So this is the final chapter, guys. Thanks so much to everyone who's read this and given me lovely feedback, you're all brilliant and I love you :) Here you go!


I was open now I'm hidden

From the danger of his words

Have found a good position and I'll play for what he's worth

And he will find

Nowhere left to hide.

- Hudson Taylor, Battles


Hand clenched upon the slippery stone wall, Merlin tightens his other grip on his sword. He hears whispering at the end of the tunnel, and knows that he is so, so close to ending this. Glancing back, Mordred's limp form is only barely visible at the mouth of the cavern, and although he can hardly bear it, Merlin tell himself that this is the only way and forces his head to twist back round.

It has taken them six months. Six months locked within an obsession, hunting like animals and tracking using the smallest of details. Mordred's keen senses had not dulled in his time away from the druid community, and their magic made things simpler still. But sixth months is a long time, and Merlin is sure he would have gone quite mad without company. Perhaps he has. He isn't sure. But between his unquenchable desire to kill these men in cold blood and the aching longing his companion brings, he knows he is an utterly changed man from the boy who escaped the ruins of Camelot all that time ago.

Holding his breath, he takes a steady, silent step forwards, and rounds a small bend in the rock. Mordred is out of sight now. Merlin finds this oddly relieving.

At the end of the tunnel, there is a small hollowed-out room of sorts, containing a rectangular wooden table and a roughly-hewn bed. Merlin knows all this without having to look, because Mordred has told him about it.

This is the room where the scared little boy became a soldier.

Inside this room sit four men. They have not left since word of Merlin and Mordred reached them. They know what is coming for them.

They hope that their magic will protect them. But, despite their evil and their twisted minds, they are wise, and they understand what it means to want revenge. What it means to hate, and what it means to lose everything.

Merlin advances slowly, taking care to make no sound. His hands are steady as they hold the sword, and his face is set. He steps into the room, and waits.

The men are faced away from him, engrossed in the scrolls that lie on the table. These are not the false papers used to manipulate a child, they are messages and warnings from far and wide, all saying the same thing:

they are coming for you

The men are afraid. If Merlin's sources tell him anything, it's that.

They do not seem to notice him at first, but then one of them stiffens, and slowly turns his grey head. His face is carefully emotionless when he meets Merlin's eyes, but Merlin knows what the man is hiding. These are cruel, twisted people, but they are not fighters. They train little boys in the art of murder to do their dirty work for them, and they know they will not win in combat.

'I think you know who I am.'

His voice is trembling, but he does not drop his gaze. The grey haired one stares back at him, and there is fear in his eyes.

'We know who you are, Emrys.'

They are all stood now.

'Will you kill us?'

They are matter of fact, and their faces are honest, and in any other situation Merlin would have pitied them. But Arthur is dead because of them, Gwen and Leon and Gwaine and Percival and Elyan and so many others are dead because of them, and all it takes is the memory of the cremated baby lying on her father's torched lap to bring sharp tears to his eyes.

'You killed my family,' he spits, not answering their question. 'Everyone I loved. And you took a child, a child that had so much ahead of her. And you burned her to death in front of her parents, along with her parents.'

They do not deny it, and why would they?

'You left me with nothing. I was alone, and cold, and afraid. And when a companion did come to me, he was as scarred as I was, because you… you took him, a little boy of nine years old, and you broke him, with knives and burns and so much pain. We have no one but each other any more. And he is lying outside the cavern at this moment, because he could not set eyes on this place for more than a moment without the memories overwhelming him. You are evil to your roots, and you deserve to suffer. So yes, in answer to your question, I am going to kill you. And I will take pleasure in it.'

Two fat tears roll down his cheeks. His face was wet before, but he didn't notice he was crying until now.

Only one of the men draws his knife, and by then it's too late. Merlin's eyes flash and it is red hot, scalding his palm, and then they are thrown backwards onto the table. Their heads hit the stone hard, all at the same time, and they lie still, barely conscious. They are, after all, old men, and unable to bear much bodily damage any more.

He takes small steps towards the table, hardly daring to breathe. This is it, this is it, everything he's obsessed over the last few months have all lead to this. He can't quite believe it's here. Vengeance for the world he lost, for the people he loved, for Mordred's childhood. All here, about to happen, right now.

He carefully angles the sword, focuses on the pale throats of these sickening creatures, and –

His hand shakes, and more tears roll down his cheeks as he realises.

He can't do it.

He cannot make himself bring pain.

He grits his teeth and his face scrunches in frustration, but he cannot bring the sword down. He is shaking and crying, and trying so hard but his hand will not work. He wants this with every fibre of his being, but some part of him is repulsed by the idea and will not let him, no matter how desperately he tries.

All for nothing – this cannot be. He cannot give up now, cannot let them leave unscathed when he came so close to avenging everything he needed to. And if not for himself, then for Mordred – the boy he knows he loves, who gave everything to get them here, and lies unconscious from the pain of what these men did to him.

A shuffling from behind him jerks him round, and his eyes widen as he meets another pair. They are tired, and old, and full of pain. But a familiar hand reaches forwards and takes the sword, eyes never leaving Merlin's, and then the boy walks around him to the table.

The deed is done, quickly, with the sense of somebody who is exhausted with all this.

They walk back down the tunnel in silence. They do not look back.


Mordred collapses when they reach fresh air. He starts gasping into the leaves, and Merlin simply pulls him into his lap and holds him, because he knows that this is what he needs. He does not mutter words of comfort, or press his lips to dark hair, because that will never help. His mere presence, however, always will.

Mordred is broken. Merlin knows this. And so is he. This is not something that will just end, now that the men are dead - if anything, it will get worse, because there is nothing else to do about it. Mordred's nightmares will remain, as will Merlin's, and they will need each other more than ever. Merlin knows Mordred is not used to needing people, and perhaps it is why he cries. He shudders and his hand, the hand Merlin has come to know so well, clutches at his shoulder, tearing the fabric slightly.

It doesn't matter. It's about time Merlin picked up a new overshirt. It has been clinging to his frame for over half a year, and he's surprised it hasn't yet fallen to pieces.

After a couple of minutes, Mordred is silent again. He sits, and they stare at each other. Neither of them have yet processed that it is over at last, finally, they don't need to hunt any more. They don't need to hurt any more.

And they don't need to travel together any more.

Since that day, when Merlin looked into Mordred's mind and known, since the day they had fallen into one another and loved, separation has never been an option. They know it now, and as they sit and listen to each other breathe, it becomes the only truth.

The only truth.

'You will be the death of me, I hope you know,' he says, reaching out and laying his hand in the hollow of the ivory skinned neck of his companion. Mordred closes his eyes at the touch, and smiles.

'And you me, Emrys.'

His lips feel like they are on fire as they press to Mordred's again and again. He breathes him, and holds him, and tears mingle as they scream into each other's heads that they are free. The leaves brush against them, first gently, then not so gently as Merlin pushes Mordred down into the soil and kisses him harder. And in the woods, he finally finds him. Because right now, his mind is brighter and more pure than it has ever been before, and if he thought it was beautiful the first time he saw it then this is breathtakingly stunning in comparison. Every part of him is exposed and loving and Merlin could live for this, he could easily. In fact, now he realises there is little else for him to do, and although the future is cluttered with work and rebuilding and more fighting, for now he lets himself focus his whole energies on saving this, saving the boy beneath him and himself in the process.

Yes, he thinks he can allow himself this new weakness. If it is even really a weakness at all.

He inhales deeply as Mordred exhales, finally certain in the knowledge he will be able to breathe now his whole life long.


Again, thanks so much for reading! Please drop me a review, it'd really mean so much and I'm desperate to know what you guys think! Love you all, hope you liked :D