A/N: So I don't know if this specifically has been done, but there was an open invitation to do so...
I kept finding myself returning to a particular fanvid on Youtube-'Merlin's Loyalty and Merlin's Death' (yes, I know, spoiler) by L Morgan, and finally decided to concoct a literary interpretation. It's a good thing, too, that she included in her description that we were welcome to write fics, because when I went to log in and ask, apparently Youtube doesn't remember me, and I'm not the administrator of my Gmail account because it's a school one...

That was a really long sentence, wow...probably not grammatically correct...anyway, many thanks for her for putting up the original idea. All credit goes to you! And might I add that I am in love with Trading Yesterday now; beautiful choice of song. Could someone whom Youtube doesn't hate comment to her on the vid? Thanks, I'll shut up now!

Arthur felt stuck. Rooted to the spot. They were pinned—Agravaine and his men were on their tails, in a maze of passageways that could turn to a dead end at any moment. He was outcast from his own kingdom, near friendless, resourceless, hopeless. What chance did they have, really?

Suddenly Merlin handed over his torch. "I'll create a diversion."

What?! "Merlin, it's too risky—"

"I know these tunnels and Agravaine doesn't. You keep going!"

"Merlin—"

Their gazes met for a few seconds. Arthur could tell his servant was scared. But in those blue eyes also lay the fierce loyalty and determination Merlin always held for Camelot. For Arthur. He knew he couldn't talk his friend—yes, friend—out of it.

Then the moment was gone; Merlin darted through a side channel to intercept their pursuers. And still Arthur couldn't move. Tristan practically had to drag him along the narrow path. He couldn't block out the horrible images that surfaced of what Agravaine might do the troublesome servant. His uncle's dislike of Merlin's often insubordinate behavior was no secret. Not to mention the fact that Merlin had long suspected the lord of treachery before Arthur was forced to face the truth. That was Merlin in a nutshell. Foolish and infuriating one minute, yet insightful and surprisingly clever the next. Arthur didn't know what he'd do without the wiry commoner.

Speaking of which…

Indistinct noises echoed through the dark labyrinth, causing Arthur to halt the group once more. Tristan grumpily asked what he was doing, but he just shushed the smuggler. Sure enough, he heard it—a pained scream. His heart dropped through his stomach.

"Merlin." The idiot was going to get himself killed. "I'm going back!"

The hands of his few dedicated followers grabbed at him, voices hissing that Merlin had made his choice, in hopes the rest of them would escape. He refused to heed their pleas. His oaf of a servant was in trouble, and damn the consequences, Arthur wasn't going to leave him behind! Unfortunately, his intentions were thwarted by his friends' grips. The group continued haltingly for another exit.

The taste of fresh air was bittersweet after the suffocating darkness. Night was close to falling. A half-rotted log sat in full view, upon which Arthur yearned to take out his frustration. Except once again he was pulled back, this time by Gwen. Her fearful gaze directed his where to look.

There, much farther within the dense trees, he recognized Agravaine's dark cloak leading a group of stumbling men to meet none other than Arthur's vengeful half-sister. It took him a bit to realize why the men were struggling so—they hauled a gangly, unconscious form between them. Merlin.

The group was too far away to hear, but Morgana apparently gave the order to bring Merlin with her. What she planned could only fester unformed fear in Arthur's chest.

"Arthur, there's nothing you can do in this position," Gwen begged quietly of him. Unshed tears blurred her eyes in the twilight. "We need to find help before we can do anything for him. He gave us this chance. Don't waste it…"

Very, very grudgingly, Arthur conceded.

This was stupid; so very, very stupid! Merlin chided himself blearily. The last thing he remembered was the dead end in the tunnel—must have been a cave-in long after his days of exploring there—and Agravaine's men surrounding him.

"You're a fool, boy. Just like your king," the traitorous noble had proclaimed. And then a sword pommel had rushed at Merlin's forehead.

Where was he now? He didn't quite have the awareness to open his heavy eyes, though he could sense the space was rather close and shadowed. Nothing seemed to move. His arms were stretched uncomfortably above his pounding head, and his jacket and neckerchief were gone, if the chill was anything to go by.

Out of nowhere, he was suddenly drenched in icy water. His feet scrambled for purchase on the ground beneath them as he gasped for breath. The abrupt wakeup at least gave him the adrenaline to open his eyes, however. Before him stood Morgana, who wore a quite unsettling smile. She stood in the center of the guardroom to Camelot's dundgeons.

"Feeling refreshed? I was afraid for awhile that you would sleep the whole day away," she crooned.

"Well, you know me," Merlin cracked nervously. "Small wonder Arthur calls me the worst servant ever."

His former friend's expression instantly soured. "Well, if you're so keen on speaking of my dear half-brother, maybe this will be easier than I thought." She trailed one finger along Merlin's soaked shoulder. "You see, the kingdom may be mine, but the people refuse to bow as long as he lives. As if the great Arthur Pendragon will swoop in and save them." Her laugh was bitter.

"What on earth can have made you so filled with hate?"

"Oh, it's a patient, many-layered process, Merlin," she informed him. "A life of hopes and beliefs, shattered one by one, left to ferment in a cycle of lies, betrayal, and abandonment. Sprinkle in a few thwarted plans, pain, and loss, and the result is something like this." She spread her arms to indicate herself.

If Merlin's heart could sink any lower, it did now.

"You created this, Merlin. Or at least you played a major part. I can't deny Uther and his ilk their hand in what I have become, can I? I shouldn't have to hide! I shouldn't have to scrabble for every inch of my existence, for rights that are owed me! But no—I'm branded, cast out, considered less than a person, let alone rightful heir to a throne."

"You've let yourself become a monster, Morgana…" croaked Merlin.

"If I am the monster, you all are the ones who have left me no choice," she spat, turning away to the table behind her. An assortment of objects sat on it.

When she returned, a wriggling form lay in her cupped hands. "Do you know what this is? From the mountains of Asgard?"

Merlin swallowed hard.

"Harmless enough most of the time, but with a little persuasion, it can cause a man pain beyond all imagining." The witch smiled with anticipation. "You have a choice. Tell me where Arthur is, or sample the delights of my little friend here."

No, no matter what the cost, what happens to me, Arthur must survive. He has to… "I could never!"

Her smile grew. "I was hoping you'd say that."

"Arthur, you'll run the horses to their deaths if we keep on like this!" Leon protested.

Upon finding the refugee camp some hours from Camelot's walls, Arthur had immediately rounded up four knights to aid him in Merlin's rescue. Gwen had also wanted to help, but he had ordered her to stay behind where she would be safe. The hurt on her face haunted his mind. So they rode with no food and no rest, as fast as physically possible for the fallen city. Morgana wouldn't dare leave her conquest for long. Her hold over the people themselves was still tenuous despite the brute force of Helios' troops.

"Camelot is not far; we'll tie the horses so they can rest before too long!" Arthur argued back over the thunder of hooves. The longer it took to find his hapless servant, the sicker he felt. Morgana had become ruthless in her methods, this mad desire for revenge twisting the once compassionate girl Arthur had grown up with, and she no doubt saw Merlin as the ticket to routing what was left of the old Camelot. The ticket to Arthur.

The soaring turrets began to appear in breaks of the forest canopy. Arthur signaled a silent halt and dismount. The air between the knights turned stiff with apprehension. Nothing but the rough exhalations of the horses surrounded them. No birds, no wind, no hint of life floating toward them from the lower town.

"Follow me." Arthur led the stealthy approach to the nearest passageway door. He didn't trust for a second the apparent absence of a guard. At his signal, he and Leon flanked the door while a third knight put his ear to the wood. All five of them held their breaths. After several moments, the listening knight gave a sharp nod. Horace possessed some of the fastest reflexes in the kingdom. Arthur poised his key (thankfully he'd managed to escape with them on his belt) to unlock and yank the door open in one swift movement. Horace readied his sword.

The unsuspecting guard beyond never had a chance to open his mouth.

"Once we get within the limits of the keep, I want the two of you to remain at the tunnel entrance to make sure our escape isn't blocked. Leon and Horace, you will cover me once we've found where Morgana's keeping Merlin. I'll handle him. And I hope she's there—I want to take care of her once and for all." Bittersweet recollection of his childhood friend intertwined with his hatred of what she had become. She wasn't his Morgana anymore. She was a threat to everything Arthur had sworn to protect. He had no choice…

They emerged warily into the lower hall that accessed both the castle storerooms and the dungeons. No imminent threat met them. Arthur waved Leon and Horace toward the servants' stairwell. It connected to nearly every room of importance with minimum exposure.

Then they heard the scream.

It was…there was no other way to describe it…unearthly. Almost like the cries of the dorocha when they had roamed freely. It spoke of pain beyond endurance, pain that evoked total despair. It begged for death, though death was obviously not soon coming. It carried, though faintly, a voice that Arthur would recognize anywhere.

Morgana had set her little horror shop up in the guardroom of the dungeons, presumably so all the prisoners could hear what could befall them. Arthur led his men up the stairs just enough to see without being seen. Leon blocked the way they came while Horace positioned himself at the entrance to the main level to guard the door as well as the upper stairs. Arthur went flat to the floor, peering through the bannister supports.

Merlin was suspended by chains fixed beneath the primary stone staircase. Angry welts dotted what ashen skin was exposed. He seemed to barely have the strength to hold himself up. Before him, Morgana lowered her right hand, around which curled some kind of black snake.

"Why are you so loyal to Arthur?" she demanded petulantly.

The servant's wrung-out voice sent ice through Arthur's chest, even as it swelled with Merlin's defiance. "I don't expect you to understand…"

The witch spat an incantation at her prisoner, who was sent crashing into the far wall, tether chain broken. Another spell hit the struggling figure, and his howls renewed tenfold. A flush crept up the pale skin as if a fire burned underneath. Merlin fought the bonds still around his wrists in his agony. Arthur stuffed down the urge to cover his ears. No one, certainly not his gentle, caring manservant should make such a noise!

Suddenly the howl evolved into an angry bellow. Arthur thought—just maybe—a flash of gold showed in Merlin's slitted eyes, and then Morgana was the one flying across the room. Her head and neck cracked against the stone structure right beneath Arthur. He immediately forwent any possible lingering danger to leap down toward his now-limp manservant. Both knights scrambled to follow him.

Tears already stung Arthur's eyes as he lifted Merlin's shoulders off the floor. God, the boy was light. The young man's chest fought to inhale properly, each attempt weaker. This sent panic through Arthur. No, he couldn't be…Arthur wouldn't let him…it wasn't supposed to happen this way! This was the point where the incorrigible commoner would peek an eye open and make some wisecrack at who was being the girl now. He was supposed to manage to infuriate Arthur despite his fragile condition. Just break out that damn smile! Not lay in his king's arms, spent and struggling for breath! Arthur didn't even register that his tears splashed onto his servant's once more colorless face.

"She's dead, Sire, the witch," Leon's voice floated somewhere beyond Arthur's shoulder.

The floodgates truly broke inside him. "He did it…not only refused to give me up, but made sure she never got away with all this. Ha! I never would have thought he had it in him…"

"Sire…was that magic?" Horace queried nervously.

Arthur shrugged. "I don't know. Frankly I don't care. If it was, why wouldn't he just save himself earlier? Why let himself be tortured for so long?" The conundrum burned inside him as his eyes continued to search for some sign of hope for the friend in his arms.

At that moment, Merlin stirred near imperceptibly. Arthur's heart jumped into his throat. He was still alive!

Dark blue eyes barely opened, unfocused. "Arthur…?"

"That's right, clotpole. Yet again I've had to jump in and save your sorry self," the king joked out of pure tension.

"You came back to look for me…"

Arthur looked over his shoulder. Both knights had 'dutifully' gone to release their imprisoned brethren, giving their lord some privacy. The truth tumbled out unchecked. "I came because you're the only friend I have, and I couldn't bear to lose you."

Eyes closed again, Merlin smiled. That irritating, irreverent, irreplaceable smile. His thin torso relaxed further into Arthur's arms, if that was possible. Pain no longer marred his expression; in fact, he looked rather at peace. Only then did Arthur realize that the halting rise and fall of Merlin's breathing had stopped completely.

No…

He crushed the battered, slack body to his chest as he never had in life. Fitting as it was for Merlin to give his life for the future of Camelot, Arthur wasn't ready to let him go. Dammit, he wasn't allowed to go yet! There was so much they hadn't done. So much that Arthur had ignored and pushed off and thought they would have time for. Merlin always came back. He found a way to keep going. He was one of the few constant things in Arthur's life these days. What would he do now?

The shuffling of many pairs of boots approached from behind him. A low, strangled voice Arthur recognized as Gwaine announced the overarching shock at what they had walked into. It was impossible to be part of the inner court and not witness the curious relationship between the king and his manservant.

Slowly, carefully, Arthur rose with Merlin still cradled in his arms (a little trickier for him than it had been for Percival, being closer to Merlin's height). He didn't care that tears coated his face. "See, the enemy is dead, and see the one who has saved us all. Leon, you lead the charge of retaking the keep. Find Helios, and tell him the longer he tries to stay, the less kind I will be when I find him myself. He's always been out for his own skin in the end. Arrest Agravaine, if he's even chosen to stick around. I will be in my chambers." He swallowed hard.

"I will go with you, should you meet any Southrons on the way," Gwaine declared. Elyan, though strongly resembling Merlin in injuries, also stepped up. Arthur nodded, knowing there was no dissuading them anyway.

The first real summer warmth shone down upon the funeral. Every survivor of Morgana's overrunning stood present. The knights were all in ceremonial dress, swords out in salute. Gaius was at Arthur's left, Gwen at his right. Gwen was already sobbing uncontrollably.

Arthur couldn't find anything to say. There was nothing that could be said. Their very presence here, free, alive, spoke volumes of the figure on the pyre. He held the lighting torch himself. Part of him continued to wish this was a dream from which he would wake, jarred back to reality by the sounds of a certain someone clamoring around his chambers. No such luck. He stepped forward, surveying the weather beaten jacket and ratty red neckerchief one last time. All that was left of the truest friend fate had ever given him.

"Goodbye, Merlin…" he whispered. He lit the pyre. It was probably a trick of the light, but Arthur imagined he saw a dragon's lithe form stretch for freedom within the flames as they reached their height.

He was the last one to leave, and then only when Guinevere returned to look for him after the sun had set.