Author's Note: Here is the next chapter. I hope you all enjoy. We are definitely getting to the end of the story. It's been hard to finish because the audience for Merlin just isn't what it used to be, but I promised to finish it and I will. Let me know what you think.
The White Mountain. To those outside of Avalon's lands, the name would sound innocent enough. A mountain like every other. A huge, snow capped behemoth that dotted the landscape and brought life sustaining water to the villages and forests that nestled around her. A gentle giant made of rock and dirt.
The White Mountain was as deceiving in name as she was in appearance. Treacherous and unforgiving, she had taken the lives of many brave, adventurous souls whose names and bodies were lost deep within the pitfalls and traps that awaited them on her slopes. There were stories throughout Avalon that she was the mountain of the Gods and any who dared climb her only brought upon their wrath. Attempting to scale her peaks was a foolhardy endeavor, a hopeless mission that would only end in death.
Hopeless was not in Arthur's vocabulary. Not when it came to the important things. And the man currently swinging haphazardly from his shoulders was one of the most important things in his life. Arthur could only hope that if the stories surrounding the mountain were true the gods would grant him leniency. After all, if Amara was right and Merlin was an immortal soul then surely they would recognize the man as one of their own. A piece of their world within the mortal plane.
Merlin wasn't helping much. In fact, perhaps for the first time ever, the young man was more of a hindrance to Arthur than he'd ever been. The irony was not lost on the prince. How many times had Arthur called Merlin useless? Brainless? Completely idiotic? And the entire time the young servant had been saving his hide, throwing himself in harm's way in order to keep Camelot and Arthur safe. It was Arthur's turn now. And he wasn't going to bungle it up by falling off the side of a mountain.
Not that the mountain didn't try. If Amara had not been by his side, pointing out crevices or patches of ice his weary eyes could not see, the White Mountain would have claimed victory over them ages ago. He would have tumbled to his death and brought Merlin's earth bound body with him. The end of Camelot, the end of life as they knew it because the prince tripped. The idea might be funny if it wasn't such a plausible ending to their quest.
Hours. They had been walking for hours, but it felt like days. Every muscle in Arthur's body ached and quivered, begging to be given rest. To end it all. There was a particularly harsh knot in his shoulders where he could feel Merlin's weight pushing against his muscles as if he weighed a thousand pounds. His shirt was soaked through with sweat and he panted like a man who'd never run a day in his life. Amara had said something to him about how high up they were. That the air thinned and breathing became a chore.
It felt more like torture. Every breath that wheezed into his parched throat was met with a harsh burn in his chest and a stitch in his side. Amara, for her part, did not look like she was faring much better, but at least she was able to move nimbly without the weight of a servant on her back. She pushed ahead of them, pointing out the easiest path and helping him avoid obstacles in his way.
Even with Amara as his guide, there had been numerous close calls. The palms of Arthur's hands were shredded and bloody due to the number of times he had fallen and only kept them from tumbling down by digging his hands into the jagged stones. His pants were torn and his knees were bruised and raw from sliding over rough terrain. Once, the rock he had stepped on had crumbled beneath his weight and the only thing that kept him from overbalancing was a perfectly placed branch that he was able to grab hold of.
Once again, he was glad that Merlin was not awake for this particular ordeal. The thought of the strain it would have put on his burnt legs alone was enough to make Arthur sick to his stomach. The prince doubted Merlin would have been able to keep still and any movement on Merlin's part would certainly have meant the death of both of them. Still, the fear in Arthur's gut at the lack of his servant's usual prattle was strong enough that it took everything he had not to reach behind him and touch his fingers to his servant's throat to check for a pulse. If it wasn't for the sound of Merlin's breath wheezing in his chest he probably would have.
"Arthur," Amara called, panting on a rock some twenty feet ahead of him. "Stop."
"What?" Arthur huffed out, eyes immediately scanning the terrain ahead of him for traps.
"You should rest here," Amara told him, carefully climbing down to where he stood. She put her hands on her knees and wiped the sweat and grime from her face with her shoulder.
"Rest?" Arthur asked, as if the word were foreign to him. "We can't rest, Amara. We need-"
"We're almost there," Amara interrupted, looking behind her and up the mountain slope. "The cave is just beyond that ridge."
"Then we keep moving," Arthur said, moving to step around her.
"No," Amara corrected him. "I keep moving."
"What are you-"
"What do you think will happen the minute she hears your name?" Amara snapped, nerves and exhaustion clearly getting the better of her. "She'll kill you before you even have a chance to make the deal. The stone will be wasted and this-" She gestured wildly around her. "All of this will be for nothing."
"So, you'll what? Go first? Clear the way?"
"I told you," Amara said, gentler than before. "Before revenge corrupted her, the priestess was friends with my mother. She'll know me and, considering our history, she won't be the least suspicious of me bringing you there to die. If anything, she'll probably be proud."
"What am I supposed to do while you are gone?" Arthur snapped. "Merlin's wasting away, Amara. There's no time to-"
"Make time," Amara replied harshly. "If this has even a chance of working we have to do it right. We can't just barge in, making demands and hope that everything goes the way we planned. This has to happen, Arthur. I have to go first."
"And if she kills you?" Arthur asked softly. "I can't let you go in alone, Amara."
"She won't," Amara said, but there was uncertainty lacing her voice. She paused, looking back up the mountain again, then turned back and shook her head. "It doesn't matter. We can't plan for every possibility, Arthur, but we can plan for the most plausible. If you go up there without me laying out the rules of the deal first...you'll be dead, Merlin will be dead and so will I. This is the only option we have."
"I don't like this," Arthur told her simply. "This isn't your fight."
"I made it my fight," Amara told him boldly. "This was my choice, Arthur. Nobody pressured me into it. If I die, then I die knowing I did the right thing. That I tried." She smiled and put a hand on to Merlin's sweaty brow. "Besides, when destiny calls you don't ignore it. Merlin is the destiny of my people, Arthur. He's your destiny. I can't walk away."
Arthur stood silently and bit his lip. He hated this. Hated it when people were in danger when it was his mistakes that put them there. Amara should not be facing the priestess alone. He should be there with her, but he knew that she was right. It was only logical. The priestess would kill him the moment she found out his identity if the rules of engagement weren't set into place. Hell, she still might kill him.
"Alright," Arthur finally said. "But be careful, Amara. Please."
"Don't worry about me," Amara smiled, tiredly. "I'll be alright. I shouldn't be long."
"How long should I-"
"If I'm not back in two hours," Amara shrugged. "Then I doubt I'm coming back. Proceed with the plan and pray to the gods."
Arthur looked at the sky nervously. He was climbing the gods mountain, flaunting his mortality in their faces and she expected him to pray to them? Him? The last person the gods of old would want to hear from was the son of the man who pushed their followers to the edge of extinction.
"Have faith," Amara told him, brushing a kiss against his cheek. "The gods work in mysterious ways, as they say."
"Yeah," Arthur said, thinking of the young man on his back. "I suppose they do."
"Two hours," Amara repeated, looking earnestly at Merlin. "And if I don't make it back, but you do. Tell Ryker I love him."
"Amara," Arthur started, but she stopped him with a hand.
"You made me promise," she reminded him. "Now you promise me. If I don't make it back you tell Ryker I love him. That I'll wait for him on the other side."
Arthur nodded once, but couldn't find the words to express what he felt. So he remained silent. Amara smiled fleetingly then turned and began her ascent up the mountain slope, to her fate. And theirs.
Arthur watched her until she was nothing more than a speck in the distance. Finally, with a frown on his face, he turned his attention to his servant. He found a patch of relatively flat earth to lay him on and set the young man gently on the ground. He pulled his tunic off over his shoulders, grateful for the cool breeze that swept across his shoulders, and used the rolled up shirt as a pillow for Merlin's head.
"I'm sorry for all this," Arthur told his unconscious friend. "For how big of an idiot I am. I'm sorry for...for everything, Merlin."
Arthur grabbed Merlin's dirty, blood crusted hand in his own and squeezed, even though the stinging sensation in his own palms was enough to make him wince. He hadn't expected anything from Merlin. No response was needed and surely the man was too far gone to recognize his presence in any way, but to Arthur's great surprise he was met with a squeeze of his own.
Arthur looked down and nearly shouted in joy as Merlin's lids fluttered open, but was stopped by the sudden sensation of wrongness in the young man's eyes. There was recognition. Fondness too. But they were cloudy, as if the servant were already dead and something from beyond the mortal world had claimed his body as its own.
"Merlin?" Arthur questioned, staring.
"I'm here," Merlin told him, wheezing in a breath. "I'm with you."
"Your eyes," Arthur began. "Something is wrong with-"
"I'm dying," Merlin said simply. "My body isn't long for this world, Arthur. I can't see anymore. Or feel much. Which is a relief I think."
"I don't understand," Arthur whispered, staring at his friend in anguish.
"I wouldn't expect you to," Merlin replied, smiling sadly. "There is so much you still have to learn. So much I want to teach you."
"We have a plan," Arthur stated. "We're going to get you out of this, Merlin."
"No," Merlin told him, frowning. "Arthur, this plan of yours. It's madness. You must realize this."
"How do you?" Arthur began, but Merlin shook his head.
"I've seen them," Merlin said dreamily. "The lands beyond the mortal world. The lands of mist and shadow. Even now I see them. They told me your plan, Arthur. They advised against it."
"The gods," Arthur whispered in awe as realization hit him.
"I begged them," Merlin told him, confirming his guess with a small nod. "I begged them to let me speak to you. One last time."
"No," Arthur croaked. "This isn't the last time, Merlin. I won't let it be."
"It's okay," Merlin told him. "Arthur, everything will work out like it should. You don't have to do this. You can't. Camelot is your destiny."
"Our destiny," Arthur said harshly. "It's ours, Merlin."
"My part is over," Merlin said, closing his eyes as if relieved. "I can rest, Arthur. I've wanted to rest for so long. All the secrets. All the lies. They weighed me down. I can be free of that now."
"You can be free of that here," Arthur persisted. "With me. Where you belong. Don't give up on me, Merlin. Please."
"I wanted to say goodbye," Merlin told him. "I wanted to tell you how proud I am of you."
"Don't," Arthur growled. "Don't you dare. I did not come all this way, Amara did not come all this way, for you to just give up. I swear, Merlin, if you don't see this thing through to the end I'll bring you back and kill you myself."
"I'm not afraid," Merlin told him, as if he couldn't hear him. "I was before, but now I'm not. Death won't be the end for us, Arthur. I know that."
"Merlin," Arthur said, shaking his head. "You aren't going to die. Because-"
"Because of the stone in your pocket," Merlin said knowingly. "I know. Arthur, you cannot use it. The risk is too great. You are the Once and Future King. If your soul is destroyed then everything I've done, everything I worked for will be completely ruined. I'm expendable, sire. You are not."
"Expendable?" Arthur hissed. "You are not expendable, Merlin. Where is this coming from?"
"I told you," Merlin said softly. "The gods-"
"The hell with them then," Arthur snarled. "I don't need their permission. It's my choice."
"It's the wrong choice," Merlin whispered. "Please, Arthur. Try to understand."
"The only thing I understand is that you belong here," Arthur told him firmly. "With me. With Camelot. I haven't...you haven't...there is still time. You still have time."
"Time is irrelevant," Merlin said quietly.
"Is this you speaking?" Arthur asked pointedly. "Or the gods?"
Merlin was silent for a long time and Arthur had to withstand the urge to shake him. There was no expression on his face and with his sightless eyes he looked more like a corpse than Arthur wanted to admit.
"I just wanted to say goodbye," Merlin finally whispered. "One last time. And to let you know that I died a free man. Happy."
"Keep your goodbyes," Arthur said heatedly. "I'm not accepting your resignation, Merlin. You are still my servant and as long as your body draws breath your fate is in my hands."
"Always bossy," Merlin murmured.
"Don't you forget it, Merlin. I'm your boss and you have to listen to me."
"Always delusional," Merlin smiled. "I think I'll miss that quality most."
"Merlin-"
"What was the gift?" Merlin asked suddenly. "That you had Gwen give to me. What was it?"
"Your precious gods couldn't tell you that?" Arthur asked darkly, casting a disparaging glance at the sky.
"What was it?" Merlin asked again, patiently, as if they were having a simple, fireside chat.
"A ring," Arthur told him. "With my sigil on it. The sigil of Camelot."
"A ring?" Merlin questioned, attempting to cast him a confused look. With his sightless eyes, it did little more than give Arthur the creeps. "Why a ring?"
"It was supposed to be a mark," Arthur huffed out. "That you...I don't know...were my servant. My friend. That anyone who messed with you would be messing with me. It was meant to be a symbol of my loyalty to you. That I would do anything for you."
"Loyalty is a funny thing," Merlin told him with a small smile. "Sometimes loyalty means letting go."
"Not going to happen," Arthur said again. "I can't do this without you, Merlin. I can't rule. Can't be the king the destiny you believe in so greatly says I will be."
"Arthur-"
"Listen, you idiot," Arthur snapped. "I'm doing this. Even if that means I have to rip your soul back from the gods themselves. I am going up that mountain. I am making the deal with the priestess and there is nothing you can do to stop me. Do you hear me, Merlin? Give up if you want. Die. I don't care. It's not going to change what I'm willing to do to keep you by my side. You say death isn't the end for us? Great. So do I. This stone, this plan, ensures that." He prodded Merlin in the chest with two fingers. "And you can tell those gods of yours that if they have a problem with that they can take it up with me."
"That's what I'm afraid of," Merlin said grimly.
"I'm not losing you," Arthur said again, more to sky than to Merlin. "Not yet."
"Then when?" Merlin whispered. "If this works, and we both survive, where does it end? The world can't suffer because of us, Arthur. There has to be balance."
"There will be," Arthur said. "Aurelius told me that as long as I die, as long as a sacrifice is made, using the stone won't cause destruction and mayhem. But your death? Camelot will fall without you, Merlin. Without us. This can't be the end."
"I don't know," Merlin said weakly. "I just...I'm so tired, Arthur. Avalon is peaceful. No pain. No grief. Just quiet."
"That's not living," Arthur said harshly. "Living is hard, Merlin. It's hard and it's dirty and unfair, but it's beautiful too. There's love in life, Merlin. Love and friendship and laughter. We have that, you and I. I'm not willing to give that up. Are you?"
"I want-," Merlin breathed. "I want-"
Whatever Merlin wanted, Arthur was not going to find out. His servant's body shuttered once and his rheumy eyes closed. There was brief moment of panic when Arthur did not see his servant's chest rise and fall, but it was quickly replaced with hope when he finally saw the man's chest hitch as air filled his lungs. It was a weak breath, harsh and rattling, but it was a breath and Arthur would take whatever he could get.
As long as Merlin kept breathing there was hope. It meant that Merlin hadn't given up the fight and moved on to the mysteries of Avalon. It meant that Merlin was willing to fight and as long as that was the case Arthur would fight too.
"Hold on," Arthur whispered, tears flooding his eyes. "Just hold on for me, Merlin. I swear we'll make this work."
Arthur bowed his head against his servant's chest and wept. He cried until there was nothing left in him. When he was done, he looked up to find Amara watching him, silently. He wiped his eyes and pulled himself to his feet, muscles aching and stomach twisting in fear.
"Is it done?" Arthur asked.
"It's done," Amara said softly. "She agrees to the terms. Beyond that…" She trailed off and looked at Merlin. "Is he?"
"He's still alive," Arthur said. "But we are running out of time and the gods are running out of patience."
Amara quirked her brow in confusion, but Arthur merely shook his head. The conversation that had taken place was too strange to explain. He wasn't sure he understood himself. Did the gods approve of his plan? Was it Merlin hesitating or did the powers that be wish for him to fail? He wasn't sure, but it didn't matter. He was going. Regardless of the consequences.
"You can still back out," Amara told him, as if reading his thoughts. "I won't think ill of you if you do."
"Yes you will," Arthur said with a small smile. "And I'm not backing out."
"Alright," Amara sighed. "Then I guess it's time to die, Arthur Pendragon."
"Sounds like fun," Arthur quipped.
Inside, he was screaming. He was terrified. He had no idea what death would mean for him. Except it wouldn't just be death. There would be no after life for him if his plan didn't work. His soul would be gone forever. All he could do was hope. Hope that his sacrifice would be worth it. Hope that Merlin would cling to the last shred of life within him for as long as he could. Hope that Aurelius was right.
Hope. It was all Arthur had left. He had nothing else to give. It was hope that allowed him to pick up his nearly dead servant and kept his feet moving up the bluffs of the White Mountain. Hope that fueled the strength in his muscles and the burning in his lungs. Without hope, he would have fallen ages ago. Would have become one more brave soul to succumb to the power of the towering mountain above him. He was exhausted. Mentally, physically, emotionally, but still he pressed on. Refusing to look down. Only ahead. Merlin and Arthur's destiny had been written in the stars ages before his birth and if Arthur had to piss off a few gods to make it happen then that is exactly what he would do.