He Died Laughing
Ugh! I can't seem to write anything cheerful right now! I just finished a rough, angsty chapter for my Hobbit story and went straight into this!
This can be read as a sort of companion piece to my other Merlin oneshot Behind The Laughter, but it can be read alone.
Warning: Major character death! If you don't like tragedy, don't read any further!
This is set post-Season 4, AU.
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin.
It had happened too fast.
It was just a patrol. A simple patrol around the outlying villages. Nothing unusual.
Bandits attacked. Nothing unusual there, either. Even during Arthur's reign, there were many thieves and evildoers in the kingdom of Camelot.
They had been outnumbered. But they were to best Camelot had to offer. Arthur, Leon, Elyan, Gwaine, Percival, and Merlin himself. Not that anyone would count him among the best. But it hadn't mattered; he hadn't fallen. His magic did grant him a measure of safety.
He just wished that it always extended to those he cared about.
They all fought. They drove the bandits away. The thieves fled in terror when too many of them had been killed. The knights didn't pursue them. Not this time.
Because one of their own didn't make it.
The funeral pyre had been lit. The words; useless, useless words had been spoken, the speeches made.
The goodbyes said.
Merlin was left alone to stare at the glowing flames. He could see the attack in his mind; visualize the fight. He recalled the death.
They'd always fought well together; the knights of Camelot. They trained together, they knew how to fight as one.
He'd been in the thick of it. Even while swinging a sword, he could crack a joke. Merlin could remember his gleeful voice ringing through the woods, rising above clanging of blade upon blade.
It'd been so stupid. It hadn't been his fault.
Merlin should've been quicker. They should all have been quicker.
The sword had pierced him through the heart. He probably hadn't had time to feel anything before his life ended.
No matter how long Merlin stared that the flames, he could not get the picture out of his head.
He lay on his back. His red blood mingled with the red of his cloak.
His face wasn't pained in the least, however. It looked happy; gleeful.
He'd been laughing.
Perhaps it hadn't been so terrible.
Merlin would miss him. They all would. He had been their friend. Their companion.
Their brother.
At least he hadn't felt anything.
What had their farewell words said about him? Nothing, almost. He'd never been open about himself. The only thing he shared freely, besides his friendship, was his laughter.
That was the sound they would remember. His laughter, not his screams.
Merlin reflected that it was better that way. They didn't have to remember him in pain. They could remember him as he died; cheerful, elated.
Because Gwaine died laughing.
I swear I'll try to write a more humorous oneshot similar to my story The King Lost the Bet soon!
Reviews appreciated!