Title: The Man With The Dragon Tattoo – Chapter Thirty-Six.
Author: Woodland Goddess.
Rated: M
Author's Note: I hope ye enjoyed the last chapter, guys; here's another one. Also, a big thank-you to anyone still reading!
Chapter Thirty-Six: Who Wants To Live Forever?
The journey to the Valley of the Fallen Kings took four long days. The former King insisted they travel by foot and Merlin never once protested, though magic would certainly have made the trek shorter. Each word that he never uttered had driven a wedge up Arthur's arse and the man now stomped on ahead, his broad back rigid and his hands curled into tight fists as he power-stormed his way through the forest. A large part of him felt deeply satisfied by the man's irritation, but another smaller part of him wanted to bring all of this animosity to an end. To slip into his lover's embrace as though they had never argued following Arthur's return from calling Leon.
The argument had been quiet, but no less passionate for their hissed whispering. It had ended with them both reeling back as though they had been slapped, the other's cold and harsh remarks cutting them to the quick with dangerous precision. It was one disadvantage to knowing each other so well; they both knew how to cause the most damage. Silence had fallen between them then, stiff and cold and broken only by necessity. At night they had lain at opposite sides of their campfires. When they had bathed in the river that remained relatively close by, they did so alone and without once glancing at each other in interest.
But four days of ice was too much for even Merlin to bear. He wanted to gasp his lover's name as Arthur pinned him to the ground and drown in the waves of his desire, be they rough or gentle. He wanted to be held by those large and protective arms as he broke down, clinging to the man. Merlin mentioned nothing of the sort as he followed behind Arthur at a more sedate pace, tripping over tree roots and getting caught on brambles in the process. Biting back his curses became more of a challenge with every passing minute.
Finally, however, they came to the entrance to the Valley of the Fallen Kings. The sorcerer observed the area closely, eyes narrowed and alert. Things had changed since he had lest ventured there, but many things remained the same. The most notable difference was the statues, or the lack thereof. It seemed the forest had claimed those Kings for its own, crumbling them, devouring them. The passage of time had taken its toll. He glanced at Arthur, expression softening minutely, and then he ripped his gaze away.
Merlin stuffed his hands in the pockets of his hoody, shoulders hunching slightly as his stomach grumbled. It had been a few hours since he had last eaten – a meal of wild berries and raw mushrooms that he had collected while Arthur had scowled at the ground, his royal back pressed against a tree. He had felt like Hermione Granger, dealing with an uncooperative and an unappreciative Ronald Weasley. The only thing they had been missing was their very own Harry fucking Potter.
Imperial eyes flicked in his direction for the first time in four days. An arrogant mouth twisted in a hard smile. Arthur heaved a heavy sigh, one hand reaching into the pocket of his jacket. Merlin startled when the man threw a partially-melted and somewhat squished Mars bar at him, fumbling to catch it even as he stared at the former King in surprise. He looked down at the chocolate bar, remembering how he had snapped and wasted his own after the man had gone to the trouble of picking it up for him. Because he thought Merlin might need a pick-me-up.
Something within him wobbled dangerously.
Lips parting as he drew in a shuddering breath, the sorcerer turned his face away and swallowed thickly. "Thanks," he said, silently ordering himself not to cry. Tears would not go down well with Arthur, not over something as stupid as a bar of chocolate. His lover merely waved a royal hand in response, but something in his stance seemed to soften. Not by much, of course, but it was something. Merlin unwrapped the Mars bar and took a bite, an appreciative moan escaping him before he could stop it.
He had just finished the bar when a twig snapped in the distance. Expression tightening, Arthur latched onto Merlin and shoved him towards the nearest tree. He climbed without much prompting, a burst of magic easing his way and reaching outwards to wipe the earth of their tracks. The former King followed after him immediately. Neither of them stopped climbing until they felt they were high enough above the ground. One strong hand covered the sorcerer's mouth, cutting off all possible sound as Arthur pinned him to the thick tree trunk, pressing against him in all of the most delicious ways.
Blood flooded his nether regions so rapidly his head spun, eyes rolling briefly into the back of his head. Twin spots of scarlet painted his lover's cheekbones. It was clear that Arthur could feel his erection, hot and insistent, pressing against him. Merlin gripped his lover's hips, fingertips digging into the man's rear. Arthur gripped the coarse bark, fingers finding purchase where woodpeckers had assaulted the tree. It was a simple precaution and nothing more. It would be only too easy for either one of them to lose their balance and fall, after all.
They remained still and silent as they listened intently. Arthur's imperial gaze remained locked upon the forest floor. When Leon emerged from the bushes Merlin made to greet him, but the former King kept him firmly pinned against the tree. A volcanic and mistrustful gaze landed briefly upon the sorcerer's face before it returned to the Eternal Knight. Leon's shoulders were weighed down with a large and heavy pack. Slowly, the dependable fellow shrugged off his burden and lowered it to the forest floor.
Rolling his shoulders, Leon called out a somewhat familiar phrase. "The Prime Minister of Sweden visited Washington today."
Eyes wide with surprise, Merlin watched the relief wash briefly over Arthur's handsome features. "And my tiny little nipples went to France," the man replied loudly, quoting the film Bruce Almighty, the blush staining his cheeks deepening. It only got worse when Merlin started laughing, his breath tickling the back of Arthur's hand. Wrenching his hand away, clearly mortified, his lover started climbing down from the tree. The sorcerer cheated and jumped off the branch, plummeting to the bottom as his eyes flashed vibrantly.
He landed in a crouch, one knee pressed hard against the soft earth. A small pulse of magic radiated outwards from him, mildly disturbing the bushes and brambles. Climbing to his feet, Merlin dusted himself off as he waited for Arthur to reach the bottom. Leon was upon him almost immediately, dragging him into a crushing hug. Merlin sank into the embrace without thought, wrapping his arms around him in return, welcoming the surge of affection and sympathy. Craving the warmth and solidity of it.
When the sorcerer eventually pulled away from the embrace it was to find that Arthur had reached the bottom of the tree. The man now stood staring at Merlin as though he had committed some terrible offence, imperial eyes glacial as a muscle twitched in his clenched jaw. He knew immediately that he was in the dog-house, though for what he had no idea. Slowly, Arthur dragged his gaze away and focused upon Leon, his demeanour altering marginally. "Is my niece safe, Leon?"
"Yes, Sire," the Eternal Knight replied with a sharp incline of his head, his expression sombre. "Amber and Aglain boarded their plane to the United States this morning at seven. The plane left without incident." Relief flickered across the former King's face. "Morgana, however, refused to abandon Albion in her dark hour." Leon and Arthur exchanged unsurprised and somewhat amused expressions. "I have the latest news, if either of you are interested." At a brief gesture from Arthur, the three of them sat down in a small circle.
Leon glanced around surreptitiously and leaned in, hands resting upon his knees. He spoke quietly and hurriedly, the pair of them listening intently. It was in every newspaper, on every radio station and every televised news broadcast: Merlin Dragan was wanted for the crime of sorcery, crimes against humanity, and the abduction of Arthur Pendragon. The first and second were hardly a surprise, but the last was something he had never expected to be accused of. A bitter smile twisted his mouth as he avoided looking at his friends.
He should have known Killer would milk the situation for all it was worth. The addition of a crime he had never committed should not have felt as much like a punch in the gut as it did. Muttering something about needing some air as he rose to his feet, Merlin hurriedly left the clearing. Royal eyes burned holes between his shoulder blades as he made his escape, but the former King made no move to follow after him. He could hear the two men continuing to speak in hushed voices.
Merlin leaned against a tree, finding strange comfort in the rough bark digging in through his hoody. He spent several moments focusing on his breathing, forcing his rapid and shallow breaths to slow down and deepen. Pale fingers fiddled with the end of his sleeve as he discreetly watched his lover. The man he had allegedly abducted. It was only now, when Arthur was no longer looking at him, that he could see the result of their escapades on the former King. Stress and worry were etching their way permanently onto the man's face.
Standing there, watching Arthur, he contemplated the idea of reducing his lover to the mental state of a simpleton, leading him to a town and returning his mind to its natural state before fleeing. Leaving Arthur safely behind. The man would surely hate him for doing so, and would never forgive him, but the idea of stealing the last of his youth through the addition of such a burden was abhorrent to him. Maybe it would be best to continue on this path alone, to leave Arthur unhindered by his presence.
He could run.
Merlin could turn his back upon the gathering of his friends before him and flee as fast as his skinny legs could carry him. Arthur had Leon now; he would be fine. There was no need for him to stay, to be a burden upon his lover's shoulders. He took a step backwards, distancing himself from the clearing, and another. When he took his third step, half-turning away from his companions, a twig snapped underfoot. Fuck, he thought in dismay, squeezing his eyes shut when Arthur called his name.
Concern laced every syllable.
Knowing it was too late to flee now, Merlin remained still as Arthur closed the distance between them. With his eyes closed, he could not help but hear the rustle of his lover's clothes, smell the stale sweat and the earth that clung to him, but underneath that was the scent of Arthur. It was comforting and heart-clenching all at once. "Where do you think you're going?" A large hand cupped his cheek and his first instinct was to lean into that touch. He barely managed to refrain from doing so, particularly when Arthur's thumb caressed his cheekbone like he was something precious.
"Right now, nowhere," he muttered, shaking his head as he brushed off his lover's touch. "Look, I just..."
"What?"
Blue eyes snapped open and fixed sharply upon the former King's handsome and arrogant face. The anger from earlier had vanished, leaving Arthur's features soft with affection. The sight of it filled Merlin with resolve even as his stomach knotted at the idea of leaving. "I don't want you to bear this burden, nor should you have to. Arthur, you're meant for so much more than this." He looked down at the forest floor as he fiddled with the ends of his sleeves. "You don't deserve a life on the run. Maybe it would've been better had we never met in this life."
"Funny, because I wish we'd met sooner." A glance revealed imperial eyes blazing with emotion. Merlin released a strangled yelp when two strong hands gripped his hoody and dragged him close forcefully. "Don't you understand? I knew what I was getting myself into when I welcomed you into my life. I knew what I was doing when I took you into my bed that night. I knew the risks first-hand and I did it anyway." The sorcerer swallowed thickly as Arthur's warm breath gusted across his face. Up close, the emotion twisting his lover's face was more devastating than he could bear. "If spending the rest of my life with you means a life on the run, then I'll take it!"
Merlin blinked to clear his suddenly blurry vision and dragged in a shaky breath as something wet slid down his cheeks. "I can't have you breaking the law, Arthur." He pushed his lover back a step and wrenched free from his grasp. Running his hand hurriedly across his face, Merlin shook his head. "Not for me."
A huff of laughter burst forth from the former King, but the sound was void of humour. "I've been breaking the law since I was fourteen years old, Merlin. When my father was in office I'd visit him during office hours, would get glimpses of names and addresses of people suspected of sorcery, and I'd warn the ones I could." A bitter smile twisted that arrogant and kissable mouth. "The only reason my father never suspected my hand in their escape was because he thought my loyalty to him outweighed my belief in equality. So, don't you dare bring up the law as an excuse for asking me to turn my back on you! For asking me to be a coward!"
"I'm not asking you to be a coward," Merlin snapped, eyes flooding gold in his anger even as two fat tears slipped down his cheeks. "I've seen the best and worst of you, and nothing you do could be mistaken for cowardice. This is about you deserving a better life, you damned prat!"
A quiet fury washed over Arthur's face, tightening his masculine jaw and staining his flesh red. "When you can look me in the eye and tell me you want me to leave, then I will respect your decision." A broken noise escaped Merlin at that proclamation, because he knew he could never really do it. He could never tell this man to leave, to turn around and walk away as though nothing had happened. As though none of it had mattered. "Come on," Arthur goaded in that same tone from the day they met in Camelot. He shoved Merlin with hardly any force, but it sent him stumbling backwards in surprise, his back colliding with a tree when he tripped over a tangle of roots. Forget-me-not eyes burned with wild emotion as that damned bottom lip extended in a trembling pout. "If you want me to leave so badly, do it!"
Merlin closed his eyes. "I can't."
"Then why are we even having this discussion?"
"Because a twig foiled my escape," he muttered, his heart skipping a million beats as he felt Arthur close the distance between them. His breath hitched when the man cupped his face with both hands, his touch warm and affectionate despite the emotion still radiating from him. Gold eyes flicked open as he swallowed thickly, his blood rushing south as Arthur pressed gently against him. Not counting the moment up in the tree, it had been days since they were this close to each other. "We've talked more in the past five minutes than we have in four days."
"Yes, well, you jumped down my throat for passing on a message," the former King pointed out irritably.
"I don't want to fight with you anymore," Merlin said tiredly, turning his face away as he took another shaky breath, the action dislodging his lover's gentle hands. Arthur nodded in concession and gently pulled him away from the tree, slinging his arm around scrawny shoulders as he tugged the sorcerer close to his side. Merlin melted into the familiar touch, wrapping an arm around Arthur's waist for the first time in days. His lover brushed a fleeting kiss against his temple, eliciting a shiver and a tired sigh.
Leon made to leave not long afterwards, exchanging a brief and manly embrace with Arthur while the sorcerer used a tendril of magic to strap the hunting dagger to his calf. The crossbow and quiver of bolts were slung over his shoulder. It was a welcome weight, carrying with it memories of hunting excursions that left him feeling warm and soft. Though he missed those days in a way, the advancement the world had made since then was wonderful. Nothing was perfect, of course, but it was a vast improvement.
Merlin glanced over at the men, his nose wrinkling at the mere memory of chamber pots and bowls of wasted slop. Indoor plumbing was definitely an improvement. Shaking his head, he focused on the intent expression on his lover's face as he spoke quietly and urgently to his second-in-command. "I need you to look after Morgana. Try to stop her should she attempt anything reckless, but accompany her if she refuses to see reason." Though it was barely discernible, there was relief buried in Arthur's gaze when Leon nodded obediently, an expression of utmost loyalty on the Eternal Knight's bearded face.
"Yes, Sire."
"And keep an eye on Mordred."
Merlin stilled, pale fingers suddenly no longer fidgeting with the sleeves of his hoody as his ears perked up, alert. He was not the only one to react to the mention of that name.
"Nothing will happen, I'm certain," the former King insisted, expression hard when Leon's loyalty visibly wavered at the mention of the traitorous Druid, "but the boy's young and foolish." Royal eyes flicked in Merlin's direction, a not-so subtle dig and a warning simultaneously. Merlin busied himself with his sleeves again, choosing to watch the exchange through his eyelashes instead. Arthur's gaze returned to stare authoritatively at Leon. "Fortune, however," he continued, tone brisk and serious, "favours the prepared."
"Yes, Sire," said Leon once more. Arthur slapped him manfully upon the shoulder, just as he would have done as a King. The Eternal Knight startled, then, his face quickening. "Oh! I almost forgot; I brought these as well." The man reached into his pack and rummaged around for a moment. He withdrew Arthur's handgun and a number of detachable magazines. Arthur glanced around surreptitiously and accepted them, slipping the magazines in to the inner pockets of his jacket and the gun into the waistband of his trousers, just over his arse.
The sorcerer hoped it was not loaded; an accidental fire would reap disastrous results. Especially for Arthur's peach-like arse. And also blood, a small voice in his head reminded him as his blue eyes homed in on that delectable rear – and he knew it was delectable from much mind-blowing personal experience – and stared intently. Blood is bad. Right. Of course. He knew that, but just days ago he was hilt-deep within Arthur as the man moaned beneath him like the filthy slut that he was, submitting to him as though it were Merlin that had once been King and him the servant bound to him by adoration, respect, love and loyalty so intense it threatened to incinerate the pair of them.
Just remembering that did strange things to his insides.
Merlin nibbled his bottom lip and tore his gaze away, flicking his eyes upwards to see Leon was gone and Arthur was standing there, head turned towards him. Eyes like forget-me-nots burned at him, dark and knowing, and for a moment he was absolutely convinced that the man would close the distance between them and kiss him for the first time in days. All hunger and need, finesse thrown out the window in favour of unbridled animal passion. When that never happened he was honestly surprised.
Arthur stalked towards him alright, but snagged the crossbow and bolts as he passed within a hair's breadth of Merlin's arm. "Stay here," the former King barked, the muscles in his jaw and neck and shoulders tense. The heat in his eyes was scorching, like there was an inferno developing within him, waiting to be released. Only the man had no plans to release it any time soon. In somewhat of a shocked daze, Merlin turned as Arthur passed him, watching him stride purposefully into the surrounding forest.
A tiny fragment of him was hesitant to witness the moment that volcano erupt. The rest of him shivered in hot anticipation, eager to see how the man's desires played out, fuelled by pent-up rage and possession and jealousy. The sorcerer froze, then, realisation hitting him like a train. Arthur was jealous. Of Leon. For hugging him. For being hugged by him. A slow smile curved his lips as he watched Arthur disappear, several butterflies taking flight within his abdomen.
Those soft feelings kept him warm as he waited for his lover to return, kept his mind pleasantly occupied. He practiced his magic while he waited, conjuring two Dragons out of earth and air and the fire burning deep within him. One was deep red like the passion of Camelot's finest, eyes black and reptilian and intelligent in a way that no other creature could match. The other glowed white like the surface of the moon, eyes like twin suns. Dismay flooded him when the pair of Dragons started fighting before him.
Vicious snarls rent the air as claws and fangs sank into muscular flanks. Jets of flame burst from mouths and nostrils, twisting together in an untameable inferno as the Dragons fought in the air. The fight was bitter and bloody, their cries threatening to break his heart. He tried to cancel the magic, but it refused to listen to him. The Dragons ignored his attempts to command them. He was certain, then, as he could never otherwise be, that his father was alive. Still blessedly and preciously alive.
The relief he felt was like euphoria in its intensity, filling every fibre of his being. He sank down upon the earth, surrounded by shrubs and ferns, and felt the grin blossom across his face. Merlin covered his mouth with a shaking hand, tears slipping free of the corners of his smiling eyes. The fighting Dragons ceased to matter as the certainty of his father's continued existence flooded him.
That was how Arthur found him upon his return from the hunt. "Merlin?"
The sorcerer looked up, startled, his smile still blinding. "Arthur!" he exclaimed, scrambling up from the ground and closing the distance between them in a few gangly strides. Pale hands gripped muscular shoulders with the same fervent enthusiasm one might exhibit when discovering a favourite film from one's distant childhood on DVD. "My father's alive!"
The former King reeled back a step, eyes wide with surprise before narrowing with anger. "I thought I told you to stay here?"
Merlin blinked, confusion washing over his features. "I did."
Arthur paled rapidly, one powerful hand seizing the fabric of Merlin's hoody and gripping tight. "Was someone here?"
"What? No!" He shook his head vigorously. "No, of course not. Would I be this calm if there had been?" His hand slid downwards past Arthur's bicep and elbow to grip his wrist tightly. Merlin turned and dragged his lover – who grumbled about Merlin and his bizarre understanding of calm – towards the Dragons that still fought aggressively with each other. Wide-eyed, he watched as the red Dragon collided viciously with the white one, one swipe of its long and dark talons shredding through the somewhat transparent membrane of the wing. "Arthur, I tried to command the Dragons and they wouldn't listen!"
The white Dragon let out a screech of agony, its injured wing crumpling under its weight. It hit the ground hard and the red one covered it like a snarling blanket, lethal and bloody talons bracketing the lengthy white throat. The red Dragon growled ferociously, jaw snapping millimetres away from its prey's scaled face. A pained and pleading keen escaped the fallen Dragon, its head turning towards Merlin. Gold eyes beseeched him even as black eyes burned arrogantly, yet still sought words of pride and approval.
Recognition jolted through him, sparking through his veins like lightning. Merlin blinked, his hand tightening around his lover's wrist. "Ouch!" The exclamation startled him and he looked at Arthur as the man wrenched his arm free, an injured expression flitting briefly across his arrogant face. Arthur rubbed his own wrist soothingly. The sorcerer muttered his apology and looked back at the Dragons, raising one hand almost in farewell. Magic flooded his eyes. This time the magic obeyed him, causing the Dragons to crumble into a flurry of soil that swirled in the wind briefly before collapsing upon the earth.
"What does their not-listening have to do with your father?"
Merlin glanced at the former King through his dark lashes. "A Dragonlord can only command his kin when his predecessor has passed away," he explained quietly, the gold fading from his eyes. "Otherwise, I can shout at a Dragon all I want, but I won't be able to make it listen unless it wishes to. That was half the problem with Kilgharrah. That Dragon was a cryptic arsehole – and maddeningly unhelpful!"
I heard that, said Kilgharrah's familiar telepathic voice in his head. His growl resonated loudly and Merlin staggered under the psychic onslaught, seizing Arthur's arm in order to maintain a semblance of balance. Young Warlock, if I proved so unhelpful and disagreeable, why were you so insistent on annoying me with your incessant questions? Though I enjoyed your company at times, I did not force your return. You came back of your volition. Do not lay the blame for your need for guidance upon my shoulders, Merlin.
Well, Merlin answered frostily, you wouldn't have heard that, if you weren't already snooping. Do you do that a lot?
When it suits me, the Dragon admitted slowly. A faint note of apology rippled through his ancient voice. In my defence, I am spectacularly bored while forcibly constrained by these binding shackles. And considering the blight upon the earth I believed Uther Pendragon to be, I'm surprised to find myself utterly appalled by your father's former employers. They are beyond vile. The truest practitioners of magic would never condone their notions of supremacy. The sooner you put a stop to their abominable machinations, Young Warlock, the better.
Colour faded from his face slowly. The sorcerer forced himself to take a calming breath. He could feel his lover's concern washing over him, but he pushed it aside. Is my father alright? Have they hurt him in any way?
Immensely, I'm afraid, Kilgharrah answered solemnly, his voice laden with regret and grief. The only reason his spirit and body remain connected is because I am with him still. The magic within our timeless union keeps his organs alive, no matter what they do to him, and he has suffered greatly since they came for him. When I join with you, Balinor will fade. Forgive me, Merlin; he forbade me to intervene when I had the chance to do so.
"What are they really after?" Merlin asked aloud hoarsely, stricken suddenly with grief as the foreknowledge of his father's demise settled firmly within him, knowing it was true with gut-wrenching certainty.
Surely, Young Warlock, even you could fathom the answer to that. Kilgharrah fell silent then, his psychic presence fading rapidly, leaving him alone with his thoughts. The truth was that Merlin could fathom the answer to his own question, but he did not want to. He turned abruptly and buried his face in Arthur's shoulder. It mattered little that the man smelled like sweat and dead rabbit. All that mattered was the muscular arm that wrapped tightly around him, though Arthur had no idea what had upset him so suddenly.
When Merlin pulled away, choosing to distract himself and make himself useful by gathering wood for their campfire, Arthur gently asked him to explain his loss of euphoria. The sorcerer did so quietly, explaining first the bond between tattooed Dragon and Dragonlord that had existed since the days following the Battle at Camlann. When he had healed Aithusa, the white Dragon, reverting the state of her growth and guiding it towards the path it should have taken before her long months of captivity.
He had reached deep into the very fibre of his being and ripped his immortality away, bestowing it upon both Aithusa and Kilgharrah. The Dragons would live on eternally, bound together by his magic. They would never be alone, regardless of physical distance. And his kin would never fall prey to extinction. Then, taking inspiration from the serpents pained upon Valiant's shield, Merlin had used his magic to fuse the Dragons with his flesh. Kilgharrah and his much younger companion became works of art, lying permanently on his flesh until he chose to relinquish them or commanded them to rise.
But the fusing of man and those eternal Dragon had consequences Merlin had not foreseen. While they remained fused together, the sorcerer could never die save for impalement upon an immortal blade, though he kept that information to himself. There were two immortal blades in existence on the earthly plain: Excalibur had been buried with Arthur; Caliburn had vanished in the wake of the Battle at Camlann, taken by whatever horrid soul had desecrated Mordred's grave. The most unfortunate consequence, however, was that the immortality would affect Merlin and his descendants differently.
The magic in the bond was Merlin's own and, when fused with Merlin once more, would heal any fatal injuries. His descendents were not so lucky. While they bore the tattoos, the magic would not allow them to die, but it would not actively work to heal them as it would with him. He had learned of that aspect from his son, Ivar, who had written him repeatedly since their mother had taken them back to Denmark with her. The bond between magic and practitioner was not powerful enough in those instances, particularly when the bond grew more and more diluted throughout the ages.
Being a somewhat relevant side note, Merlin told Arthur of the day his sons had bared their forearms in acceptance of the burden inherent in receiving the Dragons from him. Aithusa and Kilgharrah had reached out and crawled their way onto his sons' bodies, scrawling their forearms in the endeavour. The Dragons resided upon their chests until the process was repeated with his grandsons, and his great grandsons, and so on until one day Balinor was reborn and gifted with Kilgharrah in his adolescence.
Now, Balinor would live with his agonies until the sorcerer relieved him of his burden, but doing so would release his father's spirit from this world. His spirit would flee to Caer Arianrhod, waiting for rebirth, leaving Balinor's body a lifeless husk. Merlin's actions were damned regardless: condemn his father to a lifetime of suffering because he could not stomach his death, or take that immortality unto himself and watch the life leave his father's eyes, knowing the fault was his own.
By the time Merlin reached the end of his explanation, his voice was shaking and his vision had blurred. Arthur dropped the hunting knife and the rabbits he had been skinning and rose sharply to his feet, seizing him roughly with stinking blood-stained hands. The former King crushed him in his embrace, royal face burying itself in dark locks. The collected firewood toppled from Merlin's shaking hands and he gripped his lover's now-frayed jacket. "I know it hurts, Merlin," Arthur whispered hoarsely in his ear, "but you know what you have to do."
He knew.
But he did not know if he could.
To Be Continued.
Ugh. Arthur, Merlin, you break my heart.
Feel free to let me know what you think, guys.