I do not own Merlin.
It is my intention to alleviate the pain we felt (and still do) in the aftermath of the two final episodes of Merlin.
Thanks to all of you who are following, reviewing and reading! I am really pleased at your great response! I sincerely hope that you will enjoy this chapter, too.
Before you start reading I am asking you to remember the following Merlin quote: 'The darkest hour is just before the dawn.'
Hmmm. You will see what I mean.
Arthur's heart stood still, and with it the world around him stopped moving.
Merlin.
The shock of the realization took his breath away and for a second his mind went totally blank, a blinding void descending upon him. All he could hear and feel was his heart drumming in his chest double-quick.
It can't be. Merlin and that sorcerer on the hill. How can they be the same?
The familiarity of the figure. A tiny gasp escaped his lips. Now he understood. But then, no, he did not really. It was impossible to comprehend.
Arthur's brain was trying to process it, to analyse and understand, but failed miserably. Yet, every ounce of common sense was screaming it at him: Merlin had magic.
And he had saved them all. Without him Morgana and the Saxons would have been victorious. Without his magic Camelot would have fallen.
Gratitude filled Arthur in the first instance followed shortly by a huge pang of guilt, when the inevitable conclusion struck him like lightning: His friend had neither lied to him nor been a coward.
Merlin had told him nothing but the truth.
That day! was the on following thought. But what about all those days, months and years before that? That truth was even more mind-blowing.
Arthur allowed his heart to ache thoroughly and his feelings to run wild amok for a moment. There was a lot that would have to be said, considered and done. But now he had no time to linger on the matter. The aftermath of the battle had to be dealt with and needed his full attention. The moment to resolve their issues would undoubtedly come later.
oooooooooo
Merlin was walking along the narrow pass in search for Arthur. The Saxons were defeated and they were scarpering in all directions, but he hadn't spotted Mordred amongst them. That could mean only one thing. Mordred was still out there looking for Arthur.
Merlin insides had clenched up into a tight ball, one thought consuming him totally. He had to find Arthur. This was the moment he'd feared for so long. The moment which would decide whether Arthur lived or died.
He couldn't afford to be late or the king would perish as it was predicted. But to be able to deny the prophecy its final prize he had to reach him first of all. If he failed now and Mordred succeeded in fulfilling his destiny, he wouldn't only condemn Arthur but also everything he had fought for, and all the hopes he had for the future would never come to pass. Albion. A time of peace and prosperity. Magic being free again.
The warlock clambered frantically over bodies and fallen swords, paving his way through the carnage of the battle and getting more and more desperate as minute by minute passed and there was still no sign of the king.
oooooooooo
Arthur had knelt down next to a knight and held his hand as the man closed his eyes forever. He wasn't aware of the quiet steps creeping up behind him, nor could he hear the fine ringing of a sword pulled out of its metal scabbard.
"Turn round, murderer," a voice threatened quietly.
Arthur recognized it immediately.
Mordred.
Watch out for Mordred! It is foretold that you will die by his hand. Merlin's warning was ringing through his head like a giant alarm bell.
His hand was quicker at his sword, he turned sooner round than he would have otherwise, and if he hadn't, he wouldn't have caught Mordred's sword lashing down at him.
Mordred looked murderous. He had waited for this moment ever since he had sat on the clammy floor of the castle's dungeons and heard the crowds roar at the death of the woman he loved. The whole new world he had felt part of had crashed around him at that moment. And the man who was to blame for his misery, the man who he should have never trusted was there right before him. Arthur.
He had looked up to the king, admired him, he'd put him on a pedestal and would have died for him – but then Arthur had betrayed him in the most treacherous way. He'd ignored his pleas for clemency and taken away from him what meant so much, instead.
"I tried to pardon her." Arthur made an attempt at rectifying the records. But Mordred's anger was way beyond reason. He gripped the sword Morgana had forged in a dragon's breath firmly and the power emanating from it quickened his pulse and filled him with confidence and strength.
Swords were clashing heavily against each other, and Mordred used every trick in human combat Arthur had ever taught him. He'd been a good pupil and understood how to make the best of every little move and every angle. He was fuelled by rage and the gratification that his moment of revenge had finally come, and he also knew that Arthur had been in battle for hours. He was well aware that no man, not even the king, would be able to withstand the constant battering he was exposing him to after all the fighting he'd done already.
Arthur sensed Mordred's advantage as his limbs were tiring slowly. He had exerted himself through the night like never before and felt his energy draining away from him slowly. He was undoubtedly the more skilled of the two, but Mordred was young and full of strength, but most of all, he was carried by a purpose. The king blocked strike upon strike, retaliating as often as he was able to, but he couldn't help but notice how his hand had started to tremble at the force of each blow.
He never saw the dagger in Mordred's other hand until the druid rammed it into his chest at full force.
"You gave me no choice." The hatred in his voice was as piercing as the blade that had lodged itself near Arthur's heart.
The prophecy. Arthur started losing control over his arms and legs and as his knees caved in, he sank on the ground with the odd thought that he had dreadfully underestimated the truths of the druids' legends.
"This is the end, Arthur Pendragon." Mordred smirked with satisfaction and raised his sword to strike the final blow.
"I don't think so." The voice was familiar to both of them. It was enough to stop Mordred in mid-movement.
"Emrys!" Mordred turned round to face the man who had been hailed as a saviour in druid legends for hundreds of years. Saviour. What a joke! Merlin had always been too busy to pander to Camelot's every whim, but had never put the needs of their own kind before everything else. He could have been so much more to the druids and all people of was pure hatred in Mordred's eyes.
"Merlin!" Arthur pushed out the name between his teeth and couldn't help but stare at the older form of his friend. Emrys. An old man with a long white beard and wavy hair. His red coat waving around his tall and regal figure. Despite the growing weakness of his body, robbed of any fortitude by his injury, Arthur took in every detail of the figure trying to find the man he knew underneath.
At his outburst Merlin looked up and their eyes met. Blue locking with blue. There was a moment of clarity and truth in which all they saw was only each other. It was the longest second since the beginning of time.
He knows. It shot through Merlin like a flash. He finally understands. Arthur's incredulous look confirmed it. But this was not the time to dwell on their argument now, far more important matters were pressing.
A golden glance and Mordred's sword was sent flying, disarming the young man completely.
But he reacted quicker to the attack than Merlin had anticipated. The contempt Mordred felt and the anguish he had gone through, the resentment he held for both of the men in front of him and the cold anger that had filled him since his departure from Camelot had bubbled inside him for too long. They were all let loose in the deafening scream he let out and the raw power of its magic blasted Merlin off his feet.
As the warlock crashed on the rocky ground of the pass he was painfully aware that his older self, as powerful as he was, had unfortunately the body of an eighty year old man. When he hit the stony surface, his bones were shaken violently and feeling completely winded, he was unable to breathe. His vision blurred and his head was spinning and for just a moment he was too paralyzed to act.
It was all Mordred needed. He jumped forward, picked up his sword and ran the warlock through, as he lay on the ground helplessly.
The immediate pain flooding Merlin's body was excruciating and unlike anything he had ever felt before. It was like a fierce fire that had been lit burning him up from the inside and splitting his insides in two. It surged through every fibre of his body, slicing, piercing, scarring and clawing at the very force of his life.
"No mortal blade can kill me," Merlin gasped, more to himself than to Mordred, feeling rather surprised at the blinding agony consuming him. He groaned breathily once and his body shook violently as it attempted to shake the force trying to end his life. Darkness engulfed him rather too quickly and all further thoughts were swallowed by a sudden void. Merlin's body shuddered one more time and then he moved no more.
"But this sword was forged on a dragon's breath," Mordred replied with a satisfied grin, quite pleased with the sarcasm of his eulogy.
"No!" Arthur's scream could not have been more heart-wrenching. With his arms and legs heavy from exhaustion and weakened by his injury he'd been unable to move. Blood was gushing out of his wound profusely and the tunic under his armour was turning darker rapidly. With it his energy diminished further and further and he was struggling to keep conscious at all. Thus he had been condemned to remain useless and look on helplessly as Mordred slaughtered his friend before his very eyes.
Merlin! Every single ounce of his being screamed the name. His friend who had just died for him. It was all that mattered in this instant. Everything else, even the magic, faded before that. Merlin had wanted to save him one more time and had paid for it with his own life. Arthur winced, unwilling to believe what was staring in his face.
No! Merlin! He sobbed, overwhelmed by loss and despair.
But what hit him even worse was that he knew that now, he would never be able to seek Merlin's forgiveness. Arthur couldn't bear the thought that his friend had given everything for him, still in the belief that Arthur had rejected him. But it was too late for redemption now.
Rage was the immediate reaction and it gave him the extra strength he had lacked. He lifted his body halfway, grabbed the first sword he could find and stumbled towards Mordred in a last desperate effort. The druid had bent over Merlin to ensure himself of his demise and was just about to put his finger on his neck to check his pulse.
He only realized too late that he had clearly underestimated Arthur's stamina and valour. When he turned round he was astonished to find the king just behind him.
"This is for Merlin;" Arthur whispered as he rammed the sword into Mordred's chest and when he ripped it upwards to make sure it did its job properly, Mordred just glared at him and gave a defiant smile. Then he collapsed on the floor, dead without as much as a whimper.
"Merlin…" The effort of the strike had robbed Arthur of his last strength and he had fallen on all fours. But he knew he had to get to him, had to find his friend again, even if it was in death. He was so weak he could scarcely breathe, but he had never been more determined to fulfil a task. It was a matter of sheer willpower, and it took every single drop of energy left in his battered and bruised body, but the king succeeded in dragging himself up next to Merlin, leaving a telling trail of red behind him as he crawled along the ground.
When he was finally close enough, Arthur took Merlin's hand, and his head sank onto his friend's shoulder in total exhaustion. "Merlin," he whispered, barely audible. "I'm so sorry." He touched Merlin's pale face with his trembling, blood-smeared hand tenderly.
And as he did he watched in wonderment as the shape of Emrys slowly changed. The white hair receded and the wrinkles disappeared. The lips became fuller again and the skin softer and younger. And before he could really comprehend what was happening, Merlin, the way Arthur knew him, was lying before him.
The sight was enough to completely break Arthur's heart. It made this all the more real and brought home that it really was his friend before him and not just an old sorcerer.
Arthur cried out in anguish, but then his body and heart could take no more and darkness descended upon him with mercy.
ooooooooo
It was still dark over the pass of Camlann and an eerie silence had followed the previous tumble of the battle. Death was ever prominent, but no tragedy was more poignant than that of the king and the warlock as they lay on the ground huddled together and their dripping blood mingling steadily in a crimson pool underneath their bodies.
Yes, it is a rather sad ending to this chapter.
But there are two more to go!
My apologies to all you Mordred lovers. I needed my Mordred a bit darker for this story - I actually liked Mordred in the show and think it was a shame that they did not use his character more.
As ever, feel free to comment with opinons and ideas! Thanks!
