's too stubborn to listen, and they will just vanish, anyway.
"M'lady," a young servant girl squeaks, scraping a hasty curtsey as you pull your door open, "I was instructed to pass these on to you."
She hands you a bunch of wildflowers. As beautiful as they are, you wonder at the nerve of the admirer who dared to give you such a thing. Especially when you are engaged to one of the most over-protective, sensitive princes the kingdom knew.
"Did the person leave a name?" you ask the girl.
She shakes her head vigorously. "He did not, m'lady," she says apologetically, looking down at her feet almost shamefully, "but he appears to be of a strong build, with blonde hair and striking blue eyes."
Your eyes widen, and you let out a surprised huff of laughter. Oh.
They bicker. A lot. You can't help but smile as you watch them do so – that could be how your children would be one day. They look too different to be siblings, but the comfortable way in which they poked and jibed at each other suggests a strong relationship. Probably best friends.
The blonde one takes a swat at his friend, who ducks instinctively. These men are so...intriguing, and you wonder about the manner in which they came to pass.
If only they'd tell you...you can help them put their souls at peace once and for all.
You ask them about their deaths many times, and only after a few months did they finally give an answer.
"I died on the battlefield," the blonde man says softly, his hand drifting unconsciously to his abdomen, "But this place was my heart, my soul. There is nothing I wouldn't do for her." He vanishes, leaving his raven-haired friend standing forlornly by your bed.
He gazes at where the man disappeared, and you are startled to see the tears gleaming in his deep blue orbs. "I am not actually dead," he whispers. An ethereal hand reaches out to touch your bed affectionately, "A part of me will always live within these walls...I'm a memory, if you will."
"But why here?" you ask curiously.
He looks at you from under his lashes, and you can feel the emotion emanating from his silvery form in waves. "Because this was his heart," he replies quietly, and a tear spills onto his cheek, "When he died, a part of me died as well. While he stays, so shall I."
The blonde man reappears, his face so serious that you wonder – not for the first time – if you had somehow met this man before. He sees his friend scrubbing his face hastily and sighs.
"Idiot," he bites out, almost affectionately, "still acts like a girl half the time."
You pull your closet door open, and stare in horror at the mess of clothes within. Furious, you were about to call your maidservant when you realise...these clothes belong to a man.
At that moment, the blonde man reappears, his face flickering. "My room," he tells you, smirking, "the idiot isn't much of a manservant."
You slam the door shut and walk away hurriedly, but he follows. "My room," he repeats. The sudden dead look in his eyes make you step back a little. "I lived here."
There is no doubt about it. The room had...changed. What had been neat and tidy before had become a mess that you hope with all your heart you will never see again. Clothes and papers alike were strewn all over the floor. The bed was unmade. And that smell...was it coming from the chamber pots?
The man laughs at your disgusted expression. "My room," he says one last time before disappearing from sight.
You close your eyes, then open them again. The room was back to normal, and you heave a sigh of relief.
Suddenly, your gaze falls onto an object lying on the floor, hastily wrapped with a red cloth. You reach for it with trembling hands and carefully pull the cloth away. A sword clatters to the floor.
As you hold it to the light to inspect the words inscribed on it, you hear the raven-haired man speak.
"Coup de grace," he whispers.
The sword suddenly feels heavy in your hands.
On the day of your wedding, Camelot celebrated the newest member of their royal family with much vigour and excitement. You walk towards your soon-to-be-husband, but all you see is the blonde man leaning against the far wall, his eyes soft as he watches the proceedings. A flurry of emotions are crossing his face, and you can't help but wonder why.
You take your fiancé's outstretched hand and give him a smile. Behind him, the blonde man beams through his too-bright eyes, and you smile tenderly at him, too.
The king falls fatally ill a few months later, and you know that the time for you to be queen is nigh.
You've tried to give your husband what he so desired. But after years without an heir, you can tell that he was becoming increasingly desperate.
Even after moving into the same room as him, the two men never leave. They hover at your feet when you wake, you see them arguing when you come back from dinner. Occasionally, you even find the blonde man chasing his laughing friend down the corridor, his face torn between exasperation and amusement.
It was bizarre, the way their presence had become so...familiar. Comforting, even. It had been years since you first met them, and rarely a day goes by when you don't see them at all.
So when you notice your husband's growing despair, they do, too.
"Coup de grace," the black-haired man says, his eyes dark and serious, "It's almost time."
Your husband tells you that he'll be visiting a few acquaintances in a village outside of Camelot. It'll be days before he returns. "Take care of yourself, Rain," he says softly, kissing you on the cheek before mounting his horse. You watch as an unknown emotion flashes across his face, but before you can recognise it, it was gone.
Upon returning to your room, you find both men waiting for you, their faces so dark that it fills your heart with dread.
"What is it?" you ask. You hope that your voice does not shake with the fear that rattles your bones.
"He's lying," the blonde man says. There is blood seeping through the front of his shirt, and the deadened glint is back in his eyes. "You have to believe me."
When you don't answer, he materialises in front of you, his ocean-blue eyes now big and desperate. "Trust me!" he pleads. You have never seen him like this before. For a moment, you don't recognise him at all.
And then you do.
Realisation slams into you so hard that you feel your knees buckle and the air leaving your lungs. You finally realise that the man standing in front of you has a face so similar to Uther's, only instead of hazel eyes, he possesses blue ones. Just like yours.
This man is your son.
As you collapse onto a chair to catch your breath, the raven-haired man comes to stand next to the ghost – your son. "It is a trick," he urges you, "Your husband is heading to the Isle of the Blest as we speak."
Horror fills you as you realise what that meant. "No," you breathe. You cannot, will not believe it. "He wouldn't do that to me."
"He will," he says as you shake your head stubbornly, "When Arthur is born, you will die. You have to stop the sorceress."
"But if she dies," you say shakily, turning to your son – Arthur, "what about you?"
He smiles sadly. "I will still be born," he tells you. He looks at his friend, who nods. "Merlin here can tell - you're already with child."
Your mouth suddenly goes dry. "What?"
"Uther is so desperate," the man called Merlin says, a hint of anger colouring his voice, "so blind that he fails to see what is right in front of him." He looks straight into your eyes, and it was almost as if he was...reading you. "Nimueh knows this, but anyone – anyone! – who seeks to tamper with the balance of life will pay the consequences. They will be dire."
"It was all a trick," your son adds. You can hear the betrayal, the sadness in his voice, and you can now understand why. He nods towards the closet.
You get what he's trying to say, and you feel your feet move towards it. You open it and pull the sword out.
"Will you be coming with me?" you hear yourself ask the two men. You are so afraid that you can't do this alone.
They exchange looks. "I can," Merlin says, "but he has to stay."
You look at your son one last time before turning away. "Then let us go."
The journey to the Isle of the Blest seems to take days, and you can feel the dread that is coursing through your veins.
Merlin tells you to enter from the back, and you do. Upon reaching, you see your husband with a woman in a red dress. She has her back turned to you, and you spot your chance.
Clutching your sword hard, you move in closer, hoping that the noise your pounding heart is making will not give yourself away. You near the woman, and Uther finally sees you. As his eyes widen in shock, the woman whirls around.
You raise the sword and bring it crashing down.