A work based on Episodes 12 & 13, Season Five: "The Diamond of the Day Part 1 & Part 2", and continuing on after the finale, with a different ending. A Multi-chapter work.

This work is entirely my own, based on the characters established by BBC's Merlin. I do not own any of the characters, and am not making any money from this fiction. It is created purely for my own, and others' enjoyment.

Dialogue taken from Diamond of the Day Part Two

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In order to compensate for the problems with posting chapter twelve two days ago, I decided to put this one up a little earlier than planned rather than keep you in suspense. Hope you enjoy!

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FACETS OF A DIAMOND

Chapter: Thirteen

The horses were gone, and Arthur lay on the ground, staring at Merlin in shock, and barely conscious. Never had he dreamed that such power was possible, let alone that his close friend could wield it so effortlessly. Pain had moistened his brow with a cold sweat, and his breaths gurgled their way in and out of his lungs. The king's face was an ugly shade of grey, which the physician in Merlin catalogued as a combination of blue from lack of oxygen, and pale from pain and failing circulation. What little strength Arthur had was directed to sustaining life only. They both knew that there was likely little more than an half hour left for him to survive in this mortal world.

Morgana's grey formless mist had made its way into the ether scant seconds ago: banished even as Merlin had disassembled her physical body. She would never be able to directly interfere in the world of men again, but would be condemned to always be present, to always observe the life in which she could no longer share. This was her punishment for the hatred she'd poured out on Camelot and all those who supported her. Merlin prayed that, formless spirit as she was, Morgana may still learn some compassion, and perhaps eventually discover the peace and harmony that was denied her in life.

Falling to his knees with a soft thump, Merlin stretched his hand out over Arthur to feel where the sword fragment was, using the last of his recently-gathered power . Several second's concentration revealed it less than a finger's breadth from the base of the man's heart. Indeed, even as he watched, the jagged metal moved once more and Arthur shuddered. Each frantic beat of the man's heart and the lower border of the organ was now brushing against the sharp metal, lacerating the outer muscle. It would not be long now before the great ventricles were breached, and the noble heart would be damaged beyond all repair, signalling the end for his friend. Body racked with sobs, the faithful servant hauled his master up beneath the arms and began to drag him towards the Isle of Avalon, the middle of the Great Lake which he hoped would spell life for his friend.

Arthur was now a dead weight and Merlin's muscles burned under the strain. Desperate, the warlock searched for a clearing: any clearing large enough to permit a Dragon to land. He'd sworn he would not call Kilgarrah who was old and close to death himself. But, in extremity, Merlin did as he'd learned to do over the years, and screamed out for the help he knew would come, even if it should cost the great beast's life.

For the second time in his life Arthur's ears were assaulted by the enormous roaring sound of Dragon-Tongue. This time, tucked against the Warlock's chest, he could actually feel the reverberations as the unnatural language exploded from his friend's body. The effort appeared to be too much for Merlin, for Arthur next found himself laying on the ground, the servant's body trapped beneath his own where they'd fallen together.

"We have to make it to the lake." Merlin appeared to be saying it more for his own benefit than his King's.

"Merlin, not without the horses." Arthur's voice unexpectedly strengthened, and he spoke clearly again. "It's too late. It's too late."

Merlin's frenzied panting filled the clearing as Arthur's deep voice continued; "With all your magic, Merlin, you're not going to save me…"

"I can! I CAN! Watch me!" and the warlock struggled to heft his friend once more.

"Merlin, just…..just.. hold me" Arthur's strength was nearly gone now. Conversely, in these last moments, it was Arthur supporting Merlin in a way he never had during all the years they'd known one another, living and working together. Knowing he had little need of his remaining strength, he drew himself together for one last effort: there was something he must say to this man who cradled his dying body so tenderly in his lap.

Voice soft, but compelling at the same time he continued. "Please; there's something I want to say."

"You're not going to say goodbye!" Merlin denied what was happening: It just couldn't be this way. It wasn't possible that he was about to hear Arthur's last words. The Once and Future King, his Destiny could NOT be dying. Not now, not so young, not with so much left for them both to accomplish. It was inconceivable that Arthur should leave this world such a scant time after coming to see, if not to accept, who Merlin truly was. The warlock found himself wanting to shut his ears, to not listen to these words. He wasn't ready!

But once more acting with courage and loyalty, the words on the tip of Merlin's tongue were choked back. If his friend wanted him to listen now, without interrupting, then he would listen. Heart breaking, the dark man calmed his breaths, tears now a constant steam down his face and dripping to moisten Arthur's head below him. He embraced his soul-brother, imparting what comfort he could, and disciplined himself to listen.

Twisting his neck, Arthur's pain-filled eyes locked onto Merlin's. Words were expelled with difficulty, a few at a time because his breath was so short: "Everything you've done. I know now. For me. For Camelot. For the Kingdom. You helped me build…" each sentence punctuated by a gasp, Arthur paused for breath.

"You'd have done it without me." Even now, at the end of all things (1) Merlin still had need to support and to comfort his friend, to downplay the role he'd held throughout these several years of toil, struggle, triumph and defeat.

Smiling, Arthur shook his head and continued: "Maybe. I want to say. Something I've never s…said to you before." Now, and only now did Arthur's eyes redden, and moisture gather there. He swallowed, and grunted in pain.

Voice hushed, muffled and thickened by tears, Merlin asked gently "What?"

"Th..thankyou." Painfully Arthur raised his hand, and clasped it behind Merlin's neck in a sign of affection and camaraderie. All other movement was beyond him now, and his eyes began to glaze and lose focus, his breathing becoming even shallower.

To Merlin, that one simple word, so hard-won and filled with pain was a blessing such as he'd never hoped to receive. Arthur knew! He saw him, Merlin, and he accepted all that he was, and all that he'd done. Shuddering incongruously in joy and relief at this moment, Merlin bent his head down and rested it on Arthur's breast. Never had there been such a moment of utter and complete understanding, connection and acceptance between two men. Never had so much been communicated with a single word: a benediction for years of mis-understanding. A recognition of two lives lived, each one for the other: both richer by far for the experience. They were, indeed, two sides of one coin; two parts of a whole, and so much part of each other that they could not be separated. For a long moment, Merlin feared that he would follow Arthur into death, simply because life without the other man would be incomplete.

The weight of Arthur's affectionate hand on Merlin's neck suddenly increased as the king lost control of his body. Merlin jerked his head up barely in time to see the lids sag closed over his friend's eyes, and the breath whistle softly out of his nose as the arm fell to the ground, making an appallingly quiet thud as it landed in the dirt.

Whispering, the Warlock placed his hand on Arthur's cheek "Arthur, no!" he commanded. Cupping the pale cheek, Merlin lay Arthur's head down on the ground, trying again to rouse him, but to no effect. Panicking, Merlin threw back his head and howled in agony, a wordless cry of grief that he poured into the night sky. Retaining just enough coherence, he placed his head down once more on his friend's breast: not to give or receive comfort this time, but to listen for a heartbeat. Impossibly, he could hear one: absurdly rapid, with hardly any force behind it, yet the fluttering persisted. Listening further he could hear the faint whistling bubble of breath entering and leaving fluid-filled lungs.

Alone, bereft and despairing, Merlin cried to the skies, venting his anguish and grief as never before in his life. He hardly heard the familiar swish-thump as Kilgarrah's great wings beat the air as his feet landed on the soft turf, and heard the Dragon's words:

"Ah, young warlock. I am sorry." There was no doubting the dragon's sincerity: his large golden eyes were filled with sorrow and compassion as he gazed down on the two small creatures on the ground in front of him.

"No!" bellowed Merlin, "He's not dead yet! I can still save him! I CAN!"

"I'm sorry, Merlin, but I do not see how. Perhaps it is best…" the rich tones of Kilgarrah's voice caressed the air, but Merlin was in no mood to listen.

"Kilgarrah! I would not have summoned you if there was any other choice. I have one last favour to ask: Take us! I command you, to take us to Avalon. NOW!"

Nodding his acquiescence, Kilgarrah lowered his great head so that Merlin could mount, dragging Arthur's body as he did so. Never sure how he managed it, the warlock scrambled up onto Kilgarrah, just behind the head spines, balancing Arthur in place before him as he did so. "Right. We're settled. Now GO!" There was no hint of Dragon Tongue in the command, but Kilgarrah hardly needed it: he could feel Merlin's desperation and obeyed without demur.

Clumsily and painfully, the aged Dragon launched himself upwards, his wings creaking audibly as they took the strain of flight.

Flying with Kilgarrah was usually a moment of extreme joy for Merlin: nothing could compare to the freedom, the power of being carried by such a majestic creature through the air. It was a treat that Merlin did not often grant himself, loath as he was to abuse the privilege by bending a fellow sentient being to his will. This time, as the transparent wings beat unsteadily Merlin barely noticed. His attention was focused on the body in front of him, both arms locking Arthur tight to the Dragon's neck. Not able to hear above the rushing wind, he could still feel the feeble beat of Arthur's heart in his palms, and see the pulse beat in his neck. The warlock focused totally on these paltry signs of life, as if he could, by will alone, keep Arthur with him in the world of the living.

It was with a shock that Merlin realised they were descending. Raising his head, he noted that Kilgarrah was bringing them to land in a roughly rounded arena, that looked oddly familiar. The Great Dragon settled to earth with a moan and a shudder; this flight had taken a massive toll on the beast at his immense age. Panting, trembling, he lowered his head once more to the earth to allow his Dragon-Lord and the burden he carried to dismount.

Merlin somehow scrambled down from his perch, bringing Arthur with him. Stepping slowly, bearing his friend's weight, he examined the flat grassy plain on which he found himself, and instantly realised why it felt familiar. It was a replica, down to the size and including the stone altar in the middle, of the area on the Isle of the Blessed in which he'd faced Nimuè and defeated her those many years ago.

Not thinking, but drawn by instinct, he placed Arthur supine on the altar. Checking him, he saw that his friend was comatose: occupying that state which precedes death by minutes or hours, and from which the dying do not rouse. Merlin looked around, taking stock of the intricate pathways which spelled runes in the Old Tongue and which snaked their way around the monolith. Glancing back at Kilgarrah, he was startled to see that the Great Dragon had not yet raised his head from the earth upon which it rested. In fact, Kilgarrah lay there, panting and trembling, wings sprawled, as though he would never move from the place again.

Even now, in great extremity, Merlin felt compassion for Kilgarrah his Kin. Realising that this last Call had been too much for his ancient brother, he approached him with palm outstretched, and laid his hand against the beast's face. "I'm sorry. But I had to bring Arthur here. I have to save him."

"I understand, Young Warlock" the Dragon answered, voice a whisper. "I knew the cost, and am happy to pay it, for your sake." Merlin bowed his head, saluting the noble beast, tears once again wetting his face.

"Do not weep, Merlin, for this day would always come, and I am honoured to spend it with you."

Snuffing back the tears and mucous, Merlin nodded his thanks. "And now, I must do what I came here to do. I must save Arthur."

"And how will you do that, Young Warlock? Do you have the power to give life back once it has gone?"

"No," whispered the man, "but I learned, long ago, in a place exactly like this, that I have the power to Shadow Life and Death. I cannot give Arthur's life back to him, but I can trade my life for his."

"You speak of the Old Religion; of the Cup of Life and of the Balance that must be maintained?"

"Yes."

"But I do not see any Cup here, Young Warlock."

"Nor was there last time, when I traded Nimuè's life for Gaius'." Merlin smiled bitterly at the memory of that painful time. "This is another of the Powers I have: to call down the Lightning, and exchange the Life Force of one person for another. I have done it before, and now I will do it again. This time it will be my life that is given." Merlin smiled with satisfaction. This time he knew that he would succeed.

"No!" Kilgarrah found strength to lift his head from the earth, and bellow his negation to the sky. "You cannot do this thing Merlin!"

"I must. It is my destiny. Arthur must live."

"And so must you. Can you not see this? Arthur cannot be who he is meant to be without you beside him!"

"But Arthur must live, and there is no other way." Merlin was settled; sure and decided.

Dropping his head back to the earth, Kilgarrah shuddered once more "Then take my life, Merlin. I give it to you for this great purpose."

Shocked, the warlock stumbled back, shaking his head frantically. "No! I can't! I won't! Don't ask me to kill you. Please!"

"Merlin. Look at me," the Dragon continued gently. "I have taken my last flight; I will not rise from this place again. Age has finally caught up with me: after more than one thousand years on this earth it is time for me to leave. Without your help I will linger here for some time, alone, unable to leave until I die. Do not leave me to this unkind fate."

"But…you can't! And anyway, it has to be a human life, doesn't it?"

Kilgarrah chuckled, truly amused at his warlock's naivety. "Merlin, Merlin. How little you still truly understand. Even with your new great Powers, which I can see running through you as clearly as I can see the grass beneath me, you have so much to learn. And learn you will. You can now step forward into your Destiny and fulfil it as never before, with the fullness of the Magic that you now wield. As a Sentient Being, as a Creature of the Old Religion my life is more than enough to trade for the young Pendragon's."

The Dragon paused for a moment. "And this is why you, also must live. Do not de-value your importance by throwing your life away. Allow me this final gift of service to you, Young Warlock." The great eyes pinned Merlin's mercilessly, and Merlin was forced to concede Kilgarrah's argument. He could feel that what the Dragon said was true.

Nodding, Merlin moved back from the Dragon and positioned himself between the great beast and Arthur, who rested still on the Altar stone. He closed his eyes, preparing to plunge himself into the Living Magic of this place, when Kilgarrah's final words came to him: "Look to young Aithusa. You named her well: she is indeed the Hope for a New Age. And now with Morgana gone, she may yet be redeemed. This is your task, Dragon-Lord."

Merlin dropped his head into a bow; "Thank-you" he intoned with gravity and respect. Immersing himself in Magic's River, Merlin raised both arms; one toward Kilgarrah, the other toward Arthur. A great grinding crash sounded, and rain poured down from the dark clouds which had been summoned. The warlock lifted his head, and his eyes flared a deep gold, as he fixed his gaze on the Dragon. Lightning fell, bolt after bolt after bolt, decimating the creature where he crouched. Turning away, Merlin focused on his King, eyes continuing to flare as he focused the immense power he was channelling. A stream of white-hot energy poured from his palm, striking the unmoving body laying on the Stone.

The graven runes on the sides of the Altar flashed and glowed, bathing the Arena in strange moving shapes and Merlin continued to feed energy into Arthur. Shuddering with effort, Merlin maintained the flow, until he felt that his task was accomplished, and that the Once and Future King lived once more.

Convulsing, he cried aloud in torment, allowed both arms to fall and dropped to the ground panting and utterly spent. Heavy rain continued to fall on the bent head of the warlock as he gathered himself. Raising his head with difficulty, Merlin focused first on the area of ground where Kilgarrah had once stood. Gone was all trace of the Great Dragon: only a black greasy smear remained on the scorched grass to mark that he had ever been in that place.

Staggering to his feet, Merlin moved jerkily across to Arthur: the King slept, as peacefully as in his great bed in Camelot. His face was coloured a delicate pink and his skin was warm despite the deluge beating down upon him. Arthur's breath came deeply and regularly, and the death-rattle sounded no more. Stooping, Merlin picked up a small gleaming piece of metal from where it rested at the base of the altar: no more than the size of his thumbnail. The piece of enchanted blade had been expelled from the King's body, and now lay harmless in the Warlock's palm.

Relief poured through Merlin, and he sobbed aloud in joy: Arthur lived! The next moment he was overcome with grief: Kilgarrah was no more! Torn between the two violent emotions, Merlin collapsed against the plinth, resting his back against the rough stone. He now waited: for the Magical rain to cease, for the sun to rise, and for Arthur to wake.

Thinking, he sat and reviewed the last few days. Eight days ago he had stood with Arthur in the Tavern of the Rising Sun playing dice (and cheating awfully). Since that evening, there had hardly been time to draw breath: first the attack by the magic-devouring sleel, then the attack on the garrison of Stowell, followed by the preparations for battle. Visiting the Crystal Cave, battling Morgana, recovering his Magic and then moving into a new level of Magic altogether. Stopping the slaughter at Camlann and then carrying Arthur away from the battlefield. Revealing himself wholly and fully to his King, and being rejected for it before getting them both safely across many leagues of land on their journey to Avalon. Facing Morgana once more and banishing her for ever into a non-existence, then to receive absolution from Arthur for Merlin's necessary deception throughout the years of service he'd given his King. Finally arriving on Avalon with Kilgarrah's help, only to face the reality of his Winged Mentor and Brother's death in order that his human soul-brother might live. It was no surprise that Merlin found himself exhausted.

The rain gentled, and the warlock slipped into sleep propped awkwardly beside his friend.

For the moment he could rest; his tasks accomplished, and Arthur and Camelot safe.

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(1) Quote from 'The Return of the King' by JRR Tolkien