Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin, or else season 4 episode 9 would never have happened!

A/N: So who else was extremely miffed about the latest episode? I decided to put my anger towards a god cause and write some severe angst for Merlin. Pretty dark, be warned. I may do a companion piece if I get enough response. Please read and review!

They had taken everything.

Merlin sat on the window ledge in his room, staring out into nothingness. It was a cruel day. All at once, everything he held dear was ripped apart-all over again. Gwen was gone. In all likely hood he would never see her again. She hadn't even said goodbye to him. And Lancelot- the man who had proved Merlin's greatest friend, the man who had taken his place to confront death- that man was gone, too. He had ceased to exist when Morgana had brought him back from the dead. Merlin had been overwhelmed when he saw Lancelot return. He could still feel the jolt in his stomach, the one he felt when he saw his friend's face again. But it was nothing more than a farce, a horrible, horrible trick.

He had been so close.

He was so close to reuniting with the man he had thought was long gone, dead on his account. The guilt had lifted, blissfully, for the first few moments when he believed Lancelot was really alive and well. Then it only came crashing down on him again, the pain temporarily alleviated, only to make it far worse when it returned. The Lancelot he knew was gone.

It could not have gotten worse. Except it did.

Even after everything was destroyed, the final card was drawn- the move that ruined him. He was forced to lose Lancelot again. Only now, the man was a disgrace to Camelot, a traitor.

Merlin felt a stab of pain, hard in his chest. He laughed bitterly. His voice was raw from the sobs that had taken hold f him. It was the irony that forced it from him: he would have given anything, after Lancelot had walked through the veil, anything to reverse what had happened. He would have gladly traded his home, his magic, his life, if he could have stopped that fate. Now it seemed a mercy compared to what had happened the second time.

Fresh tears worked their way from the corners of his eyes. The unfairness of it all consumed him. A sob caught in his throat when he thought of the parallel he had created: both Lancelot and Freya had been laid to rest in that lake. He had said his farewells on that shore. He had burned the boats with a flash of his eyes. He was stuck in the Hell he had created.

He cursed. Merlin cursed Morgana for what she had done. He cursed Lancelot for dying, and Gwen for being enchanted, and Arthur for sending her away. He cursed Agravaine for being a traitor, and Uther for dying and leaving his son alone without guidance, however misguided it so often was. But above all, he damned himself.

He hadn't seen what was going to happen before it was too late. He had lost the fight with Lancelot, giving him the chance to kiss Gwen. He had failed to sacrifice himself to close the veil.

Merlin slammed his fist against the stone wall. He kept going, uncaring of the blood that began to run down his arm, or of the pain he felt. The pain was good. He deserved it.

He couldn't stop Morgana. He couldn't save his friends. He was doomed to fail. Doomed to bear the weight of the world and be crushed under it. Merlin cried out savagely, a pitiful, pained, moan. His raw emotion cut through him.

There was nothing left.