The battlefield was hideous. Truly, it was one of the more gruesome things he'd ever seen, and he'd seen a lot of nasty things in his short lifespan. As he made his way across the land, he stumbled over the field's missing pieces of land where they had been brutally torn up. Large craters marked where the magic users had used their powers of fire or lightning to tear the land asunder. The grass cracked and crinkled under his quiet footsteps due to the dried, coppery blood that stained the once-green fields where children used to play. Trees were missing their bark from where the knights had cut them with their swords. Some pines blocked his way and he had to use his own magic to move them because of their sheer size.
The Battle of Camlann was over. Morganna and Mordred were dead. There was nothing left to fear from the priestess and the wayward druid. But their victory and the deed to their beautiful Camelot had come at a cost. Hundreds of good, loyal men had died for their country, including one of the more cherished Knights of the Round Table, Sir Gwaine.
King Arthur was also gone.
The thought made Merlin pause, standing in the middle of a clearing. He stared at the mountains that had nearly cost them their everything. They didn't seem so ominous now. It wasn't so scary to look at them. His blue eyes traveled downward, to the clearing floor, and he took in the remnants of a once beautiful place to just have fun and relax, or go hunting. It was depressing, to see all of that what once was to be just, gone.
He shook his head, his dark hair falling into place once more when he ceased the action. He walked on.
Heart heavy, he left the scene, traveling along a worn path that had clearly not been used in years. He just walked, without any real destination in mind. The sun moved steadily across the slowly darkening sky, and the bird calls eventually dwindled into a suffocating silence. Still he walked, ignoring the pounding ache in his feet and the crick in his neck. He needed to crack his joints, but he ignored the building pain and continued on.
As he always would. As he was always destined to do.
It was dark when he finally came across a change in scenery. He blinked at the moon's rippling reflection on the lake, and cursed. He hadn't wanted to come here ever again. It hurt too much. His best friend had died here, after all.
Nevertheless, he sat on the water's edge and took a deep breath. He could see the stars faintly glistening on the water, and he stared at the designs and patterns that he had found over the years as a point of focus. He drew aimless patterns in the dirt with his fingers, uncaring of how dirty he would be later. He sighed heavily, gaze turning upward to the moon. "What am I supposed to do now?" he asked it.
The moon did not answer.
He had not expected it to.
He closed his eyes as a tear fell and traced a line down his cheek. It fell off of his face and landed on his hand, and he opened his eyes again. He looked at the water, the lake he knew held the body of the dearest friend he had ever known, and probably would ever know, and muttered a final goodbye:
"Thank you, so much, for everything, Arthur. And I'm sorry."