Indifference
Death was indifferent.
The victim could be young or old, evil or innocent, weak or strong, a lonely soul or someone well-loved by many. The victim could be frightened of the unknown or resigned to the inevitable, expectant or caught unawares, at peace or unwilling. They could be an honest man or a thieving crook, the lowest of beggars or the highest of kings. Their future could have been mundane, or they could have had a great destiny.
Death cared not who was claimed, nor when. Death had no interest in the life that was ending, nor in the lives of others impacted by the loss. Death was impartial, unfeeling. Plans, hopes and dreams were of no consequence.
Death was death, and it bowed to no one.
It was a part of nature. With every beginning came an ending, and with every life came death. One could not exist without the other. The world demanded balance, and death obliged.
Where fate and prophecy were concerned, death refused to be thwarted or denied. It would not bend, not even to the greatest warlock to have ever lived.
Merlin should have known. He had known. He had learned his lesson years ago and yet, despite knowing better, he could not help but try his hardest to prevent what he knew was coming. How could anyone do otherwise, when the life of a friend was on the line? And Arthur was so much more than a friend – words such as 'king' or 'kin' or even 'destiny' could not begin to encompass the true meaning of who he was to Merlin.
The vision of Arthur's death had haunted him for months. He had refused to accept it, railed against it, done everything within his power to stop it. He had crossed lines and made sacrifices and almost lost himself in his desperation to ensure that Arthur lived.
Nothing was more important. His entire life's purpose boiled down to this one man, and he would do anything, anything to save him.
Death was indifferent, though.
Arthur died in his arms.
In that moment, Merlin discovered that death was not just the absence of movement, of breathing, of a beating heart. Death was not just an ending.
Death was the complete and utter destruction of every unlived moment of a life stolen too soon. Death was the eradication of destiny. Death was the abortion of a multitude of possibilities. Death was a journey interrupted. Death was potential unreached.
Death was loss and grief and loneliness.
It was not only Arthur himself who had been murdered. His death had killed the Golden Age of Camelot, the many years of marital happiness he should have shared with Guinevere, the children he could have had, the grandchildren who could have followed, the changes he could have made, the Albion he could have created. The world had lost a great man. Truly, Arthur had been the greatest king the world had ever known.
But Merlin's loss cut deeper, hurt worse. He could barely see through the tears, breathe through the pain, could hardly continue his existence when his whole future had fallen apart.
For years, Merlin had dreamed of a time when Arthur knew of and accepted his magic. He dreamed of having his freedom at long last, of walking with confidence, of being happy. He dreamed of standing by Arthur's side, of being treated as an equal, of being respected for the man he was and held somewhat in awe for the power he possessed. He dreamed of the conversations they would have, the truths that would be revealed, the misunderstandings that would be corrected and the records that would be set straight. He dreamed of the friendship they would share when there were no longer any lies or secrets hanging between them. He dreamed of honesty and trust and the love between brothers that would only grow deeper as time passed. He dreamed of magical pranks and unreserved laughter and of all the good times they would share. He dreamed of supporting each other through the harder days, fighting back to back, and of defeating any foe they faced. He dreamed of building Albion together, and enjoying every minute of it. He dreamed of growing old together, of retirement, of looking back with pride on lives lived well and to the full. He dreamed of keeping his promise forever, and staying with Arthur until the end of days.
But death was indifferent. And Arthur was dead.
In the cruellest twist of magic and of fate, death turned a blind eye on the other half of a whole. By stealing Arthur away, death had effectively shattered the Merlin's heart, yet it left the organ still feebly beating to continue pumping eternal life through his veins.
Born of magic, for magic, the most powerful warlock to have ever lived would just keep on living.
Death wouldn't take him. For centuries it didn't try, and when he offered his life willingly death refused to accept.
Surely, then, the balance of the world was disrupted. But Merlin was woven into the very fabric of life itself, and so death could not have him.
But, Merlin decided, he himself lacked balance. He was only one side of a coin, after all, only one half of a whole. He had lived long enough without Arthur; too long.
So he made a deal with death. The Once and Future King would live again, for one more life time. In exchange, the immortal man would become mortal and he, too, would have only one more life time to live. They would spend it together, and dreams that had crumbled to dust would be made new.
The world was in desperate need of a saviour, and it knew well the grief of the lonely wanderer. So, though reluctant, the intertwined forces of magic and life permitted the exchange.
Death was indifferent. But it knew a good deal when it saw one.
And so it was that Arthur lived again.
Merlin found him.
Everything was different, but in all the ways that mattered they were still the same.
They fought side by side and, together, they saved the world.
They lived until Arthur's hair was white beneath his crown and Merlin's beard had reached an unmanageable length.
They looked back on their lives and all they had achieved with pride.
And then, willingly, Merlin and Arthur walked into Death's embrace, to embark onto the next great adventure together.
Fin(n)
A/N: So apparently I respond to tragedy by writing tragedy. There was a hopeful finish to this, though, I think.
Rest in peace, Cory Monteith (Finn Hudson from 'Glee'). My condolences to friends and family.