... I would like to begin by saying I have no frickin' clue where this came from. The plot bunnies came and got me in the night. RABID plot bunnies. Review please!
Warnings: Character deaths, some (VERY MINOR) violence, hints at Arthur/Merlin slash. You can't fight destiny, even the Great Slash Dragon agrees.
Disclaimer; I don't own BBC's Merlin, nor is this version of events true - merely a product of my over-active imagination.
It is not uncommon for tales of war to be told and retold so many times that the essence of the gory and barbaric battlefield is stripped away, and we are left with nothing more than glory and heroics, courage and honour. In truth, there has never been a glorious war. Wars are ferocious, and have no mercy. Children's tales of a white knight riding into battle atop a fiery steed are just tales, and the battle of Camlann was no exception.
Arthur had never seen, nor fought in a glorious battle. The closest thing to heroism he had seen displayed on the field of combat had come, not from a knight, or a cavalryman, or an archer, or even a foot-soldier; no, it had come from a simple peasant-boy, who had been dealt a harsh destiny that his kind soul did not deserve. Merlin had been truly a sight to behold that day, so consumed with raw power, as he duelled with the boy he had saved, so many years ago. Mordred had grown to be a cruel, evil man, yet Arthur could not help but remember the frightened druid child he had rescued so long ago.
Both Mordred and Merlin fell in battle that day, and there was nothing honourable about it. Their last moments had been spent screaming in agony and bleeding from so many magical wounds that it would take a thousand healers to treat just one of the men.
Arthur had returned to Camelot a broken man; he was no longer the great King Arthur, ruler of all Albion. He was Arthur, a man who held the crown by his name only. He sat upon the throne, never eating, never sleeping, and seemingly never even moving. The entire kingdom was forced to watch as the king slowly died from a broken heart, so consumed was he by grief. However, after his death, only months later, the tales of the battle of Camlann began to change, subtle at first, but change nonetheless.
Now, Merlin had miraculously healed Arthur, at the cost of his own life after defeating Mordred; this was still quite close to the truth, as Merlin had indeed died that day, protecting Arthur.
After that ,stories of how Arthur had defeated Mordred with nothing more than Excalibur in his hand and Merlin by his side began to spread – even they were closer to the truth, for Arthur had survived the battle with only Excalibur in his hand and Merlin by his side.
Not long afterwards, rumours of how Arthur had sustained a fatal wound, yet had somehow lived on, were whispered – those who knew Arthur well could agree with that somewhat, for that day, Arthur's heart had been twisted and mangled, and it was common knowledge that no man could survive without a heart.
However, there was then the issue of precisely how Arthur had overcome such a wound, and it was soon agreed that it must have been Merlin; that Merlin had taken Arthur to Avalon, where he would, in time, heal and return.
Then, of course, they had to explain away Merlin's disappearance, and it was soon commonly accepted that Merlin had used his enchantments to leave this world, and wait in the other, for the time when the true king of England could rise once more. It wasn't long before this version of events became known as truth, and told to children everywhere, who would pass it down through the generations.
No-one would remember Merlin's courage, nor his determination to save his master. They wouldn't remember the way King Arthur had wasted away before the kingdom's very eyes, mourning the loss of his oldest and dearest friend and adviser. No-one would ever know exactly how much Arthur had loved Merlin, nor how much Merlin loved Arthur in return.
All they would remember was a glorious battle, in which King Arthur gave up his life for his people, in a final, yet valiant stand.
Such a shame that the people would only remember the honour of the fight that day, and never the love that had made two sides of a coin so willing to die for one another.