Merlin stood there, looking out at the city that was his home. Or, that used to be his home. Now it was merely a place that he had stayed in for a few years, a place filled with memories. Yes, memories of a better time, but also memories that held a deep taint to them. No longer did he have the comfort of his friends. Arthur, Gwen, Gwaine, Percival; they had all left him, because of his magic. Merlin hadn't thought that he'd ever had the ability to even remotely dislike his friends before, but now… Now, he wasn't so sure. Because they hated him, they had made that clear. Their rejections still rang in his ears, and their words still cut him to the quick, sharper than any knife. He was dirty they said, the very fact that he had something as horrible as magic running through his veins was despicable. They couldn't believe that he would choose to practice magic, and to do it in Camelot was unforgivable! They spoke about him as if he had had a choice, when how could he have? He was born this way, with magic flowing through his veins and lighting up his eyes.
He had tried to explain, really, he had. He had told them about what the dragon had said, about how it was his destiny to be there for them, to protect them and the dream of Albion. But they wouldn't listen. They never did. Because he was just a servant; and that was all he would ever be. They had screamed and shouted at him, disgust evident on their faces and the way they would glance at him with contempt in their eyes. They had had the guard's drag him away then, they had them drag Merlin away to the highest room of the castle they could find. Ironically, it was also the coldest and loneliest part of the castle. He had been in that room for over three months. No one visited except to feed him, and even then only occasionally.
Most days, he sat on the floor of the small balcony and gazed out at the city with un-seeing eyes. If people could see him now, they would be horrified. He had wasted away until his clothes hung gauntly off his frame, his cheeks were sunken in and his body delicately frail. His hair was almost to his shoulders now, and hung there, moving in the breeze, it's once lustrous look degraded to an unforgiving black that didn't reflect the colours of the sun. But worst, perhaps, was his eyes; the sparkle that used to have its home there had long since disappeared, the light shining blue of his eyes that once held joy and happiness had darkened until they looked like a black void, and the smile that used to dart across his face at any moment no longer dared to make its way back across those lips. If they could see him now, they would see a broken man. But if they looked deeper, past the hurt and pain that regularly cast shadows across his face, they would see the anger that had taken hold. And then they would be afraid, because that anger, that terrible anger that would sometimes come out and play, that anger was something that they had never seen on their sweet friend's face. And then they would be terrified at how natural the expression now looked on his face.
But then the anger would pass, and the sadness would reappear again, taking a hold of his mind for hours on end, and only relinquishing its control when it absolutely had to. If his friends saw him now, they would not see the innocent, sweet boy with the lively soul that could cheer up anyone with just a few words, but would see the broken, desolate man whose soul no longer knew what the word happiness meant. And then perhaps they would feel pity, but it would be fleeting because then they would remember his so called betrayal. Then they would leave, contempt again covering their faces.
Merlin was tired, oh so desperately tired. He had stayed, hoping that they would forgive him and realize what he had done, for them. But they never did. So he spent days and weeks alone, silence his only companion. And slowly he came to realize that they would never come, they would never forgive him, and they would never forget. He was nothing to them anymore. With this realization, Merlin's depression became more evident, and more deep-rooted, and so he looked for a release. And he found one. His release became his addiction, and soon his wrists were littered with scars, and the surrounding walls painted with his blood. He had done it himself. Every time he had cut himself the blood had come rushing out, and he had dipped his fingers in and lovingly painted the wall with his blood on his fingers. The walls were littered with words, the most prominent of all; his name. But it wasn't the name they knew him by, it was a name that he had held close to his heart, knowing that the name symbolised who he really was. Emrys. And so he kept painting the walls. He had realized that no one cared, so Merlin never stopped, until, one day, his release wasn't enough anymore and he had to find something new to help him find peace. But he didn't. Which was how Merlin found himself, standing on the small balcony, feet ever so close to the ledge. Too close. Turning around, Merlin gently placed himself so that one push, or one movement would send him flying over. And so, when his door slammed open and he saw Arthur, his Arthur, come through, he startled. And that movement was enough to push him over. Eyes wide, he fell. Time seemed to slow as he looked at Arthur, whose eyes had widened in horror as he saw his friend fall, and his mouth opened in a silent scream. Merlin watched as emotions ran through his friends eyes; love, compassion, and horror, horror that his friend was falling before he could tell him that he forgave him. And Merlin saw those emotions and he knew what they meant. Arthur had forgiven him, he didn't care that he had magic. A soft smile glanced Merlin's face as he looked at Arthur, sadness and acceptance in his eyes. Closing his eyes, Merlin let himself fall. And time sped up again.
Arthur's screams rang out, chanting his name like a prayer. Running, Arthur made his way to the balcony and looked over, seeing his friend fall.
"Merlin!" Arthur screamed, his voice hoarse and tears running down his face.
But Merlin couldn't hear him. All he heard was the wind rushing around him and the memories of better days. He heard laughter and teasing words, he saw smiles and happiness from his friends. He remembered the joy that he had felt when Arthur had admitted that he cared about Merlin. And so, Merlin smiled and the broken pieces of his heart came together again for one last time. He wasn't aware of Arthur's desperate screams, or the ground that was rushing to meet him. Merlin was finally freefalling, and so, he let go. Opening his eyes once more, he let the tight grip he had on his magic go, and watched as it flared around him. Smiling happily, he relaxed into the wind, his once dead eyes once again lively, shining a bright, hypnotizing gold. Merlin didn't feel any pain as he hit the ground. He simply welcomed death as an old friend and went willingly into his embrace.
But Arthur saw. He saw the way Merlin's body crumpled against the stones. He saw the way Merlin had smiled, as if he were finally free. And he saw the way Merlin's eyes had shined that brilliant gold. The gold that they had condemned him for. Arthur fell silent, his throat raw from the screams and sobs that had made their way past his throat. He stared with disbelieving eyes at the body below him on the ground. Tears made their way silently down his cheeks, dripping on the ground. Standing up, Arthur backed up with horror and desperate sadness revealed in his eyes. Stopping in the middle of the room, Arthur collapsed to his knees; he couldn't take another step. He must have spent hours like that; head bent down, body slumped on the ground and eyes staring wide at the floor.
Coming to his senses, Arthur slowly lifted his head back up and shakily pulled himself back to his feet. Looking around, Arthur saw Merlin's neckerchief. Clumsily, Arthur made his way over to it, gently picking it up; Arthur brought it up to his face, and buried his head in it, hot tears spilling out of his eyes. Looking up, Arthur's hand clenched around the red neckerchief and held it close to his heart.
Finally, Arthur saw, he really saw Merlin's room. He saw the red painted walls and the droplets of what had to be blood littering the floor. But most of all? Most of all, Arthur saw the writing on the wall. He saw the countless apologies, and numerous poems. Numerous poems that were strangely and yet beautifully macabre. He saw the truth of what they had done to their innocent friend, and he was horrified. They had taken the light in their friend, stripped away his innocence and left him to bleed. They had taken away the light that was Merlin.
"I'm sorry Merlin" Arthur whispered brokenly, his hoarse voice catching on the words as he bowed his head in memory.
"I'm so, so sorry."