Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin, despite my wants. I make no money from this.
Title: Precipice
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur Mentioned & Implied, Morgana/Guinevere/Lancelot Mentioned & Implied, Arthur/Guinevere
Rating: Teen
Summary: They fought, and fought, and in deadly silence, the castle attendants pressed ears to doors.
Notes: Kind of a "Momento Mori"-esque fic.

Ninth And Last

He found Merlin on the edge of a precipice, magic cackling on his fingers and power coloring his words.

He found Merlin balanced precariously on the knife's edge.

He found Merlin deciding between good and evil.

He found Merlin.

Four

Arthur had just finished his evening drills the night his father died. Bedwyr and he had attended to the new young Knights who had joined Camelot's realm that midsummer; some still childlike and Arthur had resolved to break them of their adolescent ways.

Trekking through the castle toward his rooms, he'd felt a vague sense of unease or foreboding (perhaps they were one and the same, but he still, to this day, could not give name to the dread that had pooled in his belly) and somehow, his treacherous feet had carried him to the King's chambers instead of his own. Outside the heavy doors, he had hesitated, believing for a moment that he was acting like the little boy he'd once been, but fear won out and he knocked insistently.

When there was no answer, Arthur knew. He entered the room as a formality; he didn't need to see his father's body to know the man's soul no longer resided in flesh.

Eight

Morgana stumbled into Camelot just a month into Arthur's search.

She collapsed at Guinevere's feet, her tears pink from the blood that had dripped into her eyes from cuts and scrapes. She called out for Uther and Merlin and the Queen looked to the Guards to bring the fevered woman inside.

That night, Galahad rode from Camelot in pursuit of his King.

The next night, Lancelot returned and with Morgana finally sleeping peacefully, he pulled Guinevere close to bury his face in her hair, hiding the relief he felt in the dark strands.

Five

Three days later, he was no longer a Prince but a King and his father's body burned on a pyre in the same clearing that Igraine's body had been turned to ash. And though he'd tried valiantly, Arthur could not stop the tears that fell when he realized, standing the firelight, that he no longer had time for insolence and play.

He returned to Camelot before the embers had died.

The magic ban was revoked as the sun set on the horizon – his first written decree – and he wished with all his heart that Merlin and Morgana were with him, enjoying the freedom the revocation would give them.

Instead, he laid in his cold bed with his hand on the opposite side, remembering.

One

Uther's booming voice had rolled down the corridors, his summons for Arthur hard to ignore.

They fought, and fought, and in deadly silence, the castle attendants pressed ears to doors. Guards pulled them away each time, knowing that in his foul mood, the King could easily sentence them to a night in the dungeons.

Only one kept to hisself, far too aware that his fate lay in the hands of the two men though already sure that he knew that his life was to be forfeit in the name of the King's prejudice.

It was only after the doors opened and Arthur's ashen face met his that Merlin knew he'd been right to assume he'd be sentenced to death for protecting his friend. Uther's order to drag him to the dungeons went past his ears; Merlin heard nothing over the rush of blood in his ears as the guards guided him through familiar hallways.

Three

Morgana left three months after Merlin disappeared.

Six

Guinevere married Arthur at midwinter in a ceremony somewhere between lavish and intimate.

They wed in the middle of the Castle, all of his subjects welcome to watch as they bound their lives to one another (though their hearts belonged to others) and then they retired to small feast. Surrounded by friends, they celebrated.

Those who were closest to them – the Prince who had once been called Prat by his best mate and the Servant girl who had risen far above her former station – could see the sadness that clouded their eyes, however. They could see the loneliness in their bodies despite their proximity; the only sign that their bond was one of affection and not convenience were the tightly clasped hands that rested on the table.

Two

The dungeons had always been cold, but it seemed that the spirits of the Old Religion had cast him from their graces as the chill of the stone bled into his bones. The high, barred window had let a whistling breeze to twist around his ears, turning them as scarlet as Arthur's favorite tunic.

Gaius visited him after dark, telling him not to fret.

Guinevere tried to sound brave, but Merlin had sensed her sadness.

Morgana swore she would save him somehow.

Arthur never showed.

Seven

The years passed and Arthur ruled as a fair and just King. Camelot had flourished; neighboring kingdoms allied themselves with the powerful realm.

But there was always something (someone) missing, making Arthur as though he were only half of a whole. Guinevere tried her best to see him smile, to bring about a laugh, yet she failed more often than not as the jokes she shared with him in the quiet of the night only served to remind him of another.

And sometimes, they tried to comfort each other, to make their marriage bed feel warm and intimate. Yet how could they when their minds wandered to their lost loves? Instead they lay together in the dark, the flicker of a candle the only source of light as they talked and sometimes teased; she made the jokes, but between the words that had once been said in Merlin's voice and their snores, Guinevere spoke of Morgana and Merlin.

Then one night, she whispered, "Find them, Arthur. Bring them home."