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Title: "The End Has Come"
Category: Het or Slash (your choice)
Characters/Pairings: Merlin and unknown (again, you choose who it is)
Rating/Warnings: T for implied major character deaths and suicide
Summary: "He's dying, and you know it, just as you know that you won't be able to do anything but watch as his life slips through your fingers."
This story is written in second person, and the character whom this is about could be anyone. I wrote this having Morgana in mind, so it should be Merlin/Morgana, but I decided to be vague on purpose so it can actually be Merlin/anyone.
I'm sorry if it confuses you, but it's not mainly about the plot but about the feelings of this unknown character. It's pretty dark. Good for Halloween, probably.
I'm open to prompts, so if you have a request, just tell me. I'll try to answer to everyone, as long as it doesn't involves slash or is M-rated.
DISCLAIMER: IDOM.
Chapter 4: The End Has Come
A smile is all he can give you. And really, you can't expect anything else from him when he's already given you everything.
His tiny smile is sad and remorseful, it's tired and weak, and it's really not a smile but you still see it as one.
His stormy blue eyes, so beautiful and bright, beg you to understand, to forgive him.
The smile you give him is meant to be reassuring, but really, it's everything but. It's probably even more painful to watch than his and the tears falling constantly from your eyes make it seem more like a grimace.
You gently stroke his pale cheek with your hand, and he doesn't seem bothered by the fact that your tears are soaking his clothes, just like you don't seem bothered that his blood is soaking yours.
You close the gap between you and him until your forehead touches his, and you begin to sob harder. Harsh, pitiful noises come from your throat, your whole body shaking with the force of your cries.
You feel his warm breath on your face, but it's not comforting as it should be – yes, he is still alive, but he's gasping, not enough oxygen reaching his lungs, and you know that he won't be with you for long.
The end is near.
You grip his hand, squeezing it tightly – holding onto it like a lifeline.
An endless stream of words comes out of your trembling lips. You're not sure if you're making sense and you're not in the least interested because he is dying.
He's dying, and you know it, just as you know that you won't be able to do anything but watch as his life slips through your fingers.
He whispers your name, gasping, and you're not surprised when you notice that his voice is steady and firm. He never slurs your name.
Your lips brush his and you kiss him desperately while still managing to be somewhat gentle – it tastes of tears and blood and fear.
You feel it when he falls unconscious, the blood loss finally catching up with him. You don't know if he's still alive – but you sure as hell hope that he is, you hope so with all your heart.
Your hand somehow lands on his chest. His painfully still chest. You can't feel the steady pumping of his heart beneath your fingers and a new wave of grief washes over you, leaving you with nothing in its wake.
Your head spins wildly as you realize that no warm breath leaves his bloodless lips anymore, and you feel cold, so cold without him to warm you up.
You're shaking him, and you should be gentler, really, like he always is – was, like he always was. You shouldn't be so violent, but it's love and it hurts and everything that has to do with love is always violent.
Hope is always the last to die, and it takes a few minutes before your last thread of hope is burned by the harsh reality of everything, and you realize that he's gone, gone gone gone, and he will never come back and it hurts so much. The pain leaves you breathless, and you're sure that your heart has stopped beating in the moment his did.
You give up, then, and you get closer to him, needing to stay close to him, needing him – and he's still warm, not yet touched by the cold stiffness of death.
His name is like a prayer on your lips. You will never tire of saying it aloud, but maybe he will, and he will wake up just to shut you up. Unsurprisingly, he doesn't.
Your voice is all that can be heard, his name repeated endlessly between those rough sobs that shake your body, and you want it to echo around you forever. His name is everything that's left of him, and it is yours, only yours, just like he was.
"Merlin... Merlin... Merlin..."
Your voice breaks eventually, and you're left to howl like a wounded animal in the silence of the room.
It's impossible for you to tear your eyes from his body and you try to commit to memory every particular of his face – the prominent cheeks that you so dearly love, the full lips that had always been gentle when he kissed you, the dark and messy hair you tried (and failed) to comb so many times... The mere thought of living without him, never seeing him again, leaves you with a lump lodged firmly in your throat – already sore from all the crying, begging, screaming.
You feel lost for a moment, not knowing what to do, where to go – it's only with him that you ever felt at ease, with him that you were truly happy, and it was only where he was that your home was. You had found your place beside him and it had been absolutely wonderful, while it lasted.
You can see clearly every single moment of happiness and joy you felt while you were with him – every touch, every laugh, every kiss – as if everything happened only yesterday.
You remember the day Merlin said that he would be with you until his dying day, and that you would never have to feel alone while he still had breath in him. He held your hand tightly, that day, to be sure that you could feel that he was there.
But he is dead, now, and you are alone. Nowhere to go, nothing to do. Nothing to lose anymore, nothing to live for – and suddenly you know what you have to do.
You raise your head and meet the monster's eyes – icy, steely eyes, even colder than your frozen heart, look down at you – and you see a flash of regret in them, but it's gone before you can even be sure it was real.
Where you once felt fear there's only hatred, and the love you once felt is drowned by it, swallowed by the darkness of despair and the shadows of loneliness.
You look at him and you know that you've never hated anyone as much as you hate him now.
He took everything from you, he took Merlin from you – he cruelly ripped him from your hold, shredding your fragile heart to millions and million of tiny pieces, incinerating your dreams for a bright and happy future with the man you loved.
He killed him without mercy, and therefore you will be merciless towards him.
The dagger is as cold as ice in your hands, just like your whole body is, just like your whole world is. You're frozen inside, everything has become ice except from that part of your heart reserved for Merlin – really, it's almost your whole heart – and the intense hatred burning in you, its gruesome flames turning your kindness to ash. Your grip on the handle of the knife tightens.
He lays dead at your feet in a matter of moments, glassy eyes staring unseeing at you. They seem to ask you to forgive him.
And as you push the bloodied dagger in your own chest, you know you will never forgive him. And you will never forgive yourself for making this happen.
Your last thought is of Merlin, and you hope your blood will wash away the pain.
The end has come.
"He nods, as if to acknowledge that endings are almost always a little sad, even when there is something to look forward to on the other side."
-Emily Giffin, Love the One You're With
