Hello again, Merlin fans! Here is yet another oneshot based on the season finale...don't read if haven't seen...
"Merlin."
No answer.
"Merlin."
Again, no answer.
"Merlin."
There, that's done it. He slowly turns to look at you, slumped down on the ground as he is. He stares up at your tall figure towering over his crouching body, then purses his lips and blinks, before turning back to what he is doing. You know this is his way of acknowledging your presence and continue with what you were going to say. You've rehearsed this perhaps two dozen times in the last two days; you know you're ready. You can do this. But even so, it makes it no easier to get past the lump that has already formed in your throat.
"I miss him too, you know." You want desperately to make him understand that he is not alone. You're hurt when Merlin whisks past you without sparing you a glance, but understand it's because he can't face you. Not yet. Not after everything that has happened, everything that has been lost.
He sighs, stopping momentarily, before shaking his head and continuing, not looking up this time. You eye the objects in his hands and splayed around him, sighing heavily. "Why are you doing that?" You ask him, honestly intrigued. Every time you've seen him so far, he's been doing something of the sort.
"Doing what, my job?" He answers briskly, sounding bitter.
You shake your head, and rephrase the question. "How many times have you done this?"
"Done what?" He asks again, acting as though he doesn't know; yet you know that he understands completely.
"Polished his armor. He won't need it anymore." And as soon as it is past your lips, you regret even saying it. Admitting it aloud is worse than thinking it over. Saying it, and hearing it echo back to you is even more painful. It makes it more real. His death more complete.
Merlin sighs again, leaning back down with his rag to polish the already gleaming armor- it is cleaner than it's been in years- before scrubbing with renewed vigor. He replies so quietly you lean down, bending over to hear. "Four times."
"What?" Now you aren't sure if he's talking about the same thing you are.
"I've cleaned it four times," Merlin says slower, as if uttering it twice hurts more than once. "The armor. Today. Four times."
You feel a pang of sympathy and again, confusion. You miss your king terribly, and there is a hole in your heart that he once occupied as a ruler; as a friend. Even more so now that Gwaine, too, was...but no. You won't think of that now. You're here to talk to Merlin. "Why?" You cannot help the slight tone in your voice which suggests that you disapprove. This more you've spoken in a long time; you've only talked when things were necessary. You had found no need to speak much before.
"Because..." Merlin trails off, and you crouch so you are both even.
"Merlin," you say again, softly, trying again to make him understand that he is not alone.
"Because it helps it to hurt less," he says quietly, voice thick and cracking slightly. "I can pretend that he's here, for a little while. That he got angry at me even, and that he sent me to go do some ridiculous chore, like polishing armor for a second time or mucking out the stables."
Sympathy and pity pulls painfully on your heartstrings. "You're not alone in that, you know. I miss him too."
"It's not the same!" He exclaims angrily, his cheeks flushing. "You weren't there! You didn't see, you didn't hear him!" He pauses, before murmuring to you miserably, looking at you through his fringe of hair, "he thanked me, Percival. For what? Deceiving him, lying to him all those years?"
For yes, you know of Merlin's magic, and yes, you're okay with it. Actually, you are rather pleased, and it indeed makes a lot of sense. You suspected something of the sort with Merlin, but kept your suspicions to yourself should they prove true. Besides, you chuckle to yourself, tree branches don't just conveniently on correct people.
"But Merlin," you wish he would just understand, "it's not your fault."
He smiles, and laughs breathily, throwing down the armor and picking up a boot and a brush. He starts to scrub. "But it is. It's all my fault. I didn't get there in time. I thought that if I- if I could just get him there, or stop it somehow, it would all be okay. But that's not how it worked."
You have heard the story- or, rather, versions of the story from many different people, altered just a little from person to person because stories from mouth tend to vary from actual events somehow. Yet Gwen, who you had consulted first, seemed to be the most likely truthful, and you comprehend that he's talking about the battle with Mordred and the lateness to the lake on the back of a dragon.
"But Merlin," you wish he'd just fold, but he's so stubborn, "it's not your fault."
He genuinely laughs now. "You know Perce," he uses Gwaine's nickname for you on instinct, and you find instead of it hurting, it warms your heart, "no matter how many times you say it, it won't make it true."
You laugh aloud, too. "True," you agree. "Come on, Merlin," you say, grabbing his arm and wrestling him to his feet, "let's go to the Rising Sun"- Gwaine's favorite tavern- "and order red wine." Arthur's favorite drink, "we'll have a toast to that lost and found, and have dinner there. Then you can show me some of your 'spectacular and breathtaking abilities', if I'd quote the townspeople. Yeah?"
He laughs, nodding. "Alright. As long as you're buying," he challenges.
You chuckle. "You drive a hard bargain, mate." Gwaine's term.
"Shut up, idiot." Arthur's insult.
You smile. You know you didn't fix him, and you know that it isn't okay. But he can let go for a while. Forget for a bit. Of course, it will hit hard when it comes back, but maybe Merlin will be able to deal with it a little bit better.
You know it didn't make it okay. But Merlin stopped polishing armor after that, and stopped brushing boots. He didn't continuously smooth out the bed, and do the laundry over and over and over again. He didn't clean the spare swords. Merlin cleaned Arthur's chambers though, and straightened Gwaine's when he had time.
He never stopped cleaning the chambers, even when you saw he was old and grey and you were tired and old and it hurt to move. And even when you were ready to pass, you saw he was fit. He was healthy. He told you he was going to wait until Arthur returned, because that's what the druids prophesied. He had tried to age with you, so you didn't feel so alone. Something about watching your companion grow withered bothers you in ways you can't explain. You demand for him to stop, and even though he can't and won't understand, he does cease to pretend to age. It puts your mind at ease.
You and Merlin grew extremely close, almost as close as Merlin with Arthur and you with Gwaine. And even though nothing could ever replace the lost friends, it made it hurt less for a little while. And the day you knew was your last day on earth because you could feel it, in your heart, you and Merlin went to the Rising Sun. You ordered red wine. You had dinner there.
Merlin paid, though.
Thanks for reading, hope you liked, and please leave me a comment!