Author's Note: This story picks up where Arthur's death left off, and is therefore heavy on the angst at times. However, it won't indulge for the sake of indulgence, and will have a plot in its own right in addition to exploring the effect on all of the characters-particularly Merlin-that we did not get to see. And it won't be totally lacking in Arthur either-there is magic about, after all! But for now, this first chapter is about the beginning of Merlin's long wait and his loss.

Chapter One

And everything ended.

Or it should have done, Merlin thought, or rather it almost did. It certainly felt like it, in that he felt a strange kind of nothing. Nothing to fight for. Nothing to reason with. He was just…nothing.

And yet he could still feel the icy water of the lake. Up to his knees, and completely still. Not even a ripple tarnished the surface.

Not even a ripple reached Merlin, as Arthur's body drifted into the distance.

The water still glistened, under a sun that kept shining. A world visibly unchanged, but for the life of one man. But to Merlin it had ended. And so had he.

Vague notions occurred to him. He should get a message to Camelot, really, that Arthur was dead. He should get out of the lake or he'd freeze in sodden clothes. He should burn the boat.

But there was no sense of urgency, and for a long while Merlin stood silently and motionlessly as time slid by unnoticed and unheeded. A faint wind had picked up and he was considerably shivering by the time he dragged himself to start his first task, which he had decided was to burn Arthur's body. Or else the boat would vanish from sight, and be condemned to drift. A vessel of rotting flesh and bones.

He raised his hand, with no need to fix his gaze in the direction of his casting. Not once had it shifted elsewhere. A quick command, a burst of flames, that should be all it took. But the usual ease did not come, and Merlin found himself reaching and then grappling for his magic with growing frustration. It refused to spring to attention although it was most definitely there-and listening, swelling within him at each attempt of use. Burning. A flicker of terror broke through Merlin's relative passivity as he realised he could not control it, it was like trying to use a stranger's limb, it was unrecognisable, it didn't know where to go. Trying to stop it also proved useless, it burned painfully at the surface, hotter and hotter, unbearably, wildly, roaring in his ears and rising like a scream until-

Fire exploded across the lake. As far as could be seen flames tore through the water. The whole horizon was ablaze, and suddenly Merlin was standing in an inferno, submerged…but untouched. Protected. And so, he could see, was the boat, still steadily floating without so much as a singe.

It had been building for a long time, the anger. Certainly months, likely years, and possibly a lifetime. It had been kept back-by necessity, by mercy, by purpose. Always cheerful, was Merlin, always trying to smile. Not so much recently, but still kind, still trying.

But the boat wouldn't burn for him. And, finally…finally, he snapped.

Willing it, the flames leapt higher and further. They rolled like waves over the banks, over the grass, and climbed the trees. Smoke began to choke the air. Even the sky turned orange.

Still, the boat did not burn. Because Merlin could still see it, surrounded by smoke and by flames he could still see it, it was all he could see, taunting him…

"Merlin!"

…He pushed harder, as he could see through the fire it would obey him, surely-

"Merlin! Stop! STOP!"

Why wouldn't it listen? Burn it all, anything, everything, he strived to let go of something he sensed in his mind, something clinging on, some instinct…like breathing, if he thought, paid attention, told it to stop…

He flinched slightly as felt something scold his leg…

Keep going, he persisted, do it, do it-

He muffled a cough as he inhaled smoke, his eyes were stinging, and it was so hot and at last the boat was burning…

"STOP! RUN!"

"Merlin."

Arthur? Arthur was burning…

"MERLIN!"

And then something was jerking him backwards-no, someone was, someone else was there, and they were stumbling, falling…

…into a shock of icy water. Only that and the swirling grey smoke surrounded them. The fire had gone.

Taking choking, shuddering breaths between coughs, Merlin was aware of someone thumping him on the back.

"What the hell were you doing?"

Percival.

"I was…" He didn't know how to explain the feeling that had taken over him. "I don't-" A barrage of coughs interrupted him. "I don't know-"

"You nearly burnt down the whole place, and you just bloody stood there, you could have died."

Merlin didn't reply, and without another word Percival hauled him up and out of the water, half dragging him out of the lake to collapse on the bank together. A few more minutes passed in silence, until Percival spoke.

"You have magic." It was a statement. It almost sounded sympathetic. It wasn't an accusation.

"Yes."

"Arthur's dead." It wasn't a question.

"Yes."

Another long pause.

"So's Gwaine."

Merlin's head snapped up from where he had been staring at the charred earth, and a sickening feeling settled in his stomach.

"What?" he asked. "How?"

"Morgana," Percival replied dully, taking over from Merlin in staring at the ground. "She tortured him for information. He tried, but he couldn't…no man can take that."

"What information?" Merlin demanded, and he could see in Percival's face as he looked up that he was surprised by the urgency of the question.

"She wanted to know where Arthur was."

"So Gwaine told her." Merlin's tone was uncharacteristically cold. "That's how she found us."

"Yes, but Merlin-"

"Arthur's DEAD!" Despite himself, he couldn't stop it exploding out of him, or the fury that suddenly gripped him. "Your king is dead!"

"By Mordred!"

"Morgana slowed us down, she scared off the horses! If she hadn't got to us I might have made it in time-"

"Gwaine tried as hard as he could-"

"THEN HE SHOULD HAVE TRIED HARDER!"

The instant the words were spoken Merlin regretted it. But they had been spoken, bellowed even, and Percival's face was as equally disgusted as Merlin's was horrified.

"No," Merlin sighed, "I didn't mean that-"

"Do you know what Gwaine's last words were?" Percival interrupted, standing, putting distance between himself and the former servant at his feet. "Before he died? He said "I failed". That was the last thing he ever thought, after everything he did. And you, his friend, you would say that." For the first time ever, tears were present in the knight's eyes. "That should be no man's last thought."

No, Merlin disagreed. Not no man's.

But not Gwaine's.

"He didn't fail," he said thickly, holding back tears and buckling under guilt. "He didn't fail, I did."

Percival groaned. "No, Merlin-"

"It's my fault."

"Mordred-"

Merin laughed, a harsh, manic sound that startled Percival into silence. "Exactly." He looked up, his gaze level, tears gone, replaced by an unnerving emptiness. "You don't understand."

"No, I don't." Any former anger forgotten, Percival crouched down in front of Merlin, brow furrowed in concern. "It wasn't your fault." He lingered there for a minute, waiting for a reply, but none came. He sighed wearily, rubbing a calloused hand over his face and rising. "Alright. We're going back to Camelot."

"I'm not coming."

"What?"

"I'm not coming," Merlin repeated blankly. "I'm not going back."

"But where are you going then?" No reply. Sensing it was no use or possibly, Merlin thought bitterly, afraid of getting roasted, Percival didn't push the subject. He clapped Merlin on the shoulder, smiled tensely, and set off for the spindly blackened trees that remained of the woods. After a few steps, however, he turned back briefly.

"I won't..." Percival averted his eyes. "I won't tell anyone. About…about what happened. Any of it."

"I don't care."

"Alright," Percival said softly. "But I won't." He turned away once more. "Look after yourself, Merlin."

Another surge of guilt gripped him. "No, Percival, wait," he called, wearily but earnestly. The knight looked back and Merlin tried to force as much of a smile as he could bear. "I'm sorry, it's just I can't…with Arthur and-and Gwaine…I'm sorry. And…" He took a quick, deep breath. "Thank you."

Percival didn't or perhaps couldn't say anymore, but smiled, nodded, and then finally disappeared into the trees.

Left alone, Merlin sat as the sun set, until the last little plume of smoke coming from the centre of the lake faded into tendrils, then into wisps, and then into nothing against the darkened sky. His duty done, he stood. The day was over, but it brought no relief. No number of days would.

He was tired, but had no thought of finding a place to sleep, or even somewhere safe for the night ahead. Instead, forcing himself to turn from the lake, he simply had it in his mind to walk.