I do not own Merlin, Coldplay, or Emachinescat - (a fellow fanfictioner; I do not know whether or not she is still active, but respect is due-she is an inspiration for a large (not really large) portion of this story. Thankee!
His footsteps echoed. They resounded throughout the courtyard, reminding him of what had happened a mere three days ago.
The stone was riddled with cracks, making it nearly impossible to get by without so much of a twisted ankle. But he held through. Of course he did—he's The Once and Future King, after all. But the pain that he'd buried deep within the folds of his mind for the last few days? That was unavoidable.
Gwen and himself had cleaned up most of them—the bodies. The knights had been the easiest to find and bury, seeing as they'd swore to protect the kingdom. Seeing the deathly white faces had been unnerving, but Gwen told him to focus on the job. And so he did. The problem were the people.
They were so innocent, so carefree that day. The Hidden Children were freely practicing their magic, creating horses from forge fire and cleaning dishes from their mothers' windows. Uther would never had tolerated, but that had escaped Arthur's mind. It'd been this way for nearly ten years.
"Arthur… how do you feel about magic?"
The man nearly ran into a wall. Merlin had popped the question so innocently, so curiously, it was incredulous. He turned to stare at the questioner.
"Magic?" his tongue twisted. "I don't know exactly how I feel about magic, really. There has been no real harm lately. So I guess, at the moment, I'm… fine with it?"
Merlin bit his lip, stopping himself from blurting out something stupid. "So, say, if it stays like this, would you… allow magic in Camelot?"
The King rose a brow. "Why're you asking this, Merlin?"
"What?" he laughed nervously. "Oh, no reason. Really, I was just wondering. Simple question."
"Uh huh, okay, Merlin." he rubbed his head. "Go home. It's getting late."
"What? But, I need to—"
"Merlin. I order you to go home." Arthur began punching him playfully.
"Yes, yes, okay, I get it, going." He dodged another smack. "See you tomorrow, Sire."
The Hidden Children had fought well, fought bravely. If they'd been older, they would have joined Merlin's militia. A private army that no one had known about, except for the knights. That army was made up of one-hundred hidden sorcerers throughout Camelot.
They had volunteered—Beatrice being the first. A fierce, beautiful red-headed girl with a passion like wild fire. She'd loved Camelot and had protected it with all her heart. She'd been the first to accept Merlin's offer. She'd been the first of the Night Watchers.
They were insane people, just like Merlin. They went stood guard throughout the night, dressed in nothing but black. Those who could would transform into birds or insects that glowed an unearthly gold, just like their eyes. Arthur had been amazed when Merlin, his idiotic manservant, came up with the idea. But by then, he knew better than to doubt the mop of black hair.
And so the Nightlings had been born.
Everyone had whispered in excitement whenever they saw a woman turn become a bird, or a man shrink into an insect, but there was an understanding among the people of Camelot that this was to remain a secret—something not to be muttered or uttered, not to be mentioned for fear of certain enemies discovering the Nights (haha, get it? "Nights" instead of "Knights", because they hid in the night… ah, never mind).
But they'd been killed first. Merlin had woken up to the mental screams of their friends as they died out. Merlin had rushed to his King, clutching his ears and collapsed to the floor, struggling to breathe.
Arthur was shaken awake by the banging of his door. He unsheathed his sword halfheartedly—it sounded desperate, and there were muffled cries coming from the other side.
"Arthur, Arthur!" sobbing, whimpering. "Let me in, please, something's happened to the Watchers…."
The door was flung open the moment he determined it was indeed Merlin's voice. He picked the man up (Jesus, he just doesn't gain weight), laying him gently on the bed and hugging him and stroking his head.
"Merlin? Merlin, shh, we'll sort this out, shh…." The warlock gave out another cry, perfectly in sync with the one in his head.
"Arthur… Arthur, we're under attack. The Watchers are dead. They… they're all gone. Beatrice… they killed her. They killed them all. I'm alone I'm alone I'm alone I'm alone I'm…."
"Merlin!" Arthur shook him gently, heart breaking at the tears running down his pale cheeks. "Merlin, who are they?"
The man looked out the King's window then. By then Guinevere had made her way back and was standing in the doorway, shocked. Merlin looked out the window at the people running amok and the men running after them.
"I don't know."
Those three words had determined the fight. They'd told Arthur one thing.
They weren't going to make it through this one.
Guinevere thought back to how Merlin had looked, how shattered he'd felt, and how he did, indeed, have a fear. The fear of the unknown. Common among men, yet never alone. But Merlin's list was short.
He hadn't feared for Arthur. He hadn't feared that the King would die one day; that his mighty quest of destiny and fate would soon come to a close. He feared for whatever comes after.
He feared a lonely world, one in which a friendship that has lasted so long would fade from existence. He feared of having no purpose, having no one to live for—to die for. He feared for the aftermath of it all.
Gwen dropped a small, clay cup. Her knees cracked as she bent down, her hands shook as she picked it up. Her eyes watered as she looked at the cup, the large crack streaming down the middle. She stared at the many duplicates on the shelves above her, the cracks and chips that littered them all.
When she poured water in it, droplets stained the outside of the brown clay.
And now her hands shook even more, her knees barely held themselves together, and her eyes bled. She'd rid herself of the ghostly dried blood in between her fingernails. She'd rubbed her fingers raw.
It was still there.
She couldn't think of another time she'd seen Arthur so caring to anyone. When she'd seen Arthur whispering to Merlin, stroking his head, she knew he was first and foremost. Sure, there was the kingdom, the people, but in Arthur's mind, Merlin was above them all. The two of them just… clicked.
She'd realized it first the night of their wedding. The Knights of the Round Table had been laughing. They made horrible, drunken jokes and annoyed everyone to no end. Arthur had refused to drink, saying he didn't see the point to it. And Merlin never drinks. No one could ever convince him to sip some wine.
"And then he died!" Gwaine ended, laughing along with the rest of the men. Arthur looked over at his newly-wed wife incredulously.
"You think this is funny?"
Her brow rose. "No. Of course not. I just think Gwaine snorting is funny."
The King let out a chuckle. He turned to his right. "Merlin, I don't see why you're friends with the man. He's such high maintenance, and his jokes are absolute… Merlin?"
The familiar mop of hair was not next to him.
Gwen had forced Arthur to let Merlin out for the night, saying that a friend shouldn't be serving a friend on such a special night. Arthur had protested half-heartedly, but he was the one that made the suggestion of where the idiot would sit. Gwen had promised him he'd never hear the end of it.
"Merlin?" He stood slowly as to not alert the Knights. He looked back at Gwen. "Did you see him leave?"
"No… no, I didn't." she furrowed her brows, clearly worried. "Where is he?"
Arthur bit his lip. "You stay here. Keep the Knights busy."
"Why? Shouldn't they help us look for him?"
"I don't think he wants to be found." And with that, the King left, leaving his Guinevere gaping. But she did as she was told.
"Merlin?" his voice echoed through the corridor. He could see the storm outside. The thunder seemed to fluctuate when his manservant's name was spoken. "Merlin?"
He rounded a corner, arriving in an empty room. There were many throughout the castle—they just didn't have a purpose. His voiced echoed in this one, too.
And heavy breathing.
It was both quiet and loud, heavy and light, controlled and wild. Arthur could hear the cursing that went hand-in-hand with it, which was strange, because Merlin doesn't curse—wait, Merlin!
"Merlin!" Arthur whispered harshly, rushing over to him. He was leaning against a pillar, palms smashed into his closed eyes, rocking slightly. He was pale, and he was cursing, and—
He was crying.
Or, well, he had been. He seemed to be quite angry now. And Arthur didn't know what to do with an angry Merlin, because it never really happens.
He laid a hand on his shoulder. "Merlin, what's… wrong?" Arthur hesitated, feeling him tense. Merlin simply shook his head… frantically. Biting his lip. Digging his fingernails into his palms. "Merlin, you can tell me. Is it Gwaine? Or… did something happen to Gaius?"
Merlin bolted up, furious. Arthur fell back, astonished at the man's speed. The tear tracks were very visible now, lining his cheeks and glistening. His eyebrows were making him feel stupid.
"That's the best you can come up with?" He's nearly yelling. "Gwaine? Gaius? No, Arthur, maybe it's me! Maybe, just maybe, your stupid wedding and stupid festival and your absolutely idiotic happiness is getting to me! Maybe, it's reminding me of something that I can't ever have back!"
Arthur slowly rose, worried. "Merlin, just calm down, slow down—"
"No." although he did quiet down a bit. "You don't get a say, you hear? You have everything you could ever want. Your Knights, Guinevere, the goddamn kingdom! You have a servant to polish your shoes, polish your armor—prepare your goddamn baths. You don't have to keep secrets, Arthur, for the main reason that you can't. You can love the one girl you've been wanting to love, without keeping it hidden away."
He paused, breathing in. Breathing out. Breathing in—
"You can love carelessly, Arthur." There were tears now. They glistened in his eyes, moistened his cheeks. "Because I keep secrets."
The Queen and King had later learned that her name was Freya, that she'd been killed, that she was never truly free, that she had loved Merlin and he had loved her—but they never learned their secrets. Both Merlin's and Freya's, because some had died with her, and others lived on in Merlin.
Neither would be sought out for a long, long time.
Arthur screamed.
He screamed and screamed and screeched, because fuck it all. He was tired—so, so, tired—and everything and nothing was working. His hand slammed into a wooden post, shattering it. Oh, adrenaline.
The bang and piercing yell echoed the… yard? He couldn't tell where he was anymore. There were tomatoes and cabbages and carrots littering the ground. A food market. Or, what's left of it.
He kicked these vegetables around. He smashed the tomatoes, threw the cabbages, broke the carrots. Hay flew in the air when threw that around, too, and logs broke from his tightly compressed muscles. From his mouth was such an anguished cry that it tore through the sky with the precision and lethality that could rival Excalibur any day. Then, he tripped. His feet tripped out from underneath him, sending him toppling to the ground.
Onto the remains of a knight.
He remembered this one—Sir Gerald. A magnificent fighter, a kind heart, a soft soul. But it was not Gerald that came to mind when Arthur laid his eyes upon the man. It was Percival.
"Where the hell did they come from?" Gwaine slayed another—it did not boost their morale. "I mean, seriously, no one can just kill the Watchers. Merlin trained them!"
"You know," Elyan grumbled, ducking, "I've never heard someone complain so much. Especially to a group that is just as clueless as he!"
"Would you both just shut up?" Merlin yelled, blasting another. Percival laughed, not saying a word. Both a silent killer and a silent judger that man was.
But the series of events that happened next were inevitable.
Merlin grunted, wincing. Got him from behind. His arm was killing him. Percival looked back, worriedly (silent worrier, too, I guess). His sword moved a quarter of an inch to the side, his arm resting. Merlin looked back, eyes going wide. "Percival!"
The strong man looked back. The silver of the sword gleamed in an odd way, a way that was in no way natural. Merlin saw this. Merlin also saw the metal go through his friend's gut.
The air pulsed around him. It sent any enemy within a two-mile radius flying backwards. Merlin ran so fast he was able to catch his friend, safely lowering him to the ground. His hands wavered around the wound, hoping he was wrong. Praying he was wrong.
Nothing happened. Silence reigned.
Percival was dead. Sir Percival was gone.
Merlin's next cry made even the Knights stumble slightly. The ground rumbled throughout the whole kingdom, pausing the battle momentarily.
Arthur lowered his sword. He looked back at Merlin's slumped form, at Percival's still body, and felt sadness. He'd never seen his friend so… broken.
Elyan bit his lip. Leon looked away. Gwaine teared up. Merlin stood, eyes cold and relentless.
Arthur held his hand out. "Merlin—"
"Shut up. Just… shut up. Not right now. Later." He said it like there was going to be a later. "You all… I can't heal your wounds. Their blades were forged in a dragon's breath. So please… be careful."
Gwaine narrowed his eyes. "But you're in the same predicament as us, right?"
"Yes."
"But, Merlin," Arthur stepped forward. His hands were trembling. "You… we…."
The mop of black hair looked up. "I said I'd be your servant till the day I die. Don't you dare think I'll ever take that back."
"But you could die."
"We all could, Arthur. We all might."
Arthur racked his brain now, taking in the silence of the air and the dust from the rubble and the smell of the bodies. He questioned everything he'd ever known, every enemy he'd come in contact with, ever friend and foe. Who were they? They wore white. White, white, white, white, white. It still haunted him, blinded him, reminded him of how absolutely clueless he'd felt.
Why?
Why did they come?
What had they done? Camelot had entered its Golden Age. No one fought, there were no rivalries, no wars, no battles! Magic had been accepted. The civilians thrived, and their working conditions became tolerable, even joyful. Everyone was happy.
When he thought back to it, Merlin and he had always been… tense. Ever since the fall of Morgana, and when Merlin got him to Avalon, there was a heavy weight in the air. Their friendship had mended, but with Merlin's knowledge of magic—heck, him being magic—they were always waiting for something to happen.
"I hope you know you attract trouble," Arthur grumbled, glaring at his manservant.
Merlin was incredulous. "I attract trouble? Do you know how many times I've—"
"Don't play that card, Merlin."
"It's true!" he exclaimed, picking up Arthur's leftovers. Said man rose a brow.
"You're the one with the magic."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
A few years after that—year four of the Golden Age—Arthur had a horrible realization. One that chilled him to the bone. One that, in his mind, would need to be tended to immediately. One that had killed Merlin three days ago.
Arthur dropped his cup.
Merlin looked up, slightly annoyed. The wine had soaked his report—and his shirt! He groaned, picking himself up from the floor and grabbing for the fallen cup.
Arthur grasped his hand.
Merlin immediately tried to jerk away, but this is Arthur we're talking about. His face was deathly pale and his eyes were wide, blue irises shining in the sunlight streaming through the window. Merlin frowned.
"Arthur? Is everything alright?"
His response was delayed. Arthur's grip got tighter. "I… Merlin…."
"What?"
Silence. "The Great Dragon… when we went to talk to him… I didn't understand it then…."
"What is it?"
"Your magic… it's elemental."
Merlin looked at him. "Yes… yes, it is."
"You're… 'one with the earth', he said."
"Yes, Arthur. That's the premise of elemental magic."
"Does that mean… that, say, when we cut down trees and kill the animals and ruin the land… does that mean we're… killing you?"
Merlin stilled. He hadn't thought of it that way. The room suddenly seemed bigger. He seemed… smaller. Vulnerable. Weak. And… too powerful.
"Yes… yes, I guess it is."
Arthur bolted up. "We… I have to do something about this. We need to take better care of the land, plow more efficiently, use firewood more sparingly—"
"Arthur, Arthur!" Merlin said frantically, grasping the man's arms. "It doesn't affect me that much! Dear God, Arthur, calm down. Those are small things. It… I think it only affects me in big numbers."
"You think?"
"Well, I haven't actually… paid attention to it."
Arthur gave him cold eyes. Merlin smiled.
"Heh…."
If they'd figured out anything, it was that Merlin was wrong. Sure, dead deer didn't really affect him fatally, but it was definitely noticeable. Especially on patrols. And hunts.
Hunts. The hunts.
It was quite a horrifying incident when it happened. Initially, it was a patrol, but Arthur and the Knights had decided:
"Hey, Arthur, we should hunt instead. Or both."
Arthur had nodded thoughtfully. He'd missed Merlin's gaze. It had panic and dread written across it.
"Yes, yes, Leon. A two-in-one. What a splendid idea."
Merlin had told him once that whenever he did a "two-in-one", it never ended well. Arthur had, in his arrogance, waved it off as senseless worry. Of course, there was that extremely annoying and strangely wise voice in the back of his head that told him something absolutely horrifying happen. But Arthur never listens to that voice.
It sounded like Merlin, if he really thought about it. His accent. His sarcastic tone. His daily scolding rolled into good choices—a force to be reckoned with. The harsh reality. The telling of a real situation.
… Merlin?
"I can't believe we're doing a two-in-one." Merlin grumbled. His horse was braying wildly. Even his horse agreed with him. "This is absolutely ridiculous."
"Oh, lighten up, Merlin!" Arthur said cheerfully. Six dead rabbits were strapped to his own stead, swaying nauseously to the pace at which they were riding.
Merlin bit his lip. The Knights had gotten really good at hunting. It was almost unhealthy, the amount they brought in to Camelot. "Arthur… I'm not feeling great…."
And it was the truth.
Arthur stiffened immediately, remembering a year ago that conversation they had. He immediately grew disgusted with himself. "How bad?"
"Not good. Maybe a few more rabbits. Another deer."
Arthur nodded. But… they were skilled hunters. Silent, despite their chainmail. Fast, despite their swords. And what if you, say….
Walked into a clearing of deer?
Merlin paled at the sight. It, for whatever reason, reminded him of the unicorn and what a pain that whole situation had been. He saw the look on the Knight's faces. Arthur's, too.
"Arthur, no. Let… them go." Merlin could hardly see him through the curtain of lust covering his face. "Don't do it, Arthur."
"Never gonna get a chance like this one, mate." Gwaine smiled wickedly. They all had their bows out. There was no determination on their faces. They were predators that knew their prey couldn't run.
"Please, no."
Percival was backing away, moving next to Merlin. "Guys," his voice was soft, but it carried. "Don't—"
Five deer. Four men. Four shots.
Four dead deer.
The yard was quiet for a moment. Arthur's horse stepped backwards, as if realizing what her master had done. He took in the smell of blood. It coated the floor. He looked at the one that still lived. It wasn't looking at him. It was looking behind him.
And slightly to his left.
It stepped forward fearlessly, eyes black. There was no soul in those eyes. They were judging and hurtful. They told him the truth. And reminding him of how completely and utterly stupid he was.
It brayed a sorrowful moan.
Arthur looked behind him. He jumped off his horse and slid to the ground. He realized, in the back of his head, how dramatic this all is, but he could care less. And besides, of course it's dramatic. This is Merlin—oh, Merlin!
"Merlin, Merlin, Merlin," he mumbled. Percival was glaring at him. There was murder in his eyes. "Hey, hey, stay awake. We always have a b-bucket ready, Merlin." His voice trembled.
"I-I told you not t-to do it," Merlin coughed. "What t-the hell, Arthur."
"I know, I know, I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry—"
"Arthur, we really aren't t-that far from C-Camelot. Just g-get moving."
Percival giggled. He giggled. They all stared at him.
"You're underestimating Merlin, Arthur." He rose a brow, nodding his head toward Merlin's now unconscious form. "He's Emrys. He'll pull through this. It just hurts… quite a bit."
Gwaine's expression hardened. "That doesn't change the fact that we were the ones that hurt him in the first place."
Percival looked up, an emotionless expression on his face.
"Then be more careful next time."
Gwen remembered the two of them when they returned. Arthur had been quite wobbly, and Merlin had held him up, but there were no insults or jokes being thrown between them.
This was the first occurrence that alarmed the Queen.
Guinevere knew about Merlin, who he really was, but that didn't change her opinion of him. But ever since that day, she stayed by Arthur's side, watched him from windows. The people and the chefs and the advisors and everyone thought she was simply paranoid. They'd thought she was overprotective. She was fine with them thinking that.
But that was not her reasoning.
Both she and Arthur knew who Merlin really was. Gwen knew he knew.
She was making sure Arthur didn't kill Merlin.
The poor boy couldn't avoid it. He couldn't not serve Arthur his breakfast, he couldn't not shine his armor, and he certainly couldn't not go on patrols with him, but that didn't change how he felt about it. Gwen could feel the air still whenever they were in a room together, alone or not, but Arthur didn't react anymore. He didn't joke around, he didn't yell at Merlin, he didn't care anymore.
Merlin didn't call him a prat, a dollop head, overbearing. He didn't address Arthur as Arthur—"Yes, Sire. I'll go clean your armor, Sire. Yes, I'll be back bright and early, Sire."—but the big difference between the two of them was that Merlin was still Merlin on the inside, somewhere behind the folds of their broken friendship.
Guinevere knew one of them would snap. She knew it would take a while, for they're both quite patient, she knew it would take everyone off-guard and that no one knew when it would happen.
But she didn't expect it from Merlin.
She was helping Arthur with reports. They could hear Merlin in the background, sharpening a sword. The wind from his window flitted in the air, nearly taking the papers with it.
For a millisecond, Gwen could hear everything. She could hear Arthur's breathing, Merlin's huffs, Arthur's tremble, Merlin's hardiness. She could feel Merlin roll his shoulders back. She could feel the breath he let out from across the room.
"Do you think I'm a monster, Arthur?"
He was startled. "Not… necessarily, Merlin."
"If I'm not necessarily a monster, Arthur, what am I?"
Gwen's eyes were wide. Her mouth was shut.
Arthur bit his lip. "You're… you're…."
"You see?" Merlin sighed, placing the sword down. He turned to look at Arthur. "You don't know what I am. You sometimes feel I am a friend, a foe, an ally, an enemy, a monster. I asked Gaius that same thing, Arthur. I asked him if I was a monster. He said I wasn't. And I believed him. I wanted to die, Arthur, because I am magic and I am nearly nothing without it.
"I once lost it. The day before the battle. When I told you I wouldn't be coming. Your face killed me, Arthur, but without my magic, I am no one. I would have been a nuisance on the field. I went to get it back, Arthur, and Morgana beat me there. She trapped me in the Crystal Cave, and for the first time, I felt hopeless. I screamed out and cried. Balinor showed me the way, he brought my magic back, but I still couldn't get to you in time.
"I knew that Mordred would be the one to kill you—to nearly kill you." He shook his head as if something painful had invaded his mind. "But would you have believed me? No. Even if you knew he was fighting against you, even if you knew that he fought for Morgana, you wouldn't have listened. You still cared for him, still thought he could change. Isn't that why he stabbed you in the first place?"
The King was speechless. "I…."
But Merlin wasn't finished.
"I showed you my magic because I've always wanted to tell you. I trusted you with my deepest secret because for a fleeting moment, I thought you would die and that this would all be over. My stupid destiny, your stupid destiny, our fates, all pointed toward you living and becoming the greatest king anyone would ever know. It never told me that I might die, or that you might die, or that anyone dear to us would die, but that all happened.
"You don't understand how close you came, Arthur. You weren't breathing. Your heart had stopped. Your pulse was gone. I cried and cried, I screamed, because I was your friend and I had nowhere to go. I had failed, ultimately. The future looked horrible. But then you came back."
Arthur stood up, slowly. "Merlin…."
"Destiny is absolutely stupid. It's the truth with lies written in between, false corners placed where you least expect them, misplaced fiction amidst an ocean of reality. There are places where destiny should not exist, Arthur, but it still does."
Arthur took a step forward. Another.
Another.
His footsteps echoed throughout the room.
His breaths hung heavily in the air.
He opened his arms. Merlin collapsed into them.
They both cried the tears that'd been balled up on the inside.
Gwen didn't look up when Arthur walked in. She cooked their dinner, washed their dishes, played along with his game of silence. She knew that he was upset, troubled—his cry had not gone unheard. She teared up at it, but nothing could make her sadder than the Battle of the Fallen.
There really hadn't been a better name for it. The battle was lost the moment the Watchers were found—heard—dead, but no one would express that openly. She remembered going to bed the night before, loving the world she was born into. Loving the friends she had. And now, as she watched Arthur stare into the fireplace, she felt sadness.
Of all those friends, only one remained, and he was but a shell of what he used to be.
"Arthur," her voice was soft but unyielding. "Will we continue with the bodies tomorrow?"
He nodded. "Preferably." He was hoarse. Even his coldest reactions couldn't change that. "But not all them. I still need to patrol." There was that unspoken message:
I'm looking for survivors, because surely, we can't be the only ones, right?
She chose not to agree with him, with the patrol. Not today. "I've been thinking about how all this feels. The loneliness, the fear, everything." Her next words—she knew they were a subject he'd been trying to avoid. "I think this is how Merlin feels—felt." Past tense, Guinevere. Past tense.
He stiffened. "Yes, I suppose."
"I mean, when you think about it," which I bet you've been doing, "there was no one he could go to. Sure, he had Gaius, but that old man didn't really understand. He couldn't tell you for the longest time, for fear of being put to death, and he didn't come to me because he didn't know how I would react to it. He kept that pain hidden for three years—three years! Even now, we can't even begin to fathom how…."
The door swung on its' hinges. The cold air flew into the small house, chilling her. There was something about the air that didn't feel right. It was all… wrong. Oh…
That was it.
Merlin.
"Bandages and rue!" Gwen shouted, seeing as she'd run out. The halls and rooms were all being used for the injured, and they'd done surprisingly well. Her best friend, Vera, swung into the room carrying those exact items.
"Here you go, Gwen." She had a fearless smile. She saw Merlin in her brown orbs whenever they locked eyes.
"Thank you, thank you—how's everyone in the eastern wing?"
"We've lost twenty men, so far." She shook her head sadly, black hair pulled into a messy bun. "The Hidden Children… they're holding on. Out of them all, we've lost Cameron and Alice."
Gwen had to hold back tears. She could remember the sight of Alice's death on the field after she'd gone out to get water. The child was throwing spells in all directions, effectively defeating every enemy. Merlin taught her well, Gwen thought, nearly smiling, of course he taught her well. He's always been fond of the children.
Gwen had been slashing a man down when the Light went out of her. Each warlock contained one (Goddamn, the amount of warlock children hidden in Camelot had been absolutely insane), their soul in the form of an orb that lit the heavens when it was released. The Watchers' Lights still lit the sky, and would so as long as time existed.
Alice's had been orange—the orange you see in a sunset, in the reflection of a river. Gwen's face was soaked as she hauled the child's broken body inside, hugging her close.
"Is Arthur still out there?" Vera rose a brow at her question, smiling slightly. She replaced a wet rag on a soldier's head.
"Yes, from what I've heard. He's the King—he won't die."
"What about Merlin?"
She chuckled. "Emrys? Gwen, you've gone mad. He is, if anything, stronger than that of the King." He bit her lip. "No offense—Arthur?"
Gwen turned around, horror written in her features.
"Gaius!" Arthur's voice seemed to silence the whole tent. It was almost too dark to see, but Gaius could see right through it.
And Guinevere could see the way his face paled at the body in their King's arms.
"Why'd you do it, Merlin?" Arthur kicked up a stone, pacing and glancing at the grave every few seconds. "Why'd you do it?"
"Ástríce!" Merlin shouted, flinging his enemy backwards. Simple, but lethal. Right up Merlin's alley. "Ástríce!"
Arthur was tired. His arm ached from the hours of fighting, and his armor was doing nothing but weighing him down. His aim and efficiency worsened by the second.
Kilgharrah flew overhead, annihilating a field of the enemy. Camelot's warriors had enough sense to duck. The others… well, they weren't as lucky.
"Arthur!" Gwaine gasped. "We can't keep this up for much longer. We're growing too tired. They enemy… they're endless."
Merlin huffed. "That's one way to put it." He glanced at Arthur. "Without sounding so dramatic, he's saying that we aren't going to survive the night. Whoever, whatever, they are, their numbers are what make them powerful." He slashed down another man. "It's not their skill. They're tiring us down on purpose."
Leon nodded. "There's something bigger coming."
"Will we be able to fight it?"
"In this condition? No, probably not." Merlin shook his head. "Even if we refueled, the chances are slim. Whatever it is, they're willing to put a lot of men to death to make it worth it."
"I wish we knew what 'it' was." Elyan mumbled.
Merlin gritted his teeth as another Light went off. Arthur looked over at him worriedly. "Merlin, you should go rest. Go see—"
"No. That'll make it worse than it already is." Merlin looked at him with wide eyes, seeing something behind him. "Ástríce!"
A man flew from behind Arthur, landing on the earth with a dull thud. Arthur let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "Thanks Mer—"
Arthur stared at the mound of dirt. He glared at it. He hated what lay beneath it, what it represented. A lost friendship, a broken kinship, a buried life. He's buried his best friend. His true friend.
Merlin looked at him with wide eyes. There, within them, Arthur could see the peace and acceptance. He could see the finality and loneliness. He could see the regret, the gloominess, the shock. But on the outside, Arthur could see the pain.
The sword was pulled from his gut. It was slick with the Warlock's blood. His killer backed away, as if just realizing that he'd doomed Camelot. The man watched as the king of his enemy caught the raven, tears spilling carefully, cradling his body. Whispering.
Gwaine's resolve, his control, crumbled. Its dust littered the ground as he screamed and pummeled the man. No one stopped him. No one held back. No one winced as Gwaine screamed:
"Merlin!"
"Arthur," Elyan yelled, eyes desperate. "We need to get him to Gaius."
The King stopped rocking, but looked to his knight with red eyes. "B-but… he said…."
"Well damn that!" Gwaine growled. "We're going to try. So, get your ass up, Princess, and get him to Gaius." There was that unspoken message that the man had been screaming at him, screeching—
'He's not gonna just die. He's gonna die fighting.'
Arthur collapsed by the mound of dirt, rubbing his eyes. "Because that's who you are, Merlin. You always know what's gonna happen next. You're a riddle made of mysteries and questions. You're unintentionally deceiving. You always know the answer."
A falcon screamed overhead.
"You just… leap into everything. You never know when the hell to stop, when to begin, when to ask for help, when to do anything right, because, you idiot, you're Merlin and you just don't—"
Arthur breathed in heavily, tears gathering in his eyes.
"I'm going nowhere with this. You're—you were my friend, Merlin, the best and truest and most trustworthy friend. You were goofy and stupid and extremely amusing. You worked behind the scenes for the longest time and got no credit for it and now… now you're dead, Merlin. You're gone, and I'm so, so lonely—"
He choked on his tears. They filled his eyes and ran laps down his face, their stamina infinite. Arthur shook now, trembled and rocked, because there were sobs now, and they weren't stopping and he couldn't control himself and there was no one to criticize him and—
A soft, brown hand landed on his shoulder.
It, too, trembled.
Gwen knew this would happen eventually.
She didn't tell him, and he probably knew it too, but bottling up his emotions didn't do anything for his stress. It's part of the reason why women are so misunderstood. Men aren't the best at paying attention to those feelings.
The door was open.
But as she sat by the fire, she looked through the small window. Merlin's grave was simple, yet held so much to it. Gaius' was next to his, along with the knights.
She saw Arthur's hunched frame. She saw how it shook. She saw how his strong, sturdy hand played in the air, covered his mouth, and rubbed his sleeve consistently as his lips moved. She felt the words long before she heard them.
"You just… leap into everything. You never know when the hell to stop, when to begin, when to ask for help, when to do anything right, because, you idiot, you're Merlin and you just don't…."
She saw those strong, sturdy hands grasp at the ground, knuckles white.
"I'm going nowhere with this. You're—you were my friend, Merlin, the best and truest and most trustworthy friend. You were goofy and stupid and extremely amusing. You worked behind the scenes for the longest time and got no credit for it and now…."
Gwen stood up, walking to the door. She was outside when she heard his next words, and she was shaking, too.
"… now you're dead, Merlin. You're gone, and I'm so, so lonely—"
She placed her delicate, small hand on his shoulder. He looked up, eyes pleading, pleading for this all to be a dream, begging for them all to come back….
She shook her head and knelt next to him, a small, sad smile on her face. Gwen could see the tears that wouldn't stop, that wouldn't let up, and realized that they had friends on her own face, and now her cheeks were wet, too.
They hugged. They hugged for a long, long time and they remembered.
Gwen and Vera looked at each other in horror. They rushed over, bandages and potions in hand, ready to tackle almost anything.
But they weren't when they saw Merlin on the table.
"Gaius," Arthur also had bandaging. "Gaius, you have to help him, there has to be a way—"
The old man shook his head, even though he still attempted to close the wound. He shook his head, then looked to his ward, the boy he'd known for fifteen years, the boy that was his son in everything but blood, the boy who wasn't a boy anymore.
The boy who, Gaius knew, didn't want to die. The boy who was a man and a man that wasn't ready to leave everything, wasn't ready to leave Arthur, or Gaius, or Gwen, or Gwaine….
The boy who knew the inevitable was coming.
Gwen held her hands at her mouth when she saw the sadness in Merlin's eyes. He was awake now, and he could hardly feel the pain. He didn't look down at his wound. He didn't tell them it would be okay.
He did cry, though, because he was scared. His brows scrunched up and he looked to Arthur, because Arthur was crying, too, and he was trying to hide it. His shaking hand clasped around Arthur's and held on as tightly as he could.
The King's eyes were desperate. He was rummaging around cabinets and cupboards, cursing himself and trying to stem the flow of tears—
Then there was Merlin's hand. Soft, precise, gentle, glass hand that had hardened over the years of servant work that he'd been subject to. It trembled, as did his lips. And Arthur told him:
"Merlin, you… you're gonna… please, Merlin…."
The boy that was a man took in a stuttering breath, never wincing. "I'm scared, Arthur. I-I don't want to die. Not today… I want us to win, Arthur, but…."
"We will win, Merlin." A shaky smile. "This is your king you're talking to."
Merlin shook his head, frantic. "Arthur, I forgot all about her… I forgot, you have to follow—"
He coughed. He groaned in pain, still panicking. Gaius looked confused. "Merlin, you have to calm down. Who are you—"
"No, no, no, no, no—Arthur, you won't win this battle," blood came from his mouth this time. "You won't. B-but you will surv-vive it. You have to follow… the…."
Arthur looked at him with wild eyes. "F-follow what, Merlin? Merlin!" He looked at Merlin's fading eyes. He saw how vulnerable he was. "Merlin?"
"I'm scared, Arthur." His eyes twinkled then. "Where will I go?"
The tent stilled. Each wounded warrior, each nurse, each dead body watched the blue light that flew into the air. They watched as its wings flapped, as its small, glowing body hovered in the air. They saw as it turned around and looked each one of them in the eye.
They watched as the Merlin flew away at breakneck speeds, off to the forest.
Arthur woke up the next day. He dressed himself, made breakfast for Guinevere, ate with her, and told her where he was going and not to worry.
Now, the Once and Future King walked through the forest. Two grey rabbits hung from his belt. Birds chirped and wolves howled, but he could care less about that. It was still dark out. It was cold and snow lay upon the ground in a fine layer. The animals were scarce. And then—
A falcon screamed.
There was a glow emitted from a tree. A large, twisted oak that reached far, far into the sky. Grey clouds wisped through that sky, sad and depressed and free.
Arthur looked up and saw that Merlin.
The Merlin that glowed blue. The blue from the cave when he'd gone for the stupid flower. Its wings lay at its side in a delicate manner, and its head swiveled around as if looking for something—
His eyes landed on Arthur's. He screeched in what sounded suspiciously like joy, and he flew down to meet Arthur.
The King looked down at him with wide eyes. He looked down, then looked up, then down again.
He flew up and hovered at the King's face, glowing even brighter. He looked down at the dead animals and cawed in what sounded oddly like disgust. Then…
He bolted.
Arthur stood there for three seconds. Then he sprinted after him, because that was Merlin's soul right there. No, that's not right.
That was Merlin.
When he finally caught up with the bird, he came to a clearing. The trees bent their branches overhead, stopping any snow from making its way to the ground. The leaves ruffled with the wind, dancing through the air with a joy that could only be found in the happiest of times. And there was a girl.
She was no more than six. Her hair was red, but it was a red mixed with black to create a sort of garnet color. Her skin was as white as snow. Her feet were bare, and she wore nothing but a thin, dark green dress, but she didn't seem cold.
Arthur looked around and saw the Merlin hovering frantically in the air. He jerked his head towards the girl, as if to say, walk up to her, you clot pole! and he landed on a branch, head dipped.
The blonde man walked up to where she sat, playing with a brown leaf. He watched as she made it yellow, then into a fox, then into a bear, then a wolf.
She shooed it away, then turned to the blonde man before her.
She gasped, backing away, never making eye contact. Her back hit a tree. She suddenly looked dangerous.
Sharp, lethal tree roots sprouted from the ground, pointing at Arthur. Her voice was small, powerful, vulnerable….
"I'm scared, Arthur."
It was sweet, curious, questioning.
"Where will I go?"
And it was guarded. But he heard his best friend in her voice, and he cried a little inside when she didn't know him. But of course she didn't know him.
"Who… who are you?" the branches moved a bit closer. "And what do you want…?"
He raised his hands. "I'm Arthur, and he guided me—"
The wood had him pinned to his own tree now. "Who guided you? Who are you, where is—"
Merlin landed on the branches, cawing. Scolding, reprimanding. She calmed at the sight of him, but still looked confused. "He guided you?"
"Yes." The branches retracted. "What is your name?"
She rubbed her pale arms. "Aurora." She scrutinized him. "Why did he lead you to me?"
Arthur smiled sadly. "That, I do not know."
"Where are my parents?"
The air stilled. Arthur looked at her then. Took her in. Merlin's arms, his hands, his eyes….
And Beatrice's beauty.
A tear slipped down his face. "There… there was a battle at Camelot…."
Her eyes shut. She breathed out. "They're dead, aren't they?"
He nodded.
"Were… you're the King, aren't you?" she looked up at him.
She didn't bow, and for that he was grateful.
"Yes, Aurora."
"I remember my father," they sat on the oddly warm floor. The Merlin perched on her shoulder. "My mother could never come out, and my father hid me away with the druids. He… he was an odd man, I remember. He was extremely lanky, really tall, and his accent was sort of annoying. His voice was sort of deep, but light and cheery. He had the oddest, darkest sarcasm, and I think I inherit that, but… he made sure I understood it.
"He… he was known among the druids. They always spoke of the almighty Emrys and how he'd helped you unite the lands of Albion, how he became the kindest and most trustworthy person to walk the earth." She paused, frowning and biting her lip.
Arthur tilted his head. "What's wrong?"
"They… the druids never told me his real name. I only knew him for how powerful he was, for what the legends made of him. He couldn't visit me often enough for us to create a special bond. I only knew him for what he was made of." Aurora looked at him, stroking the bird. "Is it true that he was magic?"
Arthur smiled. "Yes."
"He came to me once. Midwinter, I remember, and he was absolutely freezing. My caretakers bowed to him, and he hated it. He told them that, 'I am no more human than you. You need not bow to me' and they kind of had this confused and giddy expression on their faces then."
Aurora placed the pencil down, rubbing her face. This story was going nowhere, and it was starting to get to her. She needed inspiration from somewhere.
"Wow, and to think you're only six."
Her face lit up, glowing. She ran into his outstretched arms, screaming in joy. "Father!"
He laughed, a sweet sound that she could only dream of. His hair itched at her face. "That is who I am. Among other names."
"Will you tell me this time?"
His face fell. "No, Aurora. Not this time."
"But… why not? You let me know mother's name…."
"There are dangerous people out there, Aurora. I don't want them to use me as leverage should you be…." He squeezed his eyes shut. "You know."
She placed a hand on his arm. They were sitting now. "What have you come to tell me this time?"
Emrys rose a brow. "Oh, many things, dear. But first, I want you to know something about yourself."
"Oh?"
"Well, you know how I'm 'Emrys, the all-powerful good-giving man of the land'?"
She giggled. "Yes. Although, that's a bit dramatic, in the sense that you're extremely goofy and clumsy and idiotic at times."
He held a hand to his chest, a mock expression on his face. "Why, I'm hurt! You're sounding just like Arthur—ah, anyway—you know how I'm magic?"
"Yes, father."
"Well, when your mother and I got together, we had no idea that our genetics would combine to create you, Aurora Aquila Ambrosius, that you would be a second, even more powerful me. Even the druids were surprised by your arrival. And… I used to be hunted. I was wanted dead by many throughout Albion, just for my power. And since you've been born…."
Aurora sighed. "I'm even more valuable."
"And dangerous," the raven-head shifted slightly. "Many know me as Emrys, but far more know me as—" he chuckled. "Almost slipped there, didn't I? I'm sorry, Aurora. I truly am."
Arthur took in a stuttering breath. The memory still lingered in the air, still connected to its caller. The girl shook her head.
"He disguised me. He hated it with every fiber of his being, but he kept me looking this age. He could say that his daughter was seventeen, twelve, three, and all eyes would skip over me. But he hated it."
"Because it put others in danger."
"And it put me in danger," she sighed. "The more he lied, the more his soul shattered. It broke him."
Here, she whispered strange words. Her legs grew longer, her hair more full, her arms more muscled. Her face slightly more angled, her eyes wiser.
"I found out early that I age faster than most people. I'm only ten, but I look and sound and feel twenty. It's odd, and father could never quite explain it, but it worked to my advantage."
Arthur stood with her. The Merlin still perched on her shoulder, glowing slightly more. Arthur smiled. "His name was Merlin, Aurora."
She smiled, glancing at the small bird. "Do you have a name for this creature, Arthur?"
He grinned, taking her small hand in his. They turned, and snow fell upon them. Neither shivered. "Aldwyn." The King laid his eyes upon the bird. It nodded, fluttering to his shoulder.
"What would you name your son, Merlin? If you had one?"
"Aldwyn." There was no hesitation, no doubt. He was sure.
Aurora Aquila Ambrosius let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. "Aldwyn. I like it."
"Oldy for short."
Aldwyn screeched, pecking at Arthur's ear furiously. Aurora laughed, a beautiful sound that could only be dreamed of.
And so, years later, Camelot was reborn. Hunith had started it, gathering up the wondrous people of her village, sending children out to others, doing whatever she could to help the family of four that remained within the city's broken walls. She arrived and warned them of what was coming. She told them that it wasn't the end, that it was only the beginning. She arrived and hugged her granddaughter, laughing at the irony of it all.
"It's like having another Merlin!"
Gwen had embraced her, shaking with sobs and laughter and screaming on the inside, because she knew this wasn't the end. Gwen had jumped up and down and up again, because she could already hear the army of people that was streaming through the holes in the walls. Guinevere paced around the small house, shaking her head and chuckling like a mad woman.
"Arthur, this… this is amazing."
The King and Aldwyn were looking out the window, one gaping and the other staring, shocked, at the sheer amount of people. They carried food, water, wood, stone, everything and so much more. Hunith laid a hand on his shoulder, smiling, nodding her head.
This is real, I swear to you, it is real.
Aldwyn flew up, landing on her outstretched hand. She looked at him, crying now, and he chirped a sad song. She heard something then, something that sounded suspiciously like sorry, and for that she shook her head, cradling him to her chest. "There is nothing to be sorry for, Merlin. You've done great things."
It was then that it happened. After three years, the little Merlin grew, grew into a flaming bird. His body was four feet long, his tail soft and extravagant. His wings became glowing, feathered masterpieces that expanded across the room. His head was aerodynamic, feathers sprouting elegantly. He was cold to the touch, but radiated warmness.
Arthur stared in awe at the beauty of him. Aldwyn craned his long neck twisting this way and that. He let out a huff (Arthur blinked at this) and turned to his King.
You know, now that I take up this whole house, I can't exactly stay here. Idiot.
Arthur froze, blue eyes meeting fire. "Merlin?"
Nah, nah, Aldwyn. But yes, Merlin.
"What… just happened?"
Well, Aldwyn seemed just as clueless, I'm pretty sure I just became a phoenix. But, a, um, blue one. And I'm also quite a bit larger than that of a normal phoenix—ah, who cares, my point is, I'll talk to you outside, because my back's beginning to hurt. Quite cramped in here.
And with that, he stumbled outside.
Aurora looked at him. "Uh, Arthur?"
He blinked. "Yes?"
"My dad just turned into a…."
"Phoenix."
"Well, okay, a blue phoenix… that glows… and communicates telepathically…."
"He wants to talk to me outside." Arthur rubbed his neck.
Gwen chuckled. "Well then, go talk to him. We'll be helping rebuilding."
Arthur stepped outside, where Aldwyn was looking around. He sat next to the bird, squinting. "Hey."
Hey.
"So, you wanted to talk to me…?"
Yes.
"Well—"
I want to thank you, Arthur.
He gulped. "What?"
You… I want to thank you. I was terrified, Arthur. I didn't want to die. I didn't want to leave you, I didn't want to leave Aurora. I didn't you to go through loss like this. But… when I left, I was too scared to come back. Aurora was fine, of course, but once word got to the druid camp that Camelot had been attacked—that we were losing—she freaked. She ran. That's why I didn't come back to you sooner.
I hate how guilty you feel. I hate that you and Guinevere were so helpless, so lost. I hated that you had to battle this on your own. You were beating yourself up, Arthur. It hurt me.
Arthur looked away. "I… I really missed you, Aldwyn."
And I you. And while I wanted to reassure you that my bird-transformation didn't alter any memories, I had to wait for you to come to me. I knew you'd have to hunt at some point, even in this weather. Aurora was actually already on her way to Camelot, surprisingly.
"She truly is beautiful."
Gets most of it from her mother. Aldwyn craned his head to look at Arthur. I miss them, Arthur.
"I do, too."
No one will be able to replace those knights. Gaius will always be my mentor and father in everything but blood. Beatrice will always be my most loved. But Arthur… there are gonna be men and women out there that remind you of everything we've lost. You're gonna create the next generation of knights, you'll build the next Round Table, and you will look at them and yearn for Gwaine and Elyan and Leon and Percival. Lancelot, too.
Arthur let out a breath, not quite making eye contact with the phoenix.
But Arthur, this was Merlin speaking, now. They wouldn't want you to hurt yourself over this. Gaius will want us to move on and find a new Court Physician. Gwaine will want us to find a new drunk knight. Percival will want us to find a methodical, judging, silent knight that laughs at the strangest things. Elyan will want us to care for his sister, to be wise with our choices. Leon will want another knight for you to be able to rely on when you can't make all the hard decisions. Lancelot will want you to have a man by your side that you'll be able to trust with all your secrets.
Arthur laughed, tears streaming steadily now. "Oh, Merlin…."
Oh, and Arthur?
"Yes?"
You've just survived Death and all his friends.
Aldwyn: old, wise friend.
Aquila: powerful as an eagle
"Merlin Ambrosius" & "Aurora Ambrosius": "Merlin Emrys" & "Aurora Emrys" (WELSH)
Well, there you have it! Sorry about not working on other stories, but this idea (not all of it—I developed a lot of it later on) kinda just popped into my head.
CLARIFICATIONS:
(a) Keep in mind I have no clue how many "Camelot years" passed during the five seasons of Merlin, but this takes place in a sorta-not-really AU where Arthur doesn't kick the bucket and they live on prosperously for 10 years before… well, everyone perished.
(b) When you first meet Aurora, she is ten-years-old. She looks six b/c of the spell Merlin put on her, but AFTER she REMOVES the spell, she looks about nineteen. She is also a more powerful duplicate of Merlin (keep this in mind and don't criticize me about how "Merlin is the most powerful sorcerer that ever lived and there's no way that Aurora can be more powerful than him!"). And lemme tell you:
1. She is his fucking daughter.
2. I don't own Merlin, so I don't abide by their rules.
3 I have never, ever looked up and read and researched Arthurian legends, so I therefore do not abide by their rules.
4. This is my story. I do what I want.
(c) Also, Merlin and Beatrice "got it on" later on in the first year of their relationship… so yeah.
Oh, and Aurora is thirteen when Merlin gets his transformation on. Ah, about that!
MORE DETAILED CLARIFICATIONS:
The Blue Bird
Okay, so basically, I'd just read a fanfiction called The Most Deadly Alliance, a Harry Potter and Merlin mash-up. So, basically, Fawkes (Dumbledore's phoenix) is involved, and I look up pictures of that lovely creature (because I haven't read the books and I am curious), and I manage to harden my already digested knowledge that phoenixes are ethereal and beautiful and amazing. Then, it think:
"Why the fuck not make Merlin a damn blue phoenix?"
Really, I have plans of making stories around this one-shot, and I needed a wise, funny creature that makes Arthur look both awesome, powerful, and stupid at times. So, again:
"Why the fuck didn't I think of this earlier?"
So Merlin is Aldwyn, one not to be messed with and underestimated. He will continue to intimidate foes, stupefy smartasses, and serve as a protector and friend to the whole of Camelot.
The Hidden Children
This is one of my crazy, fleeting ideas that seemed pretty logical and amazing at first, but then became more and more stupid as the story digressed and I thought about Merlin. I want to clear this up though:
THEY ARE NOT AS POWERFUL AS MERLIN.
Yes, they are Warlocks and I don't know why the Hidden Children are a thing, but my thought process was that there were so many hidden and fearful boys and girls throughout Camelot that were born with something they couldn't control. So, basically, they came out and became yet another secret force for Camelot.
Merlin's Militia
Merlin is the Court Sorcerer and all, but he needed to train people. There were also grown-ups out there that were born with magic (see The Hidden Children), and while Beatrice and a few others were the few that did live and survive in Camelot their whole lives, many are from outside kingdoms. I probably said otherwise in the actual story, but bear with me. I don't feel like changing it.
The Silver Blade
That part in the story that Percival dies, Merlin sees the enemy's blade glisten a certain way. I was basically saying that they got a hold of a dragon and enchanted every blade. Yes, a bit unrealistic, and I don't know who this dragon is, but hey, my story, my logic, my rules.
Oh, and I have also never really understood the whole "forged in a dragon's breath" thing, I assumed that magic couldn't save anyone if they were mortally wounded by such a weapon. I get this explanation from Mordred and Arthur's duel. And, you know, Arthur dying.
(Damn you, Merlin producers!)
Two-in-One
I have no explanation for this. I just... thought that, well, Merlin's sorta elemental, so the death of earthly animals and plants and whatnot must hurt him a little. And when I say a little, I mean exactly that. It's nothing major, and Merlin fell from his horse from the shock of it all, and the slight pain he felt. He wasn't gonna die, sillies, calm yourselves.
"Death and all his friends"?
Dude, I don't even know. I was listening to Coldplay, and their album Viva la Vida or Death and all his Friends seemed like a badass name. And, you know, there's Death, Grief, Guilt, Temptation, Blame… I could go on. Arthur has survived those and many more in the most difficult circumstances, and I say he should be recognized for it.
"Long live the King!"
~Mini~ (more questions? Ask! Can't say I'll be able to answer them all, but I'll try!)