He knew Arthur was dead. There as no need to feel for a pulse, or for breath. Something was different inside Merlin. He could feel the place where Arthur had been, empty, like how he'd felt when the creature had sucked his magic from him, what felt like a lifetime ago. Before that battle.
Worlds poured from his lips in a tongue that was no his own, but was yet more a part of him than the one his mother had taught him to speak. They hung in the air, heavy with tears. And it was silent on the shores of that lake. He did not have it in him to shift Arthur's body, so they lay together, there on the grass, the sky above them empty and grey. The dragon was nowhere in site and Merlin became overcome with fear that there was now another friend he would never see again. How was it, that they were both allowed to leave him here?
Merlin screamed, disturbing birds that roosted in the trees, pecking at Morgana's carcass. He prayed then, to anything and everything. He prayed to the gods of the old religion, and to the earth itself. He prayed to the She for help. He prayed to Kilgharrah again, yelling hopelessly into the void. He prayed to the part, deep inside himself, that he felt as if he did not fully control. Even it did not hold the power to do what he needed to do. He looked at the water and hoped to see Freya's face, but she had forsaken him too, like everyone else. He was alone there, on the shore of the lake. And he would be alone again after Gaius passed away, after Gwen. He saw the future then, as clear as if he was still standing in the crystal cave, and he did not like what he saw.
The air rippled with a dragon's wing-beats, and Merlin collapsed backwards in relief. His arms were still wrapped around Arthur, he realized. What had he asked of him, in those final moments? He'd asked for him to hold him. Even now he could barely bring himself to stop. But he did, lowering Arthur gently to the grass. He pressed his forehead to his, for only a moment, before turning to face the dragon.
"Kilgharrah!" he yelled, over the settling whoosh of leathery wings. "I would not have summoned you if there was any other choice. I have one last favour to ask."
The dragon did not refuse him, seeing the crumbing end of the destiny he had set the young sorcerer on, so much messier in reality than in any prophecy. Merlin shook as he dragged Arthur's body up, between the wings. The last dragon lord clutched his king with one arm, and the scales with the other. Kilgharrah launched himself into the sky, tired wings struggling with the weight of two passengers.
"Not there," Merlin instructed, as the dragon dipped down towards the lake which had been their original destination.
He faltered in his flight.
"To the Isle of the Blessed." Merlin was no longer crying, and his voice held a sort of cold authority.
There was a pause, as the dragon hovered in place, Merlin's words making their meaning clear.
"I can not allow you to do that which you plan to do," said Kilgharrah. "For what has come to pass is what was always meant to come to pass."
"But I've failed!" Merlin shouted to be heard over the rushing air. "I was meant to keep him safe." His voice cracked, and he was just a boy again, a boy who cradled the body of his best friend to his chest.
Kilgharrah made contact with the ground. "Not at all. You have built the land you set out to build together."
"No!" The single word boomed, rocking the forest, the same in both Merlin's language and in the dragon's. "He is my friend. I can't lose him."
Love. It was a twisted, irrational thing.
"No man can truly know his destiny," the dragon soothed. "Arthur is not just a king, he is the once and future king. Take heart, for when Albion's need-"
Stop. Be silent.
This time Merlin's command was in a language Kilgharrah could not refuse, and he stiffened, words of wisdom cut short. Merlin gave the orders not as a friend, or as a partner, but as an unwavering commander, and the old creature was powerless to refuse him.
No boat was needed this time. They plunged into the fog, and Merlin's eyes flashed golden as he saw through it.
"I must warn you, young one." Kilgharrah's voice was low, apprehensive. "If you do this you will be upsetting a balance older than even my race. You may not like the consequences. What is meant to be must be."
Merlin did not respond aloud, but inside he took the dragon's words as a challenge. He had been gifted—cursed—with a power he would never get the chance to fully understand. In the heart of the crystal cave he had felt it in its entirety. He was Emrys and even fate would bend to his will.
He did not need another sorcerer with which to make the deal. He was his own executioner.
Merlin dragged Arthur towards the alter. Kilgharrah roared, lunging at them. Merlin's eyes flashed, and his hand shot forwards. The dragon beat his wings uselessly against the invisible wall of power. Fire shot from his mouth, but as long as Arthur's body lay beside him Merlin held a deadly calm, and the flames could not reach them.
Commands were shouted, in a deep, angry voice, and the dragon was forced into the air. Merlin shouted, and Kilgharrah flew away, battling uselessly against the power of the dragon lord.
Alone at last, in the sacred quiet of that place Merlin prepared himself. The dagger lay where he knew it would be, as if it had been waiting for him. The words came to him with no strain of memory, and the clouds above them swirled into a menacing spiral. As he finished the spell the dead leaves that always seemed to litter the temple flew into the air, but before they could fall, time seemed to stop. The clouds were frozen in the sky, the wind silent against the ruins.
Taking one last look at the man for whom he was giving his life, for whom he would happily give anything, Merlin plunged the dagger into his heart.
Arthur's eyes flew open. He was lying on the ground in an unfamiliar place. No. He had been here before.
"Merlin?" His own voice was foreign to him, hoarse and barely audible.
The boy lay only a few feet away, eyes wide open, head tilted back, as if he was staring at the stars.
"Merlin?" Arthur crawled across the cracked cobblestones towards him.
He saw the knife: the small blade lying in his open palm.
"Merlin?" He lifted his head, letting in lye in his lap.
It was not hard to understand what had happened here, as much as he did not wish to. Arthur knew he had not even began to understand the scope of Merlin's powers, but even he could understand the concept of a trade.
"You idiot," Arthur choked, tears beginning to run down his cheeks. "What have you done?"
There was no answer, and sobs shook the king, as he pressed his forehead to Merlin's.
"What have you done?" he muttered, repeating it over and over again, softer each time. "What have you done?"
Merlin made a sound. Arthur sat bolt upright, holding him even closer to his chest, as he rocked.
"Merlin?" he didn't even dare to hope.
The boy opened his eyes, deep blue and dark with confusion. Arthur kissed him. And he laughed. And he kissed him again. He just didn't care anymore, because they were both alive, and Morgana was dead, and Albion was finally at piece. Merlin kissed him back, still half convinced that he had awoken in an afterlife more beautiful than any he had dared to dream of.
Behind them lay the body of an ancient creature, lifeless and unnoticed. He marked an end to the age of dragons, and it was so much more than what is seemed. For a dragon had not simply sacrifice himself so that a boy could survive, but one species had doomed itself to extinction so that another could thrive.
So I haven't written fanfiction in forever, but I just finished the last episode (late, I know) and I had to write this. Somehow, leading up to the finale, I managed to convince myself that it was going to end with Merlin taking Arthur to the Isle of the Blessed. (Full circle with season one, you know?) So when it didn't happen I had to write down how I would have done it. Not that I didn't like the ending. I thought it made sense.
Kilgharrah was dying anyways. I was also trying to hint at why dragons are extinct today. Maybe there were dragons, in the time of King Arthur, and maybe it was meant to end this way all along. But as Kilgharrah said himself "No man [or no dragon] can truly know their destiny."