Camelot burns.
Morgana watches, her hands clasped tightly in front of her to hide the shaking. The flames rise, burning everything she has ever known. She has grown up in Camelot, in the very castle that is now being destroyed. She lived under the rule of a man who she thought of as a second father, who she now imagines dying a violent death alongside everything he stands for.
She sees herself, eight years old, fighting with a little blonde boy who has the weight of the world and the hopes of a father on his shoulders. She emerges triumphant, her messy black hair framing her young face. He is her brother, not by blood but by heart. She loves him fiercely and hates him with a passion, but they are a duo. You cannot get one without the other.
Now, as Camelot blazes, Morgana does not look for Arthur. She has Morgause's word that no harm will come to him, and she trusts her sister. She thinks of the people that she grew up with. The villagers that never failed to offer her kind words, the man who helped her with grazed knees and headaches and the girl, her best friend, who did anything for her without complaint. She thinks of the boy who is in love with her brother, whether he knows it or not. How he fights for Camelot and his Prince blindly, running into the fire without a second thought or hesitation.
Morgana stays where she is, the fire reflecting in her eyes. She lets her kingdom fall.
Her body is ice, but her heart is breaking.
xx
Camelot falls.
Arthur fights, sword clashing and adrenaline running through his veins. He fights for his father, for everybody who calls Camelot their home and for Merlin, his useless manservant who cannot die without at least seeing his master become king. He tries to find the messy mop of black hair, as familiar as his own, but he is met by enemy soldiers. He shouts at his men, words of encouragement lost in the noise of the battle. The cries of innocent people will ring in his ears for as long as he lives.
He sees himself, eleven years old, chasing Morgana and her maid. He is laughing, his blonde hair flying in the wind. Morgana is shouting at him as she runs, pulling Gwen along with her. He ignores her anger and finally catches up with them, the three collapsing onto the grass. He forgets about his father, about his increasing duties, and instead lets the laughter of his best friends fill him up until he is ready to return to reality.
Now, as his father's kingdom falls to pieces, he lets his blade move without thought. His army is outnumbered, but they will not surrender. He is their leader, and he will lead them to victory. Everything he has ever learned goes into this battle, every training session, every tournament, every kill. He does not know where his father is, but instead of looking for him he finds Merlin. His manservant is holding a sword unsteadily, his lips moving hurriedly. Their eyes meet and Arthur nods and tries to convey you are the worst manservant I have ever had into an expression. Merlin stops whispering to himself and tries to smile. Arthur turns away, fighting his own battle.
His is Prince of a broken kingdom.
xx
Camelot crumbles.
Merlin pretends the tears are not his own, and fights for what is rightfully Arthur's. He whispers words without thinking, the magic flowing from his eyes and fingertips. He doesn't care if anyone sees him. As long as this fight is won by Arthur, he does not care if he lives or dies. As long as Arthur survives, then everything will be okay. It has to be.
He sees himself, ten years old, confessing his magic to Will. The beat of silence before Will grinned and said "finally, Merlin, I thought you'd never tell me!" and then laughed at Merlin's shocked face. He remembers when it was easy, when he never had to protect anybody but himself and occasionally Will when he got stuck in the fence of his neighbour's farm. He thinks that maybe he'll die without ever telling Arthur the truth - that it's too late to explain everything now when he could be hit at any second.
Now, as his second home surrenders to the battle, Merlin lets his magic protect Arthur, like it was always meant to do. The fire is bright and contrasting to the black sky, and Merlin thinks he has never seen anything so beautiful yet so terrifying. They are losing the battle, and it is the first time Merlin has ever seen Arthur contemplate surrender. He does not know how much time passes, but it must have been hours before the castle finally falls. The bodies lay scattered, but Arthur is alive and Merlin can finally breathe without his chest burning. He lets the pain wash over him and falls to his knees, his sword discarded on the ground. The battle is over, the enemy have won.
Camelot dies.
But Albion is born.