Warning: Spoilers for S5E13, probably.
So, my little Merlin munchkins, as I so often do at this time of year, I have crawled out of the woodwork with a story in attempt to ease my sorrow at feeling robbed and cheated by the Merlin finale. Of course they just had to gloss over Morgana, and of course they replaced her with Merlin taking Arthur to Avalon, and of course they never even got there. Well fine, headcanons abound. This story was actually mostly written a long time before S5 aired, probably this time last year actually, but I only finished it recently in light of Ep. 13. But in my world the following happened, and everything ends with hope, not blinding misery and a lorry nearly doing away with two-thousand-year-old hobo-Merlin. Anyway, read on, read on, then review and please me.
"He thinks of all the things they might have had if they'd lived another life"
It's the end of days when they meet again.
Somehow they both know. The battle's been and gone; the blood's already spilled on the snow-cased earth. Camelot is safe again, but the price is high. The king lies dying of a wound even Merlin, great sorcerer or not, cannot heal.
"Looks like we were both losers in the end".
Arthur's eyes are closed and his brow tight with the pain of clinging on to the flickering edges of his life, but hearing that voice the frown eases and he smiles, bittersweet.
"Morgana," he says faintly "You're here."
"So it would appear," footsteps crunch on the crystal snow, light and measured, not hurried, but brisk. Arthur forces his resisting eyes open so he can see her, because even if he is to die now he will take something good with him, and the sight of her is somehow enough.
The black shroud on Morgana has been lifted and cast away. The dark-rimmed eyes are soft again, the only colour in them her own blue-green hue, the eyes he grew up looking into. She's all in blue now, actually, and it's the indigo shade he always liked on her. He wonders if perhaps he is already dead after all, and now he's seeing a hallucination of that beautiful girl he used to know, so full of compassion and kindness, before magic and murder shattered them both.
But no. Her hand is cool on his forehead and her scent, so tenderly familiar, is too real to belong to death. Her voice is just musically clear enough to be of this world, and he knows then he is still there on the frozen ground by the river. He blinks, squinting, and suddenly he realises he is not the only one who has been dealt a blow, and Morgana is pale-faced, clutching her side, her slight smile brave, hiding her pain. He struggles to speak.
"You're hurt," he murmurs. She laughs shortly, without humour.
"So are you," she replies, her eyes suddenly inexplicably weary. "But I'm tired, Arthur. I'm so tired."
He looks up at her and with a great effort raises his hand, touching her cool cheek, wondering how they've ended up here together, both broken victims of destiny.
"I never wanted to hurt you," he says, the words slurring slightly, but his blue eyes remain focused. She smiles bitterly.
"No. Don't. What did you ever do against me? I thought I was doing what was right, all this time… I've been so wrong." She makes a small sound of pain, and looks down, lifting the palm which is pressed to her side and swallows at the sight of her own blood, seeping from her just as surely as is Arthur's. He looks far more upset by this than he does at the sight of his own vicious wound, and tells her shakily to heal herself, she must know how, she's a high priestess. But she shakes her head swiftly and smiles.
"I can't. Not this time. I can't heal you, either. You're going to die, Arthur" she says, softly, a sad caress in her voice. Arthur shivers, not because he's scared of what she's telling him, but simply because she hasn't used that gentle tone towards him for so many years. Her voice has been so harsh and hateful, but all that's the past now and it doesn't even matter anymore. She loved him once, she hated him once, and now it is just the end of all things. There's no reason to hate now, because it's all so irrelevant. What she has done and whom he's hurt and all such things are now just hazy fragments of some distant life for them both.
They are a fallen king and a fairy queen, and they barely seem a part of this mortal life huddled together on frost-white ground, those terrible, terrible squabbles for a seductive throne in a castle that no longer stands just a fleeting memory. That barren wife, that heartless father, that conflicted warlock, all fading with the passing moments. They are so far from that now on the whitening snow and death is near for them both, but this was always going to happen.
"It won't be the end," she says, quite sure, kneeling beside him, bent over, her fingers in his hair. "We were bound by destiny to go to war, you know. There could be no future without the parts we played," she brushes snowflakes from his face and watches them cling to his eyelashes, already trying to claim him and cover him in a tomb of white.
"Mmm," Arthur replies, too tired to think, to understand her words. They've always been such riddles. "Are you sorry?" he murmurs, though he can't quite remember what it is she would be sorry for. Her hands stills on his forehead.
"No," she says unfalteringly, even though she is sorry she hurt him, sorry he is lying here with shallow breath and cold skin because they collided in this life.
"Me neither." He replies, and he knows they're both sorry anyway. He thinks of all the things they might have had if they'd lived another life, another world, another destiny. He moves his hand gracelessly and finds hers, and she clutches it tightly in return. It's been so long since he's been this close to her without his life being in danger, but now he's dying anyway so what does he have to lose? She seems to feel the same because there's no fight and anger left in her, just a kind of weary peace, and as she turns her eyes to stare out at the great lake, she wonders what happens next.
"It's almost time…" she whispers, and Arthur braves a smile.
"I know," he replies, barely, and sighs as she shifts his head into her lap.
"I'll watch over you," she promises, although there's a chill seeping through her which she knows is nothing to do with the snow. He isn't fooled either, and concern creases his brow.
"Then who'll watch over you?" he murmurs, and she squeezes his hand.
"You'll be there to guide me."
He smiles. "I'll wait for you. I always have."
She shuts her eyes, fighting back tears, and leans down to him, her hands splayed across his chest. She kisses him with numb lips and he moves one arm around her, so they are twined together, two broken halves rejoined.
This is the end of days, and it is time. He doesn't talk after that because he's losing strength, and she doesn't talk because there are no more words that need to pass between them. Somehow they both know that this was always meant to happen, that even though life was cruel and handed them a destiny that shattered them like glass on a bed of flint, their fate was always to come back together as whole right at the very end.
Morgana's head is on his chest and she feels it the moment the rise and fall stops. She stifles a sob and knows he's gone, and it's not long for her either. She clutches his body tightly as her heavy lids close, and she falls still against him. Her last breath falls from her lips in a shivering sigh and she rejoins him.
It is there that Merlin finds them hours later, perfect and frozen together on a bed of white. He doesn't understand why they are twined in a lovers' embrace when he knows they were each other's downfall. He doesn't know what made her change her mind and love Arthur once again right at the end, and he can only weep over their lifeless forms as he realises he is far too late to save the golden king.
It's only when he hears the steady thud of wingbeats that he raises his head, and he staggers to his feet as Kilgharrah lands in the clearing.
"You told me it was my destiny to save him!" Merlin cries at once "You said he would be a great king and bring Albion's golden age! How can he be dead now, with so much left to do!"
"Arthur's task in this life is complete, Merlin. Others now are ready to take up the mantle of leadership and bring his vision of a peaceful Albion to life." The dragon replies, quite untroubled by the sight of the dead king. "He is not lost, but lives on beyond the realm of this mortal world, and there he shall stay until his time comes to pass once more. When Albion's need is greatest, the legend of Arthur shall rise again. Do not weep for him, for he is at peace."
"And Morgana?" Merlin chokes out. "I don't understand. She despised him. She killed him!"
"Morgana lost her way in this life. I told you long ago of her destiny of darkness, and I told you then that the witch must die. For now only in death is her damaged soul made whole once more, and only in death is she free to reconcile with Arthur and find her redemption" Kilgharrah says, his wise voice steady, and Merlin feels a few of the tight knots of grief in his heart loosen. "Look, Merlin."
Merlin follows Kilgharrah's gaze out into the lake, and his eyes widen as he sees the mists begin to part, and a golden light shines over the rippling waters. A little boat appears with two figures sat side-by-side, and Merlin swallows painfully as he recognises Arthur's golden head and Morgana's long dark hair. She's all in white and he's robed in scarlet, and they both raise a hand as the boat begins to carry them deeper into the mist. Merlin lifts his own hand in response, and he's filled with a painful mix of happiness and anguish as they disappear, together, bathed in golden light. Kilgharrah smiles, and Merlin nods once. He will mourn the loss of his greatest friend, but he knows all will still be well.
In the little boat Arthur and Morgana don't know what's coming next but they know it's right as they pass through the misty waters. Morgana's arms wind tight around Arthur and he smiles, wistfully, watching as Merlin becomes a speck in the distance, then disappears, and he misses his most loyal friend already. Morgana squeezes his hand.
"You'll see him again very soon," she says softly. Arthur smiles down at her in response, and they continue sailing into the heart of the golden waters until the boat hits the wet sand on the bank of the other side. Arthur helps her up and out of the boat, and they stand together, barefoot, on the sands of Avalon, and the sun is back like a gauze of spun gold woven into the air. They can smell apples and the scent of the earth after the rain, and they know that this is their final paradise, their redemption and their salvation.
Avalon awaits.