People wrote books.
They wrote books about a king they never knew and call him the best there has ever been, he finds it ironic that in the end, after it all, all Arthur had ever wanted had came true, he was remembered. But none of it was the true story of the golden king.
They don't know about crooked smiles and dying breaths, they don't know how a spoiled boy became a beautiful man that led a kingdom that adored him, as he did them. They don't know about unicorns and guilt or beasts and fiery deaths to restore balance. They don't know, and they never will.
Human life is fleeting and he's seen countries rise and fall and empires of gold crumble to dust and he's dined with kings and he's seen them dead and gone as well. He'd seen things that disgusted and wondered him.
He'd seen war and blood and pain. But he'd seen joy and love and beauty and though the good never quite outweighed the bad the world wasn't bleak.
He was lonely and he would always miss Guinevere and his mum and Gaius and Kilgharrah and Aithusa and Gwaine and Lancelot and yes - even Morgana and Mordred and so many more, and always, always, always Arthur. But he is glad for the time with them, ridiculously grateful of it, these people took a boy and turned him into a man and they made him feel more fiercely then he ever thought possible, and even if he never see's them again, he will still see them.
He see's Guinevere in a waitress that takes extra time to ask the old man what made him into the man he is. He see's Gaius in a doctor that goes the extra mile for her patients regardless of money. He see's killagarrah in old eyes in young bodies, and he see's Aithusa in children lost too soon.
He see's Morgana - as she was when she was young and beautiful and before hate and fear took root - in every being that sought what was right, not caring what society thought, and he see's Mordred in every misguided youth.
He see's Lancelot and Gwaine in every loyal and kind idiot that stays and never leaves no matter how you push, no matter what you do, and he see's his mother in adoring smiles and ones that drip pride like golden honey.
And he see's Arthur, god, he see's Arthur everywhere, he see's ghosts of him in every space and it would be torturous, if it weren't for the fact that he never wants to forget the golden king.
He see's Arthur in golden boys that grow up to fast and don't let it make them bitter. He see's him in every man he has ever loved through the centuries that could never compare to the original, he see's him in the hearts of those good people that still love and trust in a broken world, and he see's him in every great leader that just wants peace, nothing more, something so simple, and yet, so unattainable. He sees his Arthur everywhere.
And he knows, he knows that King Arthur never did die. He, like Merlin, is immortal. Perhaps his body is long ago ash at the bottom of a lake, or perhaps he merely rests, perhaps he looked like he did the day he died, perhaps he sleeps until he's needed again. But regardless, Arthur's love and the things he believed in have weathered the test of time, they have not died and with them he lives too.
And perhaps, Arthur will never come back, because he created such a great legacy the first time that he's not needed, and perhaps his red dragons words had only been meant to sooth, or perhaps they were true. But regardless Merlin prays that whatever has kept him alive for so long, dies, before such a dark world comes to pass, perhaps because of this he will never see Arthur again and perhaps it's selfish of him but -
But Merlin, never wants to live in a world where honesty, loyalty, bravery, and above all else love has left the world, he never wants to see a day when Arthur, and all he fought for, is forgotten to the tests of time. He will never want to live to see a world that had given its self over to power and hate and greed.
That would truly be a black world. An empty world. A World where the light is lost forever. A world he wants no part of.