Author's note: Thanks so much to the people who wrote my very first reviews! It's intoxicating to get such immediate feedback, that's amazing! Yay! I'm glad you like the beginning of my story. More is sure to come, and as I tend to write in detail, be prepared for a longer fic. Also, I wasn't sure if this would was going to have a happy end, as my main concern with the Merlin finale is that it was much, much too rushed and missed many opportunities to let all the players shine for one last time, but it seems you would love a happy ending very much, right? Well…maybe… if you keep on reviewing! - Greetings from snowy Germany, Hunith's Spirit P.S.: As stated in the description, I'm not a native English speaker, although I've studied Anglistics. If you detect any real mistake, I'd be very grateful for pointing it out to me. I live to learn. ;)

Chapter 3

Merlin had opened his eyes again when he felt a shift in the air that told him that the familiar walls of the main castle courtyard were towering once more above him. He raised his head, to see them already waiting at the bottom of the steps that led to the entrance hall: the woman queenly, holding herself upright with steely determination, long brown hair arranged in perfect waves under the crown that seemed to be a great weight on her brow, her olive skin shimmering strangely pale and bloodless against the bright yellow of her gown; the old man beside her outwardly no less calm, but with his long white hair in even more disarray than usual, hands folded behind the back of his wrinkled, blood-stained tunic –to prevent them from shaking, Merlin realized with a pang – and his sea-green eyes, full of sorrow, and concern, and naked fear, fear for himself, he knew, his ward, his almost son.

When the horse with the two riders came to a halt a few yards from the steps, the old man walked towards it as briskly as his old bones and his exhaustion would let him and reached for the reigns, while the Queen of Camelot kept standing where she was, motionless, expressionless, unblinkingly facing the early morning sun. Merlin returning alone could only mean one thing, both Gwen and Gaius had to be aware of that; why then did the task before him feel so impossibly, so unbearably hard? Why must I be the one to tell them? Isn't it enough that I've lost you?

"Merlin!" Gaius cried out hoarsely, watching the boy, aided by Sir Leon's strong arms, slowly glide down from the horse as if that was the most difficult physical feat in the world. "Merlin, are you hurt? Where is Arthur?" The young warlock took a step towards the physician, swaying slightly. Gaius quickly went to his side and took his arm to steady him. The black head turned towards him and the eyes, young and old, locked. "Gaius, he's –" Merlin croaked in that broken voice that seemed to have replaced the one he had before Arthur left him. Gaius raised his right eyebrow as he stated what was obvious. "He's dead. You left him at Avalon?" Merlin nodded, breathing hard, tears pooling again in his eyes. "I couldn't save him, Gaius. I couldn't save him!" "And Morgana? Kilgharrah…?" the physician asked gently. "Morgana is dead. Kilgharrah…I don't know… I called him too late. I think he…He was dying. I don't think we'll ever see him again." Gaius wrapped one arm around the young man's shoulders and began to lead him firmly towards the stairs. "You did what was in your power, my boy. If you couldn't save Arthur, then no one could have."

Before they had reached the bottom of the stairs, Queen Guinevere barred the way. "Wait", she commanded, her voice harsh, facing the former servant with a hard stare. "The King is dead?" Merlin felt the weight of her despair, and although he didn't care at all for the cold gleam in Guinevere's eyes, he knew what prompted her to treat him thus, and was ready to receive her blame. He deserved it, after all. He had failed her too. Without looking up, he said, "It was too late to heal the wound dealt by Mordred's sword. When we reached Avalon, he was already gone. He…he died in my arms. I…I'm so sorry….Gw- my lady." His voice broke again as he tried to swallow the sobs that were ascending again from deep inside his body. "You couldn't save him?" the Queen shouted. "You of all people have the nerve to say you couldn't save him? I thought you were supposed to be a mighty sorcerer, Merlin! What good have you been, for all your…magic!? "She spat out the last word. Merlin's head jerked up, and he winced when he saw the hatred in her face. She knows? For a fleeting second he fought back the insane urge to blurt out his trademark retort to the accusation of having magic – I was born with it! – and in spite of grief and fatigue a small bubble of mirth rose inside his chest. He was sure that Arthur would have found that very funny. Arthur had told him to leave when he finally, finally had learned his secret, but there had been no hatred in his eyes, only hurt, and once he had come to terms with the fact that the man he thought he knew had been lying to him all these years, the hurt had been replaced by wonder, and gratitude, and above all, unrestrained affection. How Merlin wished he could escape the grim present, and his bleak, hopeless future before him, and live forever in that moment: Arthur and him side by side under the sunlit green canopy in that forest, joking about how Merlin had cheated by using magic to win their brawl in the market so long ago, when they had just met. Was it his fate from now on to be looked upon with hate and distrust by people he had loved? Would he lose Gwen also, and his other friends?

Sir Leon, who had been holding the horse, now gave the reigns to the stable boy who had come to fetch the animal, stepped up to the the Queen and bowed. "With respect, my lady, we should inform the people of Camelot that the King is dead, and prepare to take the next steps. And the boy", he added with a sad smile at Merlin, "has been through a terrible ordeal. He needs rest, and a bit of warm soup in his belly. "The knight stepped up to him, circled his upper arm with his large hand, and pressed it gently. "I'm glad the King had his best friend by his side when he met his fate, Merlin. And – it's good to have you back." he said softly. The young man's eyes widened with something that might have been called wonder, had it stayed there for longer. Gaius nodded at Leon gratefully, then inclined his head to the Queen in token of a bow. "My deepest and heartfelt condolences for your great loss, my lady", he announced formally. Then, his eyes fixed on Guinevere's stony face, he added in a warmer voice, "I have cared for Arthur since he was born, Gwen. He was like a son to me. I will miss him greatly. He was a good man, and that was mainly because he wasn't quick to condemn people. Once his natural compassion won over his princely education, and his pride, he was ready to open his heart and look unbiased at anyone, no matter his or her being different, in status or in ability. You of all people would do well to remember that, with all due respect. And if you would have the courtesy to excuse me now, I must tend to my ward. He is ill. You can talk to him once he's rested. Come, Merlin. Let's get you home." And without waiting for her to respond, he tightened his grip around the warlock's narrow shoulders and started to walk him in the direction of the physisican's quarters.

Merlin felt that he would like nothing better than to meekly go with Gaius and let his guardian fuss over him, feed him with warm stew, and put him to bed, but there were two things he needed to say to Gwen. He gently freed himself of Gaius's arm, ignoring the physician's gasp when he swayed again, and slowly began to walk towards the Queen. His wobbly knees told him he couldn't fight his exhaustion much longer, and his lightheadedness from not having eaten for two days forced him to send small pulses of magic into his bloodstream, but he managed it. Standing directly in front of his old friend, he looked straight into her face for the first time since he had arrived, so beautiful, yet so, so cold, closed against him like a fan. His sea-coloured eyes searching for her brown, he stepped still closer. Warily, he lifted one hand and stretched it out toward her, like on might toward a wounded animal, and ever so lightly traced the single tear that was rolling down her cheek with his finger. She shivered at the touch, but didn't force his hand away. Instead she returned his gaze, so open, so honest, just like he always had been, and suddenly something in her face gave way and her body started to shake with her weeping. Merlin let his hand fall lightly to her shoulder, where he let it stay for a moment before without warning it slipped off limply, his legs gave way, and the world went from grey to pitch black.

TO BE CONTINUED